Chapter 2 - The Man Who Wasn’t Paralyzed
I barely slept.
My private quarters were on the second floor, two doors down from Richard’s suite, and every sound seemed magnified after midnight.
Pipes settling.
Wind against the windows.
A distant door shutting.
The hum of the mansion’s heating system.
At 1:17 a.m., somebody walked past my door.
At 2:43, it happened again.
At 4:10, I finally stopped pretending I would rest.
I sat by the window staring over Lake Michigan and asked myself the question any reasonable person would have asked.
Why am I still here?
The answer embarrassed me.
Money mattered.
Six thousand dollars a month mattered when your marriage had just ended and half your adult life had been spent supporting other people.
But money wasn’t the only reason.
There had been something in Richard’s expression when he lifted his foot.
Fear.
Not weakness.
Not paranoia.
Fear.
I recognized it because I had seen it once before in my father.
Several weeks after his stroke, my father had been unable to call for help when a rehabilitation aide handled him roughly. He had waited until we were alone before trying to tell me.
People imagined vulnerability made someone simple.
It didn’t.
It made other people dangerous.
At seven, I entered Richard’s suite.
He was awake.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
He looked toward the hallway until I closed the door.
“Did anyone bother you?”
“Someone walked past my room twice.”
“That happens.”
“Does it?”
“No.”
I folded my arms.
“Then don’t say it does.”
For the first time, Richard smiled.
It was brief.
“You’re not easily intimidated.”
“I spent twelve years married into the Torres family.”
He almost laughed.
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
“It means your brother needs to work harder.”
The smile disappeared.
“Don’t underestimate Ethan.”
“I’m not.”
I checked Richard’s medication organizer.
Morning tablets had already been placed inside.
“Who prepared these?”
“Chloe.”
I stared at him.
“You let your sister-in-law manage your medicine?”
“She volunteered after the accident.”
“Where’s the nurse?”
“Gone.”
“Physical therapist?”
“Three times weekly. Never alone with me.”
“Why?”
“Chloe sits in.”
I picked up one tablet.
“You’re not taking anything until I verify the medication list.”
“You’re officially my caregiver, Maya, not my physician.”
“And caregivers are supposed to confirm the medication record.”
He watched me.
“You’re good.”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Your father.”
I nodded.
“My father couldn’t always speak clearly after his stroke. That taught me not to accept other people’s interpretations of what a patient wants.”
Richard’s gaze shifted.
“That’s probably why I chose you.”
“Eleanor said the agency chose me.”
“I rejected four people before you.”
“Why?”
“One talked exclusively to Ethan. Another called me ‘buddy.’”
I laughed despite myself.
“And the other two?”
“They treated the wheelchair like it had become my personality.”
That sounded exactly like my father.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
Richard became serious.
“For now? Watch.”
“Watch what?”
“Everything.”
“That’s vague.”
“It needs to be.”
“No. If you’re asking me to participate in something dangerous, vague isn’t enough.”
He considered me.
Then he spoke.
“Eight months ago, I left our corporate headquarters at approximately eleven forty at night. I had been reviewing accounting discrepancies.”
“What kind?”
“Vendor payments.”
“To whom?”
“Several shell distributors connected to a procurement subsidiary.”
“And Ethan?”
“Managed that subsidiary.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
Richard continued.
“I planned to suspend him the following morning pending an investigation.”
“But you crashed first.”
“At twelve nineteen.”
He looked toward the window.
“The car’s brakes failed on Sheridan Road.”
“You think Ethan knew about the investigation.”
“Only three people knew.”
“Who?”
“My chief financial officer, my attorney, and Chloe.”
I stared at him.
“Chloe?”
“She walked into my office while I was discussing it with counsel.”
“And you told her?”
“She heard enough.”
“Did your CFO know?”
“Yes.”
“Where is that person now?”
“Gone.”
“Like the security director?”
“No. Nora Chen officially resigned.”
“Why?”
Richard’s expression hardened.
“Because Ethan accused her of stealing company funds.”
“That seems convenient.”
“It was.”
“And your lawyer?”
“Dead.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
Richard noticed.
“Heart attack,” he added.
“Was it actually a heart attack?”
“As far as I know.”
“That doesn’t exactly help.”
“No.”
I walked toward the window.
“You understand how this sounds?”
“Paranoid?”
“Very.”
“I wish it were.”
I turned.
“Why didn’t you tell the police about the investigation?”
“I did, after regaining consciousness.”
“And?”
“They interviewed Ethan. The company records they requested showed no irregularities.”
“The records disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“What about your car?”
“The insurance company disposed of it after the investigation.”
