Chapter 5 - THE CLINIC TRAP
Thursday afternoon arrived. The sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of grey clouds, casting a gloomy shadow over the city.
My Maybach pulled up to the entrance of the Genesis Premium Health Clinic. As expected, the surrounding streets were suspiciously quiet, but Marcus’s advanced surveillance tech had already flagged four unmarked vans parked a block away, packed with tabloid journalists and hidden cameras.
I stepped out of the car, wearing a simple but elegant maternity dress. Marcus and two plainclothes federal marshals walked closely beside me.
The moment my foot touched the steps of the clinic, a figure rushed out from behind a concrete pillar.
"Cassidy! Please, look at me!"
It was Brendan. He looked intentionally disheveled—his shirt was torn slightly at the collar, and he had applied fake makeup under his eyes to make himself look gaunt and sleep-deprived. He threw himself onto the ground right in front of me, crying out loudly.
Immediately, the doors of the unmarked vans flew open. Dozens of photographers and reporters rushed forward, their cameras flashing like a strobe light.
"Cassidy, I'm begging you!" Brendan shouted, his voice echoing down the street so the microphones could catch every word. "Don't hide my daughter from me! Just because you have billions of dollars doesn't mean you can buy a child's love! I am a human being! My family is starving on the streets because you took our jobs! Please, just give me a chance to be a father!"
The reporters started shouting questions, their faces filled with aggressive excitement.
"CEO Vance, is it true you liquidated a whole company just to spite your ex-husband?" "Are you denying a father the right to see his unborn child?" "Is C.V. Enterprises abusing its monopoly power for personal revenge?"
From a distance, inside a parked sports car, Jessica was watching through binoculars, a victorious smile on her face. The trap was sprung. If my guards laid a single hand on Brendan, the headlines tomorrow would brand me a tyrant.
I stopped walking. I looked down at Brendan, who was crying fake tears on the concrete.
"Brendan," I said, my voice perfectly clear, amplification mic hidden in my collar broadcasting my words to the press. "You have a restraining order against you. You are currently committing a felony."
"I don't care about the law! I care about my baby!" Brendan sobbed, reaching out to grab the hem of my dress.
Before his fingers could touch me, the two plainclothes marshals stepped forward. They didn't use excessive force. They calmly pulled out their gold federal badges and held them up directly to the flashing cameras.
"Federal Marshals," one of them announced in a booming voice. "Brendan Vanguard, you are under arrest for felony stalking, violation of a protective order, and conspiracy to commit corporate extortion."
Brendan’s fake tears instantly stopped. He blinked, looking at the badges. "Wait... what? No! They're hitting me! Look, they're abusing me!" he yelled toward the cameras.
But the journalists weren't stupid. The moment they saw federal badges, their tone changed. A federal arrest wasn't a juicy tabloid drama; it was a major criminal event.
"Furthermore," Marcus stepped forward, holding a tablet toward the reporters. "We have just released the complete financial and behavioral records of the Vanguard family to the public domain. This includes video evidence of the psychological abuse suffered by CEO Cassidy, as well as the exact footage of Mrs. Diane Vanguard assaulting a pregnant woman with contaminated water five days ago."
A holographic projection shot out from Marcus’s device, displaying a crystal-clear video of the dinner party. The journalists gasped as they watched Diane pour the bucket of freezing, dirty water over my head while Brendan and Jessica laughed.
The public reaction was instantaneous. The reporters turned their cameras away from me and focused entirely on Brendan, their questions turning venomous.
"Mr. Vanguard, did you really laugh while your mother assaulted your pregnant wife?" "Was this entire protest staged to extort money from C.V. Enterprises?" "How does it feel to be arrested on live television?"
Brendan panicked. He tried to stand up and run, but the marshals quickly slammed him onto the hood of a car, clicking the handcuffs around his wrists.
"Jessica! Help me!" Brendan screamed, looking toward the sports car down the street.
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But Jessica had already started the engine. Seeing the federal marshals and the sudden reversal of the narrative, she slammed on the gas, her tires screeching as she fled the scene, abandoning Brendan once again.
As the police cruiser arrived to take Brendan away, I turned around and walked into the clinic, never looking back. The first phase of their total destruction was complete. Now, only the final blow remained.
