The discharge process for Elena Sterling took less than twelve minutes.
Not because private hospitals in Manhattan were efficient.
Because Reid Sterling had weaponized efficiency into a personality trait.
By the time Dr. Evans signed the final clearance forms, an entire security convoy was already waiting beneath the underground medical wing. Marcus had cleared three floors of the private parking structure, rerouted press drones away from the hospital airspace, and somehow convinced half of Manhattan that the Sterling family had already left hours ago through a decoy exit.
David had described it quietly as "organized paranoia."
Maya described it more accurately.
"Completely insane."
"You say insane," Reid replied calmly while fastening the tiny buckles of Elena's car seat for the third time, "I say medically responsible."
"You checked those straps six times."
"Five."
"Reid."
"She's small."
