Chapter 5 - THE LETTER HIDDEN IN THE WHEELCHAIR
The following week, Desmond began rehabilitation.
He hated it.
He complained about every exercise.
He accused the physical therapist of enjoying his suffering.
And he threatened to fire the entire rehabilitation team twice.
But he kept showing up.
His therapist, Dr. Amelia Rhodes, was patient and stubborn.
She worked with him on transfers, upper-body strength, wheelchair mobility, and safe positioning.
I coordinated his medication schedule and monitored his skin.
Gradually, the pressure sore improved.
His sleep became more regular.
His mood remained terrible.
But he laughed more often.
One afternoon, while I was cleaning his wheelchair cushion, I found something unusual.
A small envelope tucked beneath the removable support.
It was sealed.
No name.
No address.
Only a handwritten message.
FOR DESMOND. WHEN HE