I stared at him.
“Who authorized that?”
“Ethan.”
Of course.
The pattern was becoming uncomfortable.
Still, suspicion was not proof.
“Tell me about the movement.”
Richard nodded.
“First sensation returned in my right toes about ten weeks ago.”
“You said movement six weeks ago.”
“Sensation first. Then movement.”
“Did you tell anybody?”
“My neurologist.”
“What happened?”
“A new prescription appeared the next day.”
“Which one?”
“Baclofen.”
“That can be normal.”
“Yes.”
“For spasticity.”
“Yes.”
“Did you need it?”
“Not at that dose.”
I looked at the morning pills.
“What happens when you take them?”
“Dizziness. Weakness. Sometimes confusion.”
“And when you don’t?”
“My muscle control improves.”
“That still doesn’t prove tampering.”
“I know.”
“Have you hidden doses?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“Pretended to swallow.”
That was dangerous.
“Richard, medication changes need medical supervision.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then we get an independent doctor.”
“I tried.”
“Then I’ll arrange it.”
He studied me.
“How?”
“My former instructor is married to a rehabilitation physician.”
“You trust them?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I disliked how quickly I had entered his secret.
I disliked even more that I was already planning ways to protect it.
A knock sounded.
I opened the door.
Chloe stood outside holding coffee.
“For Richard.”
“I’ll take it.”
Her smile tightened.
“I usually bring it in.”
“Today I’m here.”
She gave me the cup.
“Black. Two sugars.”
Behind me, Richard said, “One.”
Chloe froze.
“Excuse me?”
“One sugar.”
She laughed.
“You’ve always taken two.”
“No.”
He looked directly at her.
“I haven’t.”
Something flickered across Chloe’s face.
Annoyance.
Not confusion.
“I suppose I remembered wrong.”
She walked away.
I shut the door.
Richard stared at the coffee.
“Don’t drink that.”
He didn’t.
I poured it into the bathroom sink.
At noon, Ethan appeared.
“Maya, could I speak with you?”
We went to the hallway.
“How is my brother?”
“Stable.”
“Any changes?”
“What kind?”
He smiled.
“Movement. Sensation. Anything encouraging.”
My face remained neutral.
“Nothing dramatic.”
His eyes held mine.
“That’s disappointing.”
“Recovery can be unpredictable.”
“Doctors say the damage is permanent.”
“Doctors also avoid absolute guarantees.”
His smile faded fractionally.
“You worked in administration before caregiving?”
“Yes.”
“And then you stayed home?”
“Yes.”
“Divorced recently?”
My chest tightened.
“How do you know?”
“We conduct background checks.”
“That’s more than a background check.”
“Richard requires discretion.”
I stared at him.
“Then perhaps his family should practice some.”
Ethan smiled again.
“You’re sharp.”
“So people keep telling me.”
“You should know Richard can be manipulative.”
The sentence arrived casually.
Too casually.
“He’s had difficulty accepting his condition.”
“That seems understandable.”
“He creates theories.”
“What kind?”
“Conspiracies.”
My expression remained calm.
“Has he accused anyone specifically?”
Ethan watched me carefully.
“No.”
He walked away.
That afternoon, I contacted Denise’s former instructor, who put me in touch with Dr. Samuel Pierce, a rehabilitation specialist willing to make discreet home visits.
We scheduled Saturday at six in the morning.
Two days away.
Richard approved.
But that night, something happened that changed the timeline.
At eleven thirty, while helping Richard transfer from the chair to bed, I noticed a small red mark near his shoulder.
“What’s that?”
“What?”
I touched near it.
“Injection site.”
“I didn’t receive an injection.”
“When was your last one?”
“Three days ago.”
“This is fresh.”
His face changed.
“When?”
I checked his skin.
“Hours. Maybe less.”
“Impossible.”
“Were you asleep today?”
“For about forty minutes after lunch.”
“Who was here?”
“Chloe came in.”
My blood ran cold.
“What did you eat?”
“Soup.”
“Anything else?”
“Water.”
“Coffee?”
“No.”
I opened the medication drawer.
Inside sat two syringes.
One empty.
One sealed.
Neither had a prescription label.
I picked up the empty syringe carefully using tissue.
“What is this?”
Richard stared at it.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
A sound came from the doorway.
I turned.
Ethan was standing there.
He looked at the syringe.
Then at me.
For one terrible moment, no one spoke.
Finally, Ethan smiled.
“Maya.”
His voice was almost friendly.
“You really shouldn’t go through things that don’t belong to you.”
May you like
And behind him, Chloe quietly closed the bedroom door.
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