Chapter 2 - TWENTY-FOUR HOURS
The paramedics did not let Jake lift me.
They fitted a cervical collar around my neck, moved me onto a rigid stretcher, and began checking my blood pressure, pulse, and oxygen while asking how far I had fallen.
“Twelve stairs,” Jake answered.
“Thirteen,” my father corrected from the foyer.
The paramedic looked at him.
“Did you witness the fall?”
“She slipped.”
“I was pushed,” I said.
Ryan stood behind a police officer with blood beginning to darken beneath his nose from Jake’s punch.
“He hit me,” Ryan said.
The officer looked toward Jake.
Jake did not deny it.
“I did.”
The honesty cost him.
Police separated the four of us before the ambulance left. Jake rode with me only after another officer finished a preliminary statement and informed him that his assault on Ryan would be investigated independently.
Inside the ambulance, straps crossed my body above and below my abdomen. Every turn made the bruises along my back flare.
The paramedic attached a fetal Doppler.
For several seconds, there was only static.
My breath stopped.
Then a rapid heartbeat filled the vehicle.
One hundred fifty-two beats per minute.
I began crying.
Jake pressed his knuckles against his mouth.
At St. Catherine Women’s Hospital, an obstetric trauma team surrounded me. They cut away part of my leggings, examined the swelling along my hip and ribs, drew blood, and strapped two monitors across my abdomen.
Dr. Lena Morris explained that a fall at thirty-one weeks could cause placental injury even when no external bleeding appeared.
“We will monitor contractions and the baby’s heart rate closely.”
“Is she safe?”
“The tracing is currently reassuring.”
Currently.
The word followed me through imaging, neurological checks, and an ultrasound.
I had a concussion, bruised ribs, a badly swollen hip, and no spinal fracture.
The baby remained alive.
The ultrasound did not show a large placental separation, but Dr. Morris warned that small abruptions could be difficult to see. Tightening continued across my abdomen every eight to ten minutes.
I was admitted for at least twenty-four hours.
Jake sat beside the bed with an ice pack pressed against his bruised knuckles.
A hospital security officer remained outside because police had instructed all parties not to contact one another.
“Did you hear what Dad said?” I asked.
Jake looked at me.
“You pushed her before she signed.”
“Yes.”
“What did he mean?”
I stared toward the dark window.
Before dinner, my father had taken me upstairs to his office. A thick envelope waited on the desk.
He called it a family restructuring package.
I read only two pages before recognizing the legal language was far more complicated than he claimed.
“I told him Naomi needed to review it.”
Naomi Price had handled my mother’s estate and still reviewed any document involving Miller Ridge Holdings, the family business.
“What were the papers about?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know completely.”
“Did you take photographs?”
“My phone was downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Dad said dinner was private.”
Jake looked down.
We had both accepted too many small instructions from my father because arguing with him made every gathering unbearable.
Detective Aaron Hayes arrived near midnight.
He interviewed me without Jake present.
I described the push, the railing moving, my father’s laughter, and the sentence I heard before the paramedics entered.
“Was anyone recording?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Any cameras in the home?”
“My father has exterior cameras. I’ve never seen one near the staircase.”
“Were you asked to sign under threat?”
“Not directly.”
“Why did you leave the office?”
“I said my lawyer would call Monday. Dad told Ryan to bring me back.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“‘Don’t let her walk away from this again.’”
Detective Hayes wrote the words down without assigning meaning.
Ryan claimed he placed his hands out to stop me after I stumbled.
My father claimed I became emotional over harmless paperwork and ran toward the stairs.
Jake stated he saw Ryan drive both hands into my back.
The stories did not align.
By morning, police arrested Ryan on suspicion of aggravated battery against a pregnant victim. He was later released after a bond hearing with orders to stay away from me.
Jake received a citation and court date for striking Ryan. The prosecutor would decide whether additional charges were warranted.
My father was not arrested.
He had not touched me.
The sentence I heard was troubling, not yet enough to prove conspiracy.
Naomi arrived carrying a laptop and a legal pad.
She looked at my swollen face, then at the fetal monitor.
“I want the papers your father showed you.”
“They’re at his house.”
“Not anymore.”
She turned the laptop toward me.
A copy had been emailed to her office at 6:12 that morning by Miller Ridge’s corporate attorney.
The message congratulated me on approving the company’s proposed transaction.
May you like
At the bottom of the final page was my electronic signature.
The timestamp showed I had signed while unconscious in the ambulance.
