Chapter 7 - The Ambush at the Threshold
The contractions were coming every four minutes by the time we made it down the private elevator to the building’s secure parking garage.
My private driver, Frank, was holding open the rear door of the armored suburban while Elena supported my left arm, carrying my hospital overnight bag.
"Deep breaths, Claire," Elena coached, her voice tight with concern. "Melanie is already at Mount Sinai preparing the delivery suite. We have a police escort waiting at 72nd Street."
As Frank moved to close the heavy passenger door, a dark sedan screeched around the corner of the subterranean garage, its tires howling against the sealed concrete. The car swerved recklessly, slamming to a halt bumper-to-bumper with our SUV, blocking the exit ramp completely.
The driver’s door flew open.
Grant stumbled out. He looked completely unhinged. His expensive wool coat was stained, his eyes were wild and bloodshot, and his hand was buried deep inside his right pocket.
"Claire!" he screamed, his voice bouncing violently off the low concrete ceiling. "You don't leave! You sign the release papers first!"
Frank immediately stepped in front of the open door, his hand going under his suit jacket toward his concealed firearm. "Back away, Mr. Waverly! Step back right now!"
"Get out of my way, you hired ape!" Grant bellowed, lunging forward. He pulled a thick manila envelope from his coat, shaking it frantically. "She’s having my baby! I have parental rights! She’s trying to cut me out of the birth certificate!"
Another contraction hit me like a physical blow. A low groan escaped my lips as I doubled over in the back seat, clutching my knees.
"Grant, she is in active labor!" Elena shouted from behind the door, keeping her body positioned between him and me. "If you take one more step, the security team will neutralize you. The police are already on their way!"
"I don't care about the police!" Grant screamed, his face contorted in a terrifying mix of hysteria and rage. "She took everything! My company, my reputation, my money—Sabrina sold me out to the feds this morning! You think I'm going to prison alone, Claire? Sign the affidavit stating you authorized the transfers, or no one leaves this garage!"
He made a sudden, desperate dash toward the open door of the suburban.
Frank didn't hesitate. With the practiced speed of a former federal marshal, Frank stepped forward, caught Grant’s outstretched arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him face-first onto the hood of his own sedan with a sickening metallic crunch.
The manila envelope went flying, white legal papers scattering across the oil-stained concrete.
"Get your hands off me!" Grant shrieked, thrashing wildly, but Frank pinned him down with a heavy knee between his shoulder blades.
"Stay down, Mr. Waverly," Frank growled in his ear. "One more twitch and I break your collarbone."
Wailing sirens echoed down the concrete ramp. Two NYPD cruisers swept into the garage, their red and blue strobe lights painting the walls in flashes of emergency color. Four officers spilled out with their service weapons drawn.
"NYPD! Keep your hands where we can see them!"
"He’s pinned!" Frank called out calmly, displaying his credentials with his free hand. "Restraining order violation, felony stalking, attempted vehicular assault!"
As the officers swarmed Grant, clicking heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists, they hauled him up from the hood. Blood dripped from a cut on his cheek, his hair wild, his eyes completely disconnected from reality.
He caught sight of me through the tinted window of the SUV as Elena slammed the door shut.
"Claire!" Grant screamed, his voice breaking into a ragged sob as the officers forced him toward the patrol car. "Claire, you can't do this to me! I made you! You're nothing without me!"
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"Drive, Frank," I whispered through the pain, leaning my head back against the leather seat as the baby made her final descent. "Get us to the hospital."
***
