Stepping out of the hospital room was not a weeping, accommodating wife. It was Victoria Sterling.

She looked immaculate, terrifying, and radiated an aura of absolute, crushing authority. She looked like a monarch stepping onto a balcony to oversee a public execution.

The color violently, instantly drained from Mark’s face, leaving his skin the pallor of wet ash. His jaw dropped. The bouquet of cheap daisies slipped slightly in his sweaty grip.

“Victoria…” Mark stammered, pure, unadulterated terror paralyzing his vocal cords. He took a stumbling step backward. “What… what are you doing here? You live in Chicago.”

“I am here to protect my daughter from a parasite,” Victoria said. Her voice didn’t shake. It echoed down the pristine, quiet hospital corridor with lethal, absolute finality.

She reached into her designer handbag. She pulled out a thick, heavy, red-flagged legal folder and dropped it directly onto the polished linoleum floor at his feet. It landed with a loud, definitive smack.