The heavy oak doors of the grand ballroom slammed open, echoing through the massive luxury estate.
Arthur: Where is the medical team?
Charles: They are delayed at the front gate, sir.
Arthur: Break the gate down! I don't care what it costs!
Charles: Right away, Mr. Sterling.
Arthur adjusted his black tuxedo, his hands trembling wildly.
Arthur: Just hold on, Eleanor. Please.
Eleanor: It hurts, Arthur. It hurts so much.
Arthur: I know, baby. I know.
Eleanor gripped the armrests of her wheelchair, her knuckles turning completely white.
Arthur: The private jet is waiting on the tarmac. We are going to New York.
Eleanor: I don't think I can make it to New York.
Arthur: Don't say that. Dr. Evans is waiting for us.
Eleanor: Something is wrong. The baby...
Arthur: The baby is going to be fine. You are going to be fine.
A sudden clatter came from the hallway, followed by the sound of rapid, heavy footsteps.
Arthur: Who is out there? I said clear the wing!
Maria: Sir, wait! Stop him!
Arthur: What is going on?
A young boy skidded into the brightly lit ballroom, his dirty overalls completely out of place against the pristine white walls.
Arthur: Who are you?
Leo: I heard crying.
Arthur: Get out of here! Security!
Leo: She needs help.
Arthur: Stay away from my wife! We're taking her to NYC!
Arthur stepped frantically in front of the wheelchair, shielding Eleanor from the strange child.
Leo: You won't make it to the city.
Arthur: I said get back!
Leo: She doesn't have that much time.
Eleanor let out another sharp, agonizing gasp, her head falling back against the leather seat.