CHAPTER 8 — The Serpent’s Tongue
I stood up,
letting go of Mara’s hand as the door to the room was pushed open.
Mr. Sterling,
the administrator,
looked like a man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.
Behind him were two officers in uniform and a man in a sharp,
charcoal suit that screamed 'government'.
"Mr. Waverly,"
Sterling said,
his voice strained.
"This is Special Agent Miller from the Department of Children and Families."
I felt the air in the room turn to lead.
"This is a private recovery room,"
I said,
stepping in front of Mara’s bed.
"You are trespassing."
"Actually,
Mr. Waverly,"
Agent Miller said,
stepping forward with a tablet in his hand.
"We’ve received a formal complaint regarding the safety and welfare of the two infants currently in the NICU.
Given the...
unusual circumstances of their birth and the public nature of your family’s dispute,
the state has issued a temporary protective order."
"A protective order?"
I growled.
"On what basis?"
"On the basis that the mother has a history of alleged criminal activity—"
he glanced at Mara—
"and the father is currently involved in a high-profile corporate investigation."
I looked at Mara.
She was deathly pale,
her eyes wide with terror.
"The 'criminal activity' was a fabrication,"
I said,
my voice low and dangerous.
"And the 'investigation' is a internal family matter."
"That’s for the courts to decide,"
Miller said,
unfazed.
"In the meantime,
the infants are to be placed under state guardianship.
They will remain here for medical reasons,
but access will be restricted to state-approved personnel only."
"You're taking my children?"
Mara’s voice was a broken whisper.
"Not taking,
ma'am.
Securing,"
Miller corrected.
"You're doing my mother’s dirty work,"
I said,
walking right up to Miller until our chests were inches apart.
"How much did she pay you?
Or was it a promise of a promotion?"
Miller didn't blink.
"I’m doing my job,
Mr. Waverly.
Now,
I suggest you step aside.
We have a court order to serve the hospital."
I looked at Sterling.
"You're letting this happen?
After the donation I just made?"
Sterling looked down at his shoes.
"My hands are tied,
Grant.
The board of the hospital received a call from the Governor’s office.
We can't fight the state."
The Governor.
Another one of my mother’s oldest "friends."
She was pulling every string she had,
weaving a web so tight I couldn't move without strangling myself.
"Grant,"
Mara called out,
her voice rising in panic.
"Grant,
do something!"
I looked at the officers.
They were young,
looking uncomfortable,
but they had their hands near their belts.
I could fight them.
I could call my men from the docks and turn this hospital into a fortress.
But if I did that,
I would be proving my mother right.
I would be the "unstable" man she claimed I was.
I would lose the boys forever.
I had to play the game,
but I had to play it better than she did.
"Fine,"
I said,
holding up my hands.
"Serve your papers.
But know this,
Agent Miller.
I will have a judge overturn this order by noon.
And when I do,
I will make sure your career is buried so deep no one will ever find the remains."
Miller nodded curtly.
"I’ll be in the hallway."
They filed out,
leaving the room in a state of shattered silence.
Mara was shaking,
her breath coming in short,
sharp gasps.
"They're going to take them,"
she sobbed.
"They're going to take them and I’ll never see them again."
I went to her,
ignoring the rules,
and pulled her into my arms.
She collapsed against me,
her tears soaking through my shirt.
"They won't,"
I whispered into her hair.
"I promise you,
Mara.
They won't."
"How?"
she cried.
"She has the Governor.
She has the police.
She has everyone."
"She doesn't have the one thing that matters,"
I said,
my mind already spinning,
calculating the next move.
"What?"
"She doesn't have the truth.
And I’m about to give it to the only people she’s actually afraid of."
"Who?"
I looked at the clock on the wall.
It was 5:45 AM.
"The stockholders,"
I said.
"And the people of Boston."
I reached for my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in years.
It was the personal line of the editor-in-chief of the Boston Globe.
"Arthur,"
I said when he picked up.
"This is Grant Waverly.
I have a story for you.
And it’s going to make the front page of every newspaper in the country."
