My Boss Tried To Bury My Pregnant Wife Alive To Steal My Corporate Empire
My blood ran cold with the thought of the baby being an “asset.” It was a corporate term, meant for things, not people. Not my child. I couldn’t stay in that room forever, waiting. I had to move, and fast.
I heard the door to the utility closet open and close. A moment later, Dr. Hanson, still pale, re-entered Naomi’s room, a small USB drive clutched in her hand.
“It’s all there,” she whispered, handing it to me. “Raw data. Orders. The preeclampsia diagnosis was a lie, of course. Fabricated from a template. Naomi’s vitals were always stable.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said, my voice hoarse. I slipped the drive into my pocket, the cold plastic a small comfort. It was a start.
“Now, you need to go,” she urged, glancing nervously at the door. “My login will be flagged soon. They’ll know someone accessed the system. I won’t be able to cover for you.”
“I’m not leaving without Naomi,” I stated, walking to the bed. I gently stroked Naomi’s hair. “We need to get her out of here. Is there another way?”
Dr. Hanson wrung her hands. “There’s a service elevator at the end of the hall. It bypasses the main security. But it requires a key card with specific clearance. Only Reggie and his closest security detail have it.”
“Figures,” I muttered. Reggie always covered his tracks. “And the baby? Can we stop this induction without harming her?”
She nodded. “I’ve already reduced the dosage on the induction agents since I came back in. It’ll slow things down, give us a little more time. But she needs proper medical care, in a real hospital.”
As if on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. A notification from a corporate gossip blog, “OmniInsider.” The headline blared, “Akintola’s Breakdown: PTSD Haunts Former War Hero Turned Exec?”
My stomach dropped. I clicked on it. The article detailed my past medical leave, vaguely referencing “severe emotional distress” from my combat tours and “instability” that had supposedly worsened since my return. It implied I was prone to paranoia, delusions. It even quoted “anonymous sources” within OmniHealth claiming I was “unfit for duty” and exhibiting “erratic behavior.”
This wasn’t random. This was Reggie.
Dr. Hanson peered over my shoulder, her eyes widening as she read the article. “Oh no,” she breathed. “They’re already doing it.”
“Doing what?” I asked, though I already knew.
“Discrediting you,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Reggie has done this before. When he wants someone out of the picture, he leaks their private information, spins a narrative. He makes them sound unstable, so no one believes anything they say.”
My PTSD treatment records. My most private struggles, weaponized against me. The very program OmniHealth offered for “employee wellness” was now being used as a weapon. Reggie knew my weaknesses, knew my history. He was using it to isolate me, to cut me off from anyone who might listen.
“This is why you couldn’t trust anyone,” I realized, the pieces of his monstrous plan snapping into place. My own mother, my brother, they were already primed to believe I was fragile, distraught. Now this would cement it.
“He wants to make sure that whatever you say about Naomi, about this facility, about this ‘program,’ it’ll be dismissed as the ravings of a man unhinged by grief and trauma,” Dr. Hanson explained, a grim understanding on her face. “He knew you’d come looking. This is his contingency.”
A knot of pure fury tightened in my gut. He wasn’t just trying to kill Naomi or steal my child. He was trying to erase my sanity, my credibility. He was trying to destroy me utterly.
“I need to get her out,” I repeated, a fierce resolve burning through my despair. “Now. Before that smear campaign spreads even further.”
“It’s already spreading,” Dr. Hanson murmured, pointing to my phone. “Look at the comments. People are saying you need help, that you’re a danger to yourself.”
The comments section was a cesspool of false sympathy and outright condemnation. “Poor man, losing his wife like that. He needs therapy, not conspiracy theories.” “Always knew that combat medic was a bit off.” It was a calculated, brutal assault on my reputation, fueled by Reggie’s insidious network.
“There has to be another way out,” I pressed, my mind racing through every detail of the building I’d observed. The “retreat” was deliberately isolated, designed to keep people *in*, not out.
“The service elevator is our best bet,” Dr. Hanson insisted. “But without that key card… the main exit is covered by multiple cameras and security personnel. He knows you’re here. He expects you to make a move.”
My ears picked up a faint, distant alarm. A soft, almost imperceptible chime.
“What’s that?” I asked, my head snapping up.
Dr. Hanson’s eyes widened in panic. “My login. It’s been flagged. They know someone was in the system. Security will be here any minute.”
“Damn it!” I cursed under my breath. “Okay. Naomi first.”
I moved quickly to the bed, checking the IV line, then the monitor. The induction agents were still running, albeit at a reduced rate. I couldn’t risk pulling out the IV and causing a bleed. I needed a plan.
“Is there an emergency medical kit?” I asked Dr. Hanson. “Anything with basic supplies?”
She pointed to a cabinet. “Yes, but what good will that do? We can’t perform an emergency delivery here.”
“I know that,” I snapped. “But I can’t leave her. I need to stabilize her for transport. And I need to buy us time.”
I opened the cabinet. A small bag, like a paramedic’s kit. I grabbed it. Inside were scissors, gauze, a few basic medications. Nothing that would stop this nightmare, but enough to manage an immediate crisis.
I heard the distinct sound of heavy boots in the corridor. Approaching fast.
“You need to hide,” Dr. Hanson whispered, her voice trembling. “They’ll find you. And then they’ll confirm everything they’re saying about you.”
