Chapter 2 - THE BABY’S HEARTBEAT
Cole could not simply hover and climb into the back to rescue me.
He was the only pilot.
Instead, he stabilized the helicopter, radioed the charter company, and made a controlled descent toward a private coastal landing area the operator used for emergencies.
I managed to brace one foot against the skid.
The tether was short enough that I remained close to the cabin rather than swinging freely underneath it.
Richard stayed away from me.
Cole made sure of that.
“Back against the bulkhead,” he ordered.
Richard obeyed.
That was almost funny.
For three years, I had watched people rearrange themselves when Richard Hayes spoke.
Employees.
Waiters.
Bankers.
Politicians at fundraisers.
Me.
Now a forty-six-year-old helicopter pilot had told my billionaire husband where to stand, and Richard did it.
When we touched down, ground staff rushed to the aircraft.
Two people helped pull me back through the doorway.
My knees hit the cabin floor.
I curled both arms around my stomach.
“My baby.”
Cole was already calling for medical help.
Richard moved toward me.
I screamed.
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped.
I had never seen him stop because I asked.
Emergency medical personnel arrived from a nearby station.
My blood pressure was high.
My abdomen hurt from the restraint arresting my fall.
There was no bleeding.
That became the only fact I cared about.
At the hospital in Santa Monica, fetal monitoring showed our son’s heart beating normally.
The obstetrician found bruising around my hips and lower ribs but no immediate evidence of placental abruption.
They wanted me observed overnight.
I agreed.
A deputy spoke with me after the medical team cleared the room.
Then with Cole.
Then separately with Richard.
I could see Richard through the narrow window in the hospital door.
His tie was gone.
His suit jacket hung over one arm.
He looked like someone waiting for a delayed flight.
Calm.
Annoyed.
Already rebuilding the story.
Cole’s story was simpler.
He saw Richard put both hands on me.
He saw me go through the open door.
He heard Richard’s statements.
He saw the tether arrest my fall.
The charter company had recorded the radio traffic and retained the aircraft’s operational data.
The installation of my supplemental tether was also logged.
The deputy asked why I had requested it.
That was the question I had been dreading.
“Because I was scared of my husband.”
“How long?”
“Months.”
“What made you afraid?”
I looked toward the hallway.
Then at my stomach.
“Money.”
That sounded absurd.
Richard was worth more than two billion dollars on paper.
Why would a billionaire need my money?
The answer began with my mother.
She founded Northstar Diagnostics in San Diego when I was a teenager.
By the time she died, the company supplied laboratory equipment to hospital systems across the country.
I inherited a large voting stake held through a family trust.
Richard never needed my assets to live.
But over the previous six months, he had become obsessed with combining them.
Joint investment structures.
Shared trusts.
Cross-collateral agreements.
“Estate efficiency.”
His phrase.
Not mine.
Three weeks earlier, he slid a thick folder across our breakfast table.
“Sign these before the baby comes.”
I sent them to my attorney instead.
Richard was furious.
Then he became loving.
Flowers.
Weekend away.
Helicopter ride.
I told the deputy all of it.
When he left, my attorney, Rebecca Lin, called.
I had sent her one message from the ambulance:
HE PUSHED ME. I SURVIVED.
She had been trying to reach me ever since.
“Amelia, listen carefully,” she said. “Did Richard say anything about your property during the flight?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly?”
“You should’ve signed everything over when I asked.”
Rebecca went completely quiet.
Then she said something I did not expect.
“We need to speak to Northstar’s general counsel tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard’s bank called this morning.”
My skin went cold.
“About what?”
“A collateral certification carrying your signature.”
I sat upright despite the pain.
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“I know.”
The fetal monitor continued its steady rhythm beside me.
My son’s heartbeat.
Fast.
Alive.
May you like
Rebecca’s voice became very controlled.
“Then the helicopter may not have been the first thing Richard tried to take from you.”
