Chapter 5
The tactical security men moved with brutal, military precision. Marcus grabbed Preston by the collar of his expensive cable-knit cashmere sweater, lifting him entirely off the ground. Preston kicked his suede loafers wildly in the air, sputtering and begging.
Another guard grabbed Eleanor by the arm. She fought like a cornered animal, her stiletto heels scratching uselessly against the guard's armored shin.
"Get your hands off me!" Eleanor shrieked, her luxurious velvet dress tearing slightly at the shoulder. "I am a citizen! I have rights! I will sue you for everything you own, Winston!"
"You own nothing," Winston reminded her, his voice a low, terrifying rumble over the beep of Trey's heart monitor. "Your credit cards are frozen. The bank accounts you thought you shared with Preston were emptied and locked into Trey's trust an hour ago. You are walking out of this house with nothing but the clothes on your back."
"Please, Winston! Have mercy!" Preston sobbed. "I'm Trey's father! You can't do this to family!"
Winston stood up from the couch. He walked slowly toward Preston, his deep, dark eyes burning with a lifetime of suppressed hatred for the man who had failed his daughter.
"A father protects his blood," Winston said softly, stopping inches from Preston's face. "You let a stranger torture your child because you were too much of a coward to stand up to her. You are no father. You are a biological mistake."
Winston nodded to Marcus. "Out."
"Wait! Wait!" Eleanor screamed, changing her tactics as she realized the sheer reality of the freezing storm outside. "I'll sign whatever you want! I'll divorce him! Just let me stay inside tonight! It's ten degrees out there!"
"Trey is three years old," Winston replied, his voice completely hollow. "He survived nine hours. I am sure a healthy, resourceful woman like you can make it to the main road."
The guards dragged them kicking and screaming through the grand foyer. The massive oak doors were thrown wide open, letting the brutal, howling blizzard sweep into the house once more.
With a synchronized heave, the guards threw Preston and Eleanor out onto the snow-covered driveway. Eleanor landed hard on her hands and knees, her stilettos sinking deep into the freezing powder. Preston tumbled beside her, his cashmere sweater instantly soaked in ice.
"Winston!" Preston wailed, scrambling to his knees in the snow. "Please!"
"Shut the doors," Winston commanded from the warmth of the foyer.
The heavy oak doors slammed shut, followed by the definitive, heavy thud of the steel deadbolts locking into place. The screams from outside were instantly muffled by the thick wood and the howling wind.
Winston turned his back on the door. He felt no remorse. He felt no pity. He only felt the burning, absolute necessity to protect his lineage.
He walked back into the living room. The paramedics had hooked Trey up to a heated IV line. The boy's lips were slowly losing their dangerous blue tint, returning to a more natural, warm brown hue.
"Status," Winston demanded, his voice returning to its calm, authoritative tone.
May you like
"His core temperature is rising, sir," the lead medic reported, checking the portable monitor. "No permanent tissue damage to the extremities, thank God. He's young, and his heart is strong. He'll need a few days in a proper pediatric ward to monitor for pneumonia, but he is going to survive."
Winston let out a long, heavy breath, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second. "Take him to my private clinic in the city. Prepare the helicopter."
