Emma Walker cried out in agony as sixty-three-year-old Richard Bell violently wrenched her newborn son Noah from her chest

Mark pulled his hand back from the window frame as if he had touched glowing coals. He stared at the lattice of microscopic wires embedded in the double-glazed glass, visible now in the faint glow of the infrared lights.

"You're bluffing," Mark wheezed, his chest heaving as Noah began to whimper in his arms. "You're lying to buy time! Dad, tell her she’s lying!"

"She’s trapped in the same room, you idiot!" Richard snapped, though his own hands were shaking as he smoothed his lapels. "Emma, this room is sealed. That means nobody gets in to help you, either. You’re recovering from major abdominal surgery. You have an IV line in your arm. If you don't call off whoever is running this system, you will bleed out before they ever cut through that door."

"I survived twenty hours of unmedicated labor before the surgeons took my twins, Richard," Emma replied, her voice ringing with sheer, unyielding steel. "You think a little physical pain scares me? You think I care about myself right now?"

"Think about your children!" Denise pleaded, her venom finally cracking into desperate bargaining. "Emma, look at Noah! He needs feeding! He needs medical care! If you keep us locked in here, he suffers too!"

"You should have considered his feeding schedule before you ripped him off my chest, Denise," Emma said coldly. "Give him back to me. Hand him across this bed right now, and I might tell the team outside to let the three of you walk out in zip-ties instead of body bags."

"Team?" Mark’s voice rose an octave. "What team? Who did Ethan hire?"

"Vanguard Tactical," Emma answered simply.

The name sucked the remaining oxygen out of the room.

Richard staggered backward half a step, his shoulder striking the bedside monitor. "Vanguard? That's an offshore military contractor! They don't operate domestically! It's illegal!"

"Vanguard is a private asset protection firm," Emma corrected, leaning slightly forward, her fingers tightening on the bedsheets. "Ethan owned forty percent of their parent company. When his transponder went dark over the Atlantic, their contingency protocol activated. Their orders were very clear: protect the primary heirs, eliminate any hostile threat to the bloodline, and preserve the Walker estate."

"We are the family!" Denise shrieked. "We aren't a hostile threat!"

"You broke into a postpartum recovery room with forged power-of-attorney documents, assaulted the mother, and kidnapped the heir," Emma said, counting each point off with chilling precision. "In Vanguard’s rules of engagement, Denise, that makes you an active insurgent."

Carla let out a low moan, sliding down against the wall until she was sitting on the floor beside Lily’s bassinet, her head buried in her knees. "We're going to prison. Oh God, we're going to prison for the rest of our lives."

"Get up, Carla!" Richard kicked her foot in fury. "Nobody is going to prison! We have the boy! Mark, bring him here!"

"Don't do it, Mark," Emma said, her voice dropping into an icy, steady rhythm. "Look at your father. Look at him carefully. When Vanguard cuts those hinges, who do you think Richard is going to push into the hallway first? Who do you think he’ll blame for holding the baby?"

Mark froze mid-stride. His eyes flickered between Emma’s unwavering gaze and his father’s flushed, desperate face.

"What are you saying?" Mark whispered.

"I’m saying the contract on your tray table only has two names on the executor line: Richard Bell and Denise Bell," Emma said, pointing a pale, slender finger at the leather folder. "Your name isn't on that deed, Mark. You were never getting the trust. You were just the mule carrying the stolen goods."