Thorne opened it, inspected a massive stack of bearer bonds, nodded slowly, and pocketed the envelope.
Then, Lucas leaned in close, whispered something into Thorne’s ear, patted the doctor on the shoulder, and walked away.
My eyes narrowed into slits.
The surgeon had told me Clara was stable.
He had told me her baby was dead.
My head snapped up toward the quiet corridor leading back to Clara’s room.
The attack on my wife hadn’t ended in her design studio.
It was happening right now, inside this hospital.
The air in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees.
I didn’t utter another word to Arthur or his coward sons.
I didn’t need to.
Two of my tactical operatives, dressed in unmarked black attire with earpieces humming, stepped through the double doors at the end of the hall.
“Secure them,” I said, pointing a single finger at the nine men trembling against the wall.
“Put them in the basement holding vehicles.
