Chapter 3 - THE UNCLE WHO NEEDED ME FINISHED
Victor arrived before dinner.
I did not tell him why.
He walked into my study wearing a charcoal suit and the expression of a man expecting business.
“Dominic.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
I placed the report between us.
His eyes dropped.
Nothing happened.
Too controlled.
“You saw this?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“Try again.”
He sighed.
“I receive hundreds of medical documents.”
“My paralysis report probably deserved a folder.”
His jaw tightened.
“What's this about?”
I pushed another page toward him.
Electronic receipt.
Opened from his corporate account at 9:14 the morning it was sent.
Victor's face changed.
“You accessed my email?”
“I accessed company archives through counsel.”
Different.
Legal.
Annoyingly slower than my old methods.
Worth it.
Victor leaned back.
“What do you think I did?”
“I haven't decided.”
That frightened him more than an accusation.
“I followed Hale's recommendation.”
“Hale recommended rehabilitation.”
“He also said expectations should be controlled.”
“By hiding information?”
Victor stood.
“You were impossible after the attack.”
I stared.
“You broke furniture.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened doctors.”
“Yes.”
“You nearly fired half the company.”
“Probably.”
“You were destroying yourself.”
“And you decided hopelessness would be healthier?”
Silence.
He looked away.
“I thought accepting reality would stabilize you.”
“Whose reality?”
No answer.
Then I asked:
“Why are seventeen percent of Carter Logistics voting rights temporarily delegated to you?”
Victor froze.
There.
Carmine had found that too.
After the attack, while I was heavily medicated, I signed an emergency operations proxy.
Ninety days.
It had been renewed twice.
Second renewal:
My signature.
Except I did not remember signing it.
Third renewal:
Electronic authorization through the family office.
Victor.
“Temporary.”
He said it too quickly.
“Six months.”
“You couldn't run operations.”
“I can read.”
“You barely left this house.”
“My legs stopped working.”
I leaned forward.
“My brain did not.”
Victor's expression hardened.
“You needed me.”
“Yes.”
That was true.
“And perhaps you became too comfortable with that.”
Silence.
I watched him carefully.
Then:
“Did you cause the attack?”
His face went white.
Real fear.
“No.”
I believed he had expected many questions.
Not that one.
“Get out.”
“Dominic.”
“Get out.”
He left.
Faith entered five minutes later carrying dinner.
“You look murderous.”
“Insightful.”
“Eat before committing crimes.”
I stared.
She set the tray down.
I almost told her everything.
Didn't.
Then caught myself.
Old habit.
Secrecy as protection.
“What?”
Faith asked.
I exhaled.
“My uncle concealed my medical report.”
Her expression changed.
“And?”
“He holds company authority I apparently renewed while heavily medicated.”
“Do you remember?”
“No.”
“Then don't assume.”
I looked at her.
“Are you defending him?”
“No.”
She set down my fork.
May you like
“I'm defending evidence.”
That sentence became useful sooner than either of us knew.
