Part 2: The Hallway at Mercy General
"Nora, it’s not what it looks like," Julian said, and even as the words left his mouth he knew how they sounded. She stared at him with an expression he would remember for the rest of his life, not rage, not even betrayal, only a deep, exhausted recognition, as if a fear had finally been confirmed.
The ambulance arrived in four minutes. The paramedics lifted her onto the stretcher while she said nothing at all. When Julian tried to climb in behind her, she turned her face to the wall, and a young paramedic put a gentle hand on his chest. "Sir, there’s room up front. Follow us if you want, but she’s asked you not to ride with her."
He followed in his own car, running two red lights, gripping the wheel so hard his fingers ached. At Mercy General, nurses wheeled Nora through double doors, and a security guard stopped him with a polite hand and a polite voice. "Family only past this point."
"I’m her husband."
"She’s listed you as no one at the moment, sir. I’m sorry."
He sank into a plastic chair in the waiting area and stared at the folder he had carried all the way from the penthouse without realizing it. Page four. His signature, loops and slant and all, sitting under a paragraph he had never read. He remembered Pike sliding that stack across the conference table on Monday, saying, "Routine estate housekeeping, just initials and signatures, Julian, you’re a busy man." He remembered not even looking up.
Dr. Amara Singh found him forty minutes later, tablet in hand, calm in a way that made him want to cry. "Mr. Ashford? Your wife’s contractions have stopped. We gave her medication and she’s on a monitor. At thirty-four weeks we want her under observation for at least a day. The baby looks strong."
"Can I see her?"
"That’s her decision, and she’s said not yet." Dr. Singh’s tone softened. "Her blood pressure is elevated. I need her calm. Whatever happened tonight, give her space."
He nodded. He said he understood. Then the elevator opened and a blonde woman in a camel trench coat strode out with her car keys still in her fist, and Julian stood up so fast the chair scraped.
"Tess," he said. "Tess, please, let me explain." Nora’s younger sister did not even slow down until she was close enough to jab a finger into his chest. "My sister texted me from the ambulance. She said four words. ‘Julian is helping Warren.’ Is that true?" He held out his phone with Pike’s message glowing on the screen, and she read it twice, and her face went pale and furious. "Then why does it say ‘keep her there’?"
"Because I didn’t know any of it until tonight. Pike works for me. He’s supposed to work for me." His voice cracked. "Tess, I would never hurt her. I would never hurt our daughter."
"You didn’t read what you signed. That is hurting her."
He had no answer for that, and she knew it. She turned on her heel and pushed through the doors to Nora’s room, and he heard her say, softly, "Hey, hey, I’m here," before the doors swung shut.
Alone in the hallway, he called Raymond Pike. The lawyer picked up on the second ring, unhurried, almost pleasant. "Julian. I assume you’ve seen my message. I was going to call you in the morning."
"What did you do, Raymond?"
"Exactly what your uncle instructed, and what your signature authorized. Judge Hollis has set a hearing for nine tomorrow. If Mrs. Ashford is deemed unstable, the court names a temporary guardian. Warren is very concerned about her welfare." Pike paused. "Don’t make this harder than it has to be."
"You work for me."
"I work for the Ashford family. There’s a difference, and you never asked which." The line went dead.
Julian lowered the phone slowly. At the end of the hallway, the elevator chimed again. A tall man in a charcoal three-piece suit stepped out with silver hair swept back from a face carved out of ice, and beside him walked a stern woman holding a leather portfolio stamped with the seal of the Cook County Court. Warren Ashford smiled at his nephew like a man arriving at a dinner party.
"Julian," he said. "Let’s go and see how my niece is doing."