“I’m not hiding,” I retorted. “I’m fighting. Go. Get out of here. If they catch you helping me, you’re done. But if you can, find a way to contact someone outside. A lawyer. Anyone. Tell them what’s happening.”
She hesitated, then nodded, a tear tracing a path down her pale cheek. “I’ll try, Mr. Akintola. Be careful.” She slipped out of the room, blending back into the sterile halls.
The footsteps stopped right outside Naomi’s door. I heard the faint click of a keycard. Then the door burst open.
It was Thorne, the security chief, flanked by two other burly guards. His eyes, cold and hard, fixed on me.
“Akintola,” he snarled, stepping into the room. “We knew you’d show up eventually. Causing trouble, just like they said you would.”
“They?” I challenged, my hands instinctively going to my pockets, where the USB drive and my recording watch lay hidden. “You mean Reggie Monroe?”
Thorne laughed, a humorless sound. “Reggie’s a very busy man. He doesn’t have time for a former grunt who’s lost his mind. You’re a security risk, Mr. Akintola. A danger to yourself and others.”
“I’m a danger to Reggie Monroe’s lies,” I countered, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “He’s got my wife drugged, undergoing forced labor, trying to steal my child.”
Thorne’s expression didn’t change. “Your wife is receiving specialized care. You’re delusional. You need to come with us, voluntarily, or we’ll be forced to restrain you.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Naomi,” I stated, taking a protective stance in front of her bed.
“Don’t make this difficult, Akintola,” one of the other guards warned, stepping forward.
My eyes darted around the room. Three of them. All bigger than me, all trained. But I had my military training too. I also had a desperation they couldn’t possibly understand.
“What’s the plan, Thorne?” I pressed, trying to buy time, to gather information. “Take me away, declare me insane, and then what? Naomi dies, my baby becomes Reggie’s property?”
“Your ‘baby’ is an asset,” Thorne repeated, mirroring Dr. Hanson’s chilling words. “A valuable one. And you, Mr. Akintola, are no longer a viable parent. Your mental state is a liability.”
The security chief signaled his men. They began to advance.
“Stop!” I yelled, my voice echoing in the small room. “If you touch me, if you harm Naomi, I promise you, I will make your lives a living hell.”
Thorne scoffed. “You’re just proving our point, Akintola. Aggressive. Unstable. You’ll be back in a padded room before morning.”
He lunged first, a blur of motion. My combat medic training wasn’t just about saving lives; it was about protecting myself, about neutralizing threats. I ducked under his swing, came up with an elbow to his jaw. He grunted, stumbling back.
The other two guards moved in, flanking me. I moved fast, using the bed as a barrier, pulling the small bedside table into the path of one guard. It crashed, scattering medical instruments. The alarm bells in the facility grew louder now, no longer a faint chime but an insistent ringing.
This was it. No more hiding. No more quiet infiltration. It was a fight.
I grabbed a metal pole from the IV stand, ripping it from its base. It felt light in my hands, a familiar extension of my will. I swung it in a wide arc, keeping the guards at bay, protecting Naomi behind me.
“Back off!” I yelled, my voice raw. “I’m not letting you near her!”
Thorne recovered quickly, his jaw clenched. “He’s gone feral! Take him down!”
The guards charged again, a coordinated assault. I blocked a punch with the pole, then used the momentum to shove another guard back. The room became a whirlwind of motion, grunts, and the clang of metal against muscle. My training, honed in the deserts of Afghanistan, was now being tested in a lavish corporate wellness room, fighting for my family.
I needed to incapacitate them, but I couldn’t risk making too much noise that would draw more attention, more guards. Every second counted. Every second, Naomi’s contractions continued, forcing my child closer to a premature, stolen birth.
One guard tried to flank me, moving towards Naomi’s head. I twisted, swinging the IV pole low, catching him behind the knee. He cried out, collapsing. Two down.
Thorne, however, was a different story. He was larger, slower, but incredibly strong and relentless. He grabbed the end of the pole, twisting it out of my hands. We wrestled for it, muscles straining.
“You’re pathetic, Akintola,” he growled, sweat beading on his forehead. “You can’t fight an entire corporation.”
“Maybe not,” I retorted, planting my foot firmly. “But I can fight you. And I can fight for my family.”
I let go of the pole suddenly, using his momentum against him. He staggered back, off balance. I seized the opportunity, lunging forward, delivering a quick succession of blows to his midsection, gut punches that would leave him winded.
He doubled over, wheezing. I didn’t stop. I needed them out of commission. I slammed my knee into his face. He collapsed, his head hitting the soft rug with a thud.
I stood over him, breathing heavily, the adrenaline fading to a trembling exhaustion. The other two guards were stirring, groaning. I didn’t have much time.
I ran to Naomi’s side, checking the monitors. The contractions were still there, still rhythmic, but perhaps a little less intense thanks to Dr. Hanson. I leaned over her, brushing her hair back.
“I need to get you out, Naomi,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”
I had the data. I had slowed the induction. But I was still trapped. The smear campaign was already live. Reggie was playing dirty, and I was just beginning to understand how deep his treachery ran. I had to find a way out, not just for us, but for the truth.
I pulled out the USB drive, holding it tightly in my hand. This was my evidence. This was my leverage. This was the key to unlocking Reggie Monroe’s empire of lies. But first, I had to save my family.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours