Chapter 2 - THE REPORT THAT DIDN'T EXIST
Dr. Evelyn Chen arrived two days later.
University-trained rehabilitation neurologist.
No connection to my family.
No financial relationship with Carter Holdings.
No fear of me whatsoever.
Apparently Faith had started a trend.
Dr. Chen reviewed my imaging for three hours.
Then asked:
“Where is your six-week evoked-potential study?”
I stared.
“My what?”
She turned the screen.
“This note references follow-up neurophysiology.”
Carmine leaned forward.
The line was small.
Partial conduction preserved. Repeat assessment recommended in 4–6 weeks.
I read it twice.
Then:
“Partial conduction?”
Dr. Chen remained careful.
“This note suggests the treating neurologist saw signals worth reassessing.”
“Did they?”
“I don't have the report.”
“Hale said my injury was complete.”
“That may still have been his final clinical conclusion.”
May.
Not was.
I hated careful language.
It was also the reason I trusted her.
“What do you need?”
“New studies.”
We did them.
Electrical testing.
Imaging.
Strength assessment.
Sensory mapping.
Hours of humiliation disguised as medicine.
Then Dr. Chen sat across from me.
“Your injury is incomplete.”
I stared.
Faith was in the corner.
Carmine beside the door.
Nobody spoke.
“What does that mean?”
“You have surviving pathways.”
“Can I walk?”
“I don't know.”
My jaw tightened.
“That's not useful.”
“It is honest.”
She continued.
“You have significant muscle wasting.”
“Contracture beginning in the left ankle.”
“Neuropathic pain.”
“Spasticity.”
“None of those guarantee functional walking.”
I looked at my legs.
“But?”
“But you should have been evaluated for intensive rehabilitation months ago.”
Silence.
“Why wasn't I?”
“I cannot answer that.”
I looked toward Carmine.
He understood.
Find out.
Faith did not celebrate.
Thank God.
When everyone left except her, I said:
“You expected this.”
“No.”
“You questioned Hale.”
“I questioned certainty.”
“Difference?”
“Big one.”
She collected my water glass.
“Pain isn't proof you'll walk.”
I looked at her.
“But it is information.”
She held my gaze.
“Stop throwing information away because you're afraid of hoping.”
I almost fired her.
Instead:
“Where did you learn this?”
Her hands stopped.
“My mother had multiple sclerosis.”
I had not known.
“I was in nursing school.”
“Was?”
“She got worse.”
Faith looked toward the window.
“I left.”
“How long ago?”
“Three years.”
“Your mother?”
“Died eighteen months ago.”
Something in her voice closed the subject.
I let it.
That night, Carmine returned.
He carried a folder.
“We found the missing study.”
My pulse changed.
“Where?”
“Not in your hospital record.”
“Then?”
“In archived insurance correspondence.”
He placed it on my desk.
The report clearly stated:
Incomplete thoracic spinal cord injury. Preserved motor conduction on right. Candidate for aggressive rehabilitation assessment upon medical stabilization.
Signed.
Dated.
Six months earlier.
I looked at the distribution list.
Dr. Marcus Hale.
Carter family office.
Insurance administrator.
And one more recipient.
Victor Carter.
May you like
My father's younger brother.
The man who had been running half my companies since the attack.
