Chapter 2 - THE MEDICAL FILE

Marcus looked exactly as he did in the boardroom. Impeccably tailored. Calm. Calculating.

I didn't speak. I didn't yell.

I walked over to the marble fireplace, picked up the heavy iron poker, and turned to face him.

“Get out of my house,” I said, my voice eerily quiet.

Marcus smiled, placing the espresso cup on the glass table. “Put the iron down, Beckett. We are civilized men. Besides, if you strike me, the police will arrest you. And then who will protect little Celeste?”

Violet flinched, holding our daughter tighter.

“You murdered my father,” I said, gripping the iron poker until my knuckles turned white. “I found the safety deposit box.”

Marcus didn't deny it. He didn't even look surprised.

“Your father was a weak man,” Marcus said simply. “He wanted to pull the drug and bankrupt the company over a few statistical anomalies. I saved Valiant Holdings. I built you into the man you are today. You are a king because I handed you the crown.”

“And Violet?” I demanded, stepping closer. “Was destroying her part of my education?”

“She was a distraction,” Marcus said, standing up slowly. “You were losing your edge, Beckett. You were talking about weekends away. Vacations. You were softening. The German merger required absolute, ruthless focus. I simply removed the obstacle.”

He looked at Violet with absolute disdain.

“I even offered her five million dollars to walk away cleanly. But she was stubborn.”

“I will destroy you,” I said, throwing the iron poker to the floor with a deafening crash. “I am calling the board. I am calling the federal prosecutor. You are finished.”

Marcus laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound.

“Call them,” Marcus challenged. “But before you do, you should know I didn't come here alone.”

He reached into his tailored suit pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He tossed it onto the coffee table.

I looked down.

It was a sonogram photo. But it wasn't new. It was dated eight months ago.

Before Violet had even left me.

“What is this?” I asked, my stomach dropping.

“It’s a sonogram of your beautiful daughter,” Marcus said smoothly. “Taken by Dr. Brennan at the Westfield Private Medical Center. Four weeks before Violet packed her bags.”

I froze.

I turned my head slowly to look at Violet.

She was staring at the photo, her emerald eyes wide with a horrific realization.

“You told me you didn't know you were pregnant until two weeks after you left,” I whispered, the betrayal piercing straight through my chest.

Violet shook her head violently. “I didn't! Beckett, I swear to you, I didn't know! Dr. Brennan told me it was just a routine cyst check!”

“Dr. Brennan works for me,” Marcus smiled cruelly. “She has for years. She took the sonogram, hid the results from Violet, and gave them directly to me. I knew about the child before the mother did.”

Marcus walked toward the private elevator.

“I own the hospital, Beckett. I own the board. And thanks to my lawyers, I just filed an emergency petition for custody of Celeste on behalf of the company, citing your unstable domestic situation and Violet’s financial insolvency.”