Chapter 8 - The Narrow Escape
The words hit Brooklyn like a physical blow to the chest.
If Bradley successfully fathered an heir before she officially reclaimed her identity, the legal battle for the port would be tied up in court for decades.
Winston dropped Sal to the concrete floor in disgust.
“Clean this up,” Winston ordered his men.
He grabbed Brooklyn’s arm and pulled her back into the SUV.
“We are going to Chicago General Hospital right now,” he stated.
They sped through the city, the neon lights blurring into streaks of color against the rain-slicked windows.
“If Cassandra gives birth tonight, the baby becomes the legal beneficiary in the eyes of the corrupt trust lawyers,” Winston explained.
“We have to prove you are alive and legally married to him before that child draws its first breath.”
Brooklyn’s mind was spinning with the cruelty of it all.
She had spent five years enduring painful fertility treatments, crying in bathroom stalls while Bradley pretended to comfort her.
He had been planning to replace her the entire time.
Winston pulled the SUV into the emergency parking lot of the hospital.
He handed Brooklyn a dark baseball cap and a medical face mask.
“Keep your head down,” Winston instructed.
“We need to reach the maternity ward on the fourth floor and find the hospital administrator.”
They slipped through the sliding glass doors, blending in with the chaotic late-night emergency crowd.
They bypassed the security desk and took the service elevator up to the maternity floor.
The doors chimed open, revealing a quiet, sterile hallway lined with private delivery rooms.
Brooklyn spotted them immediately.
Marlene and Vivian were sitting in the waiting area, sipping expensive coffee from the cafeteria.
Corey was pacing the floor, chewing his fingernails nervously.
Winston pulled Brooklyn behind a heavy medical cart to observe.
“Where is Bradley?” Brooklyn whispered.
“Probably inside the delivery room playing the devoted father,” Winston sneered.
Suddenly, the door to Room 412 swung open.
Bradley walked out, wearing hospital scrubs and a pale, terrified expression.
Marlene stood up quickly.
“Is the baby here?” Marlene asked eagerly.
Bradley shook his head, looking completely lost.
“The doctors are taking her back for an emergency C-section,” Bradley said, his voice trembling.
“Her blood pressure spiked dangerously high. They said she might not make it.”
Vivian gasped, covering her mouth in shock.
Brooklyn felt a strange, cold sense of karma wash over her.
But Corey didn't look concerned about Cassandra’s health.
Corey grabbed Bradley by the scrubs, pulling him aggressively into the corner.
“Did she sign the trust transfer papers yet?” Corey hissed, prioritizing the money over the mother of his future nephew.
“No, she passed out before I could give her the pen,” Bradley panicked.
Corey cursed loudly, slamming his fist against the wall.
Winston tapped Brooklyn’s shoulder and pointed down the opposite end of the hallway.
A pair of Chicago police detectives were stepping off the main elevator, holding a familiar folder.
“They are here for Bradley,” Winston whispered.
Brooklyn recognized the folder.
It was the fake autopsy report Winston had fabricated about her blunt force trauma.
The detectives approached Bradley, their faces set in grim authority.
“Bradley Whitfield?” the lead detective asked.
“Yes?” Bradley answered, looking confused.
“You are under arrest for the murder of your wife, Brooklyn Whitfield.”
Bradley’s jaw dropped in absolute horror as the detective slapped heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
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Brooklyn smiled beneath her medical mask, feeling the first true rush of victory.
But as the police dragged a screaming Bradley toward the elevators, Winston’s phone vibrated violently in his pocket.
