My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands remained steady.

The doors slid open, and the noise hit us immediately.

Dozens of camera flashes went off in rapid succession, momentarily blinding me.

Reporters shouted questions all at once, their voices bouncing off the high marble ceiling of the lobby.

“Mr. Whitmore, is it true your housekeeper took the children?”

“Is Claire Bennett facing criminal charges?”

“Did the board suspend you from your own company, Daniel?”

Hospital security guards in blue uniforms held back the crowd behind a thick velvet rope.

I reached down and took Claire’s hand.

Her fingers were cold, but her grip was tight and reassuring.

We walked toward the microphones set up near the main glass entrance.

The cold winter air from the automatic doors rushed in, smelling of rain and wet asphalt.

I stood behind the central podium and pulled Claire close to my side.

Arthur stood just behind her, his presence calm and professional.

I raised my free hand to quiet the crowd.

The shouting gradually died down to a low, expectant murmur.

The black camera lenses pointed at us like weapons.