Chapter 7 - The Journey to Calloway Estate
Within twenty minutes, the quiet, snowy street outside St. Jude’s Parish was transformed into a scene straight out of a medical drama.
Two high-end private medical transport vans, accompanied by a sleek black SUV bearing Calloway Global security insignia, parked right in front of the church doors. Emergency medical technicians in pristine white jackets rushed down the basement stairs with insulated portable incubators, medical kits, and warm woolen blankets.
Grandma June stood near the altar, clutching her worn leather handbag like a shield, watching in absolute bewilderment as paramedics carefully lifted Noah, Sophie, and Miles from the battered stroller into state-of-the-art medical pods.
“Easy, easy now,” one medic instructed gently. “The little guy’s got a bronchial infection, but we’ve got oxygen and IV fluids ready. He’s going to be just fine.”
Harper stayed close to Grant’s side, her small hand cautiously gripping the edge of his expensive wool coat. Grant looked down, noticing her thin sneakers and the holes in the toes. Without a word, he unbuttoned his heavy, cashmere-lined overcoat, slipped it off his shoulders, and wrapped it completely around Harper’s small frame.
The coat swallowed her whole, dragging on the floor like a royal cape, but it instantly radiated the warmth of a furnace.
“Come on, little bird,” Grant said, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
Harper gasped softly, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her face against his shoulder, smelling expensive cologne, melting snow, and cedar wood. For the first time in seven days—since her mother’s hands had grown cold in the hospital bed—the crushing weight on Harper’s chest finally lifted.
“Are you really my daddy?” she whispered softly against his ear as he carried her toward the waiting SUV.
Grant stopped in his tracks. The question hit him harder than any corporate hostile takeover or board room betrayal ever could. He tightened his grip on her, pressing her closer to his chest.
May you like
“Yes, Harper,” Grant said, his voice thick with emotion. “I am. And I am never going to let you, your sister, or your brothers go through a single cold night ever again.”
The convoy of vehicles pulled away from the slums of West Garfield Park, cutting through the swirling blizzard toward the sprawling, secure gates of the Calloway Estate on the North Shore of Chicago.
