Chapter 3
Claire arrived the next afternoon.
She walked into my mansion wearing a black coat and carrying one suitcase.
The moment she saw me, she dropped it.
Then she ran toward me.
“Dad.”
I barely had time to move before she wrapped her arms around my shoulders.
I hugged her back.
Hard.
For several seconds, I wasn't a billionaire.
I wasn't a company chairman.
I wasn't a man investigating an attempted takeover.
I was just her father.
She pulled away and stared at me.
“You look terrible.”
“Good to see you too.”
“I mean tired.”
“Better.”
Then she noticed Maya.
Maya stood respectfully near the doorway.
Claire looked between us.
“You're Maya?”
“Yes.”
Claire crossed the room and hugged her.
Maya looked startled.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For staying.”
Maya glanced at me.
I looked away.
Claire had always been direct.
She spent the next hour reading everything Daniel had collected.
The camera footage.
The hidden transfers.
The forged authorizations.
The medication report.
The new questions surrounding my crash.
Her expression became colder with every page.
Finally, she looked up.
“I want Vanessa nowhere near you.”
“She isn't.”
“Ever.”
“I understand.”
“No, Dad.”
Claire's voice shook.
“You don't.”
I stared at her.
She stood.
“When Mom died, you disappeared into work.”
My chest tightened.
Claire's mother, Elise, died from cancer when Claire was fifteen.
I never remarried.
Vanessa was the first serious relationship I had allowed myself afterward.
Claire continued.
“You trusted Vanessa because she made the house feel less empty.”
“That isn't fair.”
“It is.”
I almost snapped.
Then I stopped.
Because she was right.
Vanessa arrived at a time when success had become silent.
My company grew.
My daughter moved away.
My mansion became a place filled with employees instead of family.
Vanessa filled rooms with parties.
Music.
People.
Attention.
Maybe I had mistaken noise for love.
Claire softened.
“I don't care about the company.”
“You should.”
“I care about you.”
My throat tightened.
She looked at the wheelchair.
“And whoever did this to you needs to answer for it.”
I nodded.
“We're working on that.”
She sat beside me.
“No more keeping me outside.”
I almost argued.
Then I remembered what secrecy had already cost us.
“Alright.”
Her eyebrow rose.
“That's suspiciously easy.”
“Don't get used to it.”
Later that day, investigators interviewed Claire.
Then they interviewed former employees.
One name kept appearing.
Paul Kent.
My former security director.
A housekeeper remembered seeing him near the bedroom during hours when no maintenance had been scheduled.
A driver remembered Paul borrowing keys to my car shortly before the crash.
Paul denied everything.
Then he disappeared.
That evening, Daniel entered my office.
“Paul's gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“His apartment is empty.”
I stared at him.
“Second person to run.”
“Yes.”
“Find him.”
“The police are.”
I hated waiting.
Power had trained me to believe every problem could be solved faster with resources.
Investigations didn't work that way.
Neither did healing.
My doctors reminded me of that the following morning.
Dr. Patel examined my legs.
“Your spinal injury remains incomplete.”
I knew what that meant.
Possibility.
Not promise.
“Any change?”
“Small neurological responses.”
My pulse quickened.
“What kind?”
“Too early.”
I hated those words.
“Could I walk again?”
Dr. Patel paused.
“Possibly.”
Claire grabbed my hand.
I looked at him.
“What does possibly mean?”
“It means rehabilitation remains worth pursuing.”
For the first time in weeks, hope entered the room.
I almost rejected it.
Hope had become dangerous.
I couldn't control it.
Maya noticed my expression.
After the doctor left, she said, “You don't look happy.”
“I don't trust maybe.”
“Maybe isn't a guarantee.”
“Exactly.”
“It isn't nothing either.”
I looked at her.
She had a way of saying simple things that annoyed me because they were usually true.
Therapy became harder after that.
Before, I exercised because doctors told me maintaining strength mattered.
Now every movement carried possibility.
That made failure hurt more.
I tried lifting my right foot.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Again.
My hands shook.
“I said again.”
The therapist hesitated.
“You've done enough today.”
“I decide when it's enough.”
“Mr. Cole—”
“Again.”
Maya stepped forward.
“Stop.”
Everyone stared.
Nobody told me to stop.
“Excuse me?”
“You're exhausted.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're angry.”
“Yes.”
“That won't make your nerves heal faster.”
I glared at her.
“Leave.”
The therapist looked uncomfortable.
Maya didn't move.
“I said leave.”
“No.”
That shocked even me.
“You work for me.”
“Yes.”
“Then follow instructions.”
“My job is to help you.”
“I don't need a lecture.”
“You're trying to punish your body because other people betrayed you.”
The room went silent.
My face burned.
“Get out.”
This time she did.
The moment the door closed, I regretted it.
I finished therapy badly.
An hour later, I found Maya in the kitchen preparing my medication.
“I was rude.”
She didn't look up.
“Yes.”
I waited.
That was apparently all she planned to say.
“I apologize.”
Now she looked at me.
“Accepted.”
“You could pretend it was difficult.”
“I have work to do.”
I almost laughed.
Then the front doors opened.
Claire rushed in.
“Dad.”
Her face was pale.
“What happened?”
“They found Paul.”
I straightened.
“Where?”
“In Ohio.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“He was arrested trying to cross into Canada.”
Daniel entered behind her.
He held an evidence bag.
Inside was a phone.
“Police recovered this from him.”
“What is it?”
“Messages.”
My stomach tightened.
“From Vanessa?”
“Some.”
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
Daniel placed printed pages on the table.
The first message was from Richard.
MAKE SURE THE VEHICLE IS READY.
Paul replied:
IT WILL LOOK LIKE FAILURE.
My hands went cold.
The next message was dated after my accident.
Vanessa:
HE SURVIVED.
Richard:
DOESN'T MATTER. HE CAN'T WALK.
Claire made a sound beside me.
I couldn't look at her.
Then I saw the final message.
Sent three weeks earlier.
Vanessa:
KEEP HIM SEDATED UNTIL THE BOARD VOTE.
I stared at the page.
My accident.
My medication.
The cameras.
None of it was separate.
They hadn't simply taken advantage of my injury.
They had created it.
I lifted my eyes toward Daniel.
“Tell the prosecutor I want every charge available.”
My voice was calm.
Too calm.
Then Claire knelt beside my chair.
“Dad.”
I looked at her.
She had tears running down her face.
And suddenly my anger disappeared beneath something heavier.
I could have died.
My daughter could have lost me because people I trusted wanted my company.
I touched her cheek.
“I'm still here.”
She nodded.
“So stay.”
May you like
I held her hand.
“I intend to.”
