Chapter 4 - Therapy at Three
Arya wanted the wedding moved forward.
Too much.
By breakfast the next morning, she had already called the planner.
By noon, she had suggested a date eleven days away.
Eleven.
Not ten.
Not twelve.
Exactly eleven days.
The certification they needed was expected in two weeks.
The timing was no accident.
I didn't know why yet, but I would.
“We could keep it intimate,” Arya said, sitting beside my wheelchair in the sunroom. “Family, close friends. Maybe sixty guests.”
“You wanted four hundred.”
“That was before.”
“Before I got shot?”
Her expression faltered.
“Before everything became complicated.”
I studied her.
Marriage could give Arya additional rights even without the forged trust document.
Spousal privileges.
Inheritance claims.
Hospital decision-making access.
Possibly standing in future guardianship proceedings.
Arthur would know exactly what she was after.
“Eleven days seems fast.”
She touched my face.
It was the first affectionate gesture she had made in weeks.
“I almost lost you.”
If I hadn't known what I knew, I might have believed the emotion in her voice.
Maybe part of her believed it herself.
People rarely saw themselves as villains.
They built explanations.
Arya probably had one.
“I don't want to wait anymore,” she whispered.
I covered her hand with mine.
“Then don't.”
Her eyes searched my face.
For suspicion?
Fear?
I gave her neither.
She kissed my forehead.
“We're going to be happy.”
I smiled.
“You have no idea.”
At 2:50, Arya left for lunch with the wedding planner.
At 2:58, Tessa entered.
At 3:04, Daniel arrived carrying a toolbox.
I stared at it.
“What the hell is that?”
“My disguise.”
“You look like the least convincing electrician in Massachusetts.”
Tessa laughed.
Daniel pointed at her.
“At least someone appreciates commitment.”
We worked for an hour.
My left quadriceps contracted four times.
My right once.
Daniel added electrical stimulation and assisted standing exercises using a support frame.
The first attempt failed.
My blood pressure dropped.
The room tilted.
Tessa immediately lowered me.
“Enough.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“Again.”
Daniel crouched beside me.
“Your body has been horizontal or seated most of the last six months. Standing changes circulation. We build slowly.”
“I don't do slowly.”
“Your spinal cord doesn't care.”
I hated him for being right.
Ten minutes later we tried again.
Tessa stood on my left.
Daniel on my right.
The frame supported most of my weight.
For three seconds, my body was upright.
Not independently.
Not truly standing.
But vertical.
My eyes were level with Tessa's.
She smiled.
Not pity.
Not celebration.
Just quiet pride.
“Welcome back up here.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
I looked away.
“Don't make this emotional.”
“You're the one tearing up.”
“I'm sweating.”
“From your eyes?”
Daniel laughed.
I told them both to shut up.
After therapy, Tessa helped me back into bed.
I was exhausted.
But it was the kind of exhaustion I remembered from before.
Earned.
Physical.
Human.
She adjusted my blanket.
“You did good.”
“Well.”
“What?”
“I did well.”
She stared at me.
“You're correcting my grammar after I helped hold up two hundred pounds of stubborn Italian?”
“I'm one hundred ninety-two.”
“Congratulations.”
She turned away.
I caught her wrist.
The movement surprised both of us.
Not the strength.
The instinct.
For a second, the room went still.
“Thank you,” I said.
Her expression softened.
“You don't have to thank me.”
“I do.”
She pulled her hand free gently.
“Then get better.”
After she left, I called Arthur.
He gave me the marriage answer immediately.
“If you marry her before we challenge the documents, her legal position becomes significantly stronger.”
“How?”
“In several ways. But the biggest concern is a separate spousal trust provision in your existing estate plan.”
I closed my eyes.
“Explain.”
“If you die while married, your spouse receives a temporary controlling interest in certain privately held assets until estate distribution is complete.”
“Temporary meaning?”
“Potentially years.”
“And if I'm alive but declared permanently incapacitated?”
“The forged succession document could transfer control immediately.”
“So marriage protects her on both sides.”
“Yes.”
Alive and helpless.
Or dead.
Arya wins.
The thought sat heavily between us.
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“I want every document connected to my estate reviewed.”
“Already happening.”
“And Pier Seven?”
“I traced Northstar through two holding companies. Dominic owns seventy percent. Arya thirty.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I saw your message.”
“There's more.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“Northstar has an investor.”
“Who?”
