Page 84 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

“Slow down,” I interrupted, my voice ice-cold. “What happened?”

“Amai stabbed Kaisen. In the clinic. In front of everyone. There’s blood everywhere, and the staff is panicking. I don’t know what to do and?—”

“Is Kaisen alive?”

“Yes. Yes, he’s stable for now, but he needs to get to a hospital immediately. He’s lost a lot of blood, and the wound is deep, and I don’t have the equipment here to?—”

“Then call the fucking paramedics yourself,” I said.

“I—what? Mr. Landry, I thought you would?—”

“You thought wrong.” I leaned forward slightly. “You call 911. You tell them there’s been a stabbing. You give them the address. You do your job, Dr. Beaumont.”

“But what about?—”

“And if my son dies,” I continued, my voice dropping to something colder, something that made the air in the car feel thin, “you die. Do you understand me? Not legally. Not through the courts. You will simply cease to exist. Are we clear?”

Silence.

Then, barely a whisper: “Yes. Yes, Mr. Landry.”

“Good. Call the paramedics. Now.”

I hung up.

The silence in the car was absolute.

I looked at my driver in the rearview mirror.

“Dr. Beaumont’s fertility clinic,” I said. “And push this motherfucking car.”

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t need to. He just accelerated, merging into traffic with the kind of aggressive precision that made other drivers honk and swerve.

I sat back in the leather seat and stared out the window at the New Orleans streets blurring past.

My mind was already calculating.

Kaisen stabbed. By Amai. In front of witnesses.

That meant the clinic staff had seen it. That meant there would be police reports. That meant this was no longer a private matter that could be contained.

That meant everything was falling apart.

And the worst part—the part that made my blood run cold in a way Victor’s threats never could—was that I’d orchestrated this.

I’d put both brothers’ sperm in the same surrogate. I’d kept it from Amai. I’d let Kaisen find out and did nothing to stop him from pursuing Truth.

I’d created the conditions for exactly this kind of explosion.

And now my son was bleeding out in a fertility clinic while the other one was probably already running, already calculating his next move.

I picked up the phone and called Bemo. He was one of my connections who had ties to the New Orleans Police department.

“Winston. What can I do for you today?”

“There’s been an incident between my sons at the New Beginnings Fertility Clinic. I need this kept quiet. It’s not a good look for business to have my sons plastered in the newspaper for harming each other. Get someone to the clinic before the staff starts recording statements. I want footage, phones, and names.”