Chapter 5 - The Crisis PointWilla’s tiny face had turned an alarming shade of pale gray, her little chest heaving in short, shallow gasps that sounded like tearing paper.
“Harrison, what’s happening?!” Sloan screamed, dropping to her knees beside the bassinet, her hands hovering helplessly over the baby.
“Her oxygen saturation is dropping—down to eighty-two percent!” Harrison yelled, his fingers flying across the monitoring keyboard as he slammed the emergency override switch to summon the resident pediatric critical care team. “The metabolic cascade is triggering earlier than expected. Her lungs are struggling to process cellular exchange.”
My vision tunneled. For the first time in my life, all the money, all the power, all the corporate leverage I possessed was completely, utterly useless. I couldn't buy a breath for my daughter. I couldn't negotiate with biology.
“Do whatever it takes!” I roared, gripping the edge of the metal cart so hard the wheels squeaked. “Use experimental protocols! Use whatever drugs are in the clinical pipeline! Save her!”
“I need an emergency intubation kit and the pediatric synthetic surfactant!” Harrison barked at the head nurse who sprinted into the room with two assistants behind her.
Sloan was sobbing now, her hands buried in her face as she rocked back and forth on the hardwood floor. I dropped down beside her, ignoring my own terror, wrapping my arms around her trembling shoulders and pulling her hard against my chest.
“She’s going to be okay,” I lied, my own voice cracking with panic as I stared at the tiny, struggling infant across the room. “Sloan, look at me. She’s a fighter. She has your stubbornness.”
“She’s four weeks old, Vincent!” Sloan wept into my collarbone. “She’s too small for this! Please... please don’t let her die!”
Across the room, Harrison and the lead critical care physician worked with terrifying precision. A tiny, translucent breathing tube was guided down Willa’s throat. For five agonizing seconds, the room was suspended in absolute, vacuum-sealed silence.
Then, the monitor emitted a long, steady electronic chirp.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Oxygen saturation climbing: 88%... 92%... 96%.
Color slowly began to return to Willa’s tiny cheeks as her chest rose and fell in a steady, assisted rhythm.
Harrison exhaled a massive breath of relief, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “She’s stabilized. We caught it right at the threshold. But... this confirms it. We can’t wait until tomorrow for the stem cell vector harvesting. Her system is rejecting the baseline metabolic output faster than anticipated.”
I gently helped Sloan to her feet, keeping one arm securely around her waist to steady her. I looked at Harrison with absolute, unwavering resolve.
“Then we do it now,” I said.
Harrison stared at me. “Vincent, the sterile surgical suite won't be fully prepped until midnight.”
“Move the prep time up,” I ordered, my voice cutting through the remaining tension in the room like a scalpel. “Use my personal study. Convert it. Bring the mobile harvesting unit up from the basement lab. I don’t care about protocol. I care about my daughter.”
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Harrison looked at Sloan for approval. Sloan, wiping tears from her cheeks, nodded slowly, her green eyes locking onto mine with fierce, unyielding trust.
“Do it,” she whispered.
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