“A private lending entity called Marlowe Capital.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You wouldn't have. It's small.”
“So?”
“The lender agreement contains a default clause.”
I waited.
“If Northstar doesn't obtain Pier Seven by the end of this month, Dominic personally owes a sixteen-million-dollar penalty.”
I whistled softly.
“That's motive.”
“For fraud, yes.”
“For more?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Vincent, let the police investigate that.”
“They had six months.”
“They didn't know any of this.”
“Neither did I.”
“We tell them.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if Dominic realizes we're looking, he destroys whatever we haven't found.”
Arthur hated it.
I could hear it.
“You're playing with something dangerous.”
“I've spent six months trapped in a bed while people lied to my face. I'm done waiting for permission.”
“Your father used to say the same thing.”
“And you hated it when he said it too.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
I ended the call.
That evening, something unexpected happened.
My uncle Sal walked into my bedroom.
No warning.
No appointment.
Seventy-two years old, white hair, heavy eyebrows, expensive overcoat.
He looked furious.
“Uncle.”
He shut the door.
Then slapped me.
Not hard.
Hard enough.
“What the hell?”
“You stupid bastard.”
I stared at him.
“Tessa let you in?”
“A girl with more brains than this entire family.”
He pulled a chair close.
“I thought you didn't want to see me.”
“I thought you stopped coming.”
“Arya told me you blamed me for the shooting.”
I felt physically sick.
“What?”
“She said you were angry because I pushed you to attend the Pier Seven meeting that night.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
He looked older than I remembered.
“You're my brother's son. You think I'd disappear because you got hurt?”
I swallowed.
“No.”
“Then why didn't you call?”
“I thought…”
The answer sounded pathetic.
“I thought you couldn't look at me like this.”
He stared at the wheelchair.
Then at me.
“Vincent, when you were eight years old you broke both arms jumping off a roof because Dominic told you he had seen Superman do it.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Sal pointed at me.
“I looked at you then. I can look at you now.”
My eyes burned.
He leaned forward.
“What the hell is happening?”
I told him.
Not everything.
Enough.
By the time I finished, his face had gone pale.
“Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“Arya?”
“Yes.”
He stood and paced.
“I'll kill—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“We're not doing anything stupid.”
“That's rich coming from you.”
“We use lawyers.”
“I hate lawyers.”
“Arthur is helping.”
“I hate him less.”
I almost smiled.
Sal looked toward the door.
“What do you need?”
“Your board vote.”
“You always had it.”
“And information.”
“About?”
“Two doctors.”
He understood immediately.
“The certification.”
“Yes.”
“If they're honest?”
“We protect them.”
“And if they're not?”
“We find out why.”
He nodded.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Pretend we still hate each other.”
Sal grinned slowly.
“That I can do.”
Before leaving, he opened the door and turned.
“You know something, kid?”
“What?”
“If Dominic thinks a wheelchair made you stupid, he's about to have a terrible month.”
After he left, Tessa returned.
“How did it go?”
“He slapped me.”
Her eyes widened.
“And you still like him?”
“That's how my family says hello.”
She shook her head.
“I'm never understanding rich people.”
“It's not a rich-people thing.”
“What is it?”
“Italian uncles.”
At 10:15 that night, Arya entered my room carrying a folder.
“Good news.”
“What?”
“Dr. Keller can come tomorrow.”
I knew the name.
Neurologist.
Highly respected.
“What for?”
“A full evaluation.”
My expression remained blank.
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
She smiled.
“They need updated documentation.”
Insurance.
The easiest lie in medicine.
“What kind of documentation?”
“Just your prognosis.”
There it was.
The certification process had begun.
She kissed my cheek.
“Don't worry. I'll handle everything.”
When she left, I called Tessa.
She answered sleepily.
“Hello?”
“I need you tomorrow.”
“You have me every day.”
“Earlier.”
“What happened?”
“The doctor is coming.”
Silence.
“The certification?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want me to do?”
I looked down at my left leg.
The muscle had moved six times that afternoon.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Exactly.”
I lowered my voice.
“Tomorrow, I'm going to let Arya tell the doctor whatever she wants.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know whether he's part of this.”
“And if he is?”
“Then we learn how far the conspiracy goes.”
I ended the call and stared into the dark room.
For months, I had thought recovery would be the hardest battle of my life.
I was wrong.
May you like
The hardest battle was going to be pretending I wasn't recovering at all.
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