“Give me my son, Margaret,” he said, his voice devoid of the warmth he’d used at the cemetery. “You’re making a scene. You’re unwell.”
“I have the hospital bracelet from the trash, Mark,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in days. “I have Dr. Reynolds’ original ultrasound. And I have a live feed of this conversation going directly to a cloud server managed by my attorney. If I don’t walk out of here with this baby, the press gets the story of how Wilson Pharmaceuticals faked a death to secure a trust fund.”
Mark’s eyes darted to the hidden camera on my lapel. For a man who built his life on calculated risks, this was a losing hand. He knew the scandal would tank his company’s stock and land him in a federal prison for kidnapping and medical fraud.
“Richard knew,” I added, the words bitter in my mouth. “How much did you pay my husband to help you kill our daughter’s spirit?”
“He didn’t think she’d die,” Mark hissed. “It was supposed to be a clean break.”
“There is no such thing as a clean break when it comes to a mother,” I replied.
I walked past him, the guards stepping aside as Mark signaled them to stand down. I drove away from that glass prison as the sun began to rise, the baby sleeping soundly in the seat beside me. Mark and Richard would spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders, waiting for the legal hammer to drop as my lawyers began the process of dismantling their empire.
I looked down at my grandson. He didn’t have a name yet, but he had a home. Mark had stolen Emily’s life for fifty million dollars, but he had underestimated the one thing money couldn’t buy: the vengeance of a grandmother who had nothing left to lose. I took him back, and in doing so, I made sure Emily’s light wouldn’t be erased. We weren’t going home to Richard. We were going somewhere the grey mud of the cemetery couldn’t reach us.
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