Chapter 5 - The Dispatcher's Secret
Natalie turned slowly, holding Lily protectively against her heart.
Standing in the doorway was a man in an immaculate white lab coat over surgical scrubs. He had silvering hair, cold blue eyes, and a calm, clinical demeanor that was terrifyingly devoid of empathy. Beside him stood the two paramedics who had taken Natalie from Gordon’s Market.
"Dr. Vance," Natalie read the name on his golden lapel badge.
"Former Chief of Obstetrics at St. Catherine’s," the man corrected with a thin, eerie smile. "When this hospital was shut down due to 'budget cuts,' twelve years ago, a vast network of extremely wealthy, desperate individuals was left without options for private, discreet family additions. We simply created a supply to meet an endless demand."
"You steal babies," Natalie said, her voice shaking with rage. "You kidnap pregnant women and murder them!"
"We provide high-value medical matches," Dr. Vance replied smoothly, stepping into the room. "The world believes St. Catherine’s is an empty, haunted ruin. No one looks for missing mothers inside a ghost building. Your ambulance was routed through a private frequency. Your death will be recorded as a tragic, untraceable complication of an unmonitored home delivery."
"Not tonight," Natalie spat.
Over the phone line, still connected in Natalie’s palm, Claire heard every word. "Natalie! I'm overriding the facility's local radio frequencies through the emergency network! Put me on speaker!"
Natalie hit the speaker button on her phone and held it up.
"Dr. Arthur Vance," Claire’s voice boomed through the phone speaker, ringing sharply against the tiled walls of the nursery. "This is Claire Dawson, Senior Dispatcher with Metro Emergency Services. I have local law enforcement, state police, and federal agents surrounding your sub-basement complex. Every exit route, including your private airfield access, has been completely blocked."
Dr. Vance’s smooth smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "A phone dispatcher cannot stop what has already been put in motion."
"I'm not just a dispatcher, Vance," Claire said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp tone. "Twelve years ago, my sister, Sarah Dawson, was admitted to St. Catherine’s right before it closed. She never came home. They told us she suffered a fatal hemorrhage, but her body was never returned to our family."
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Dr. Vance froze, his eyes narrowing.
"For twelve years, I took this job, waiting for someone to call from that abandoned address," Claire continued, emotion surging in her voice. "I built a trace program specifically designed to flag any signal pinging off the Mercy Avenue cell tower. Natalie was my call. And you are done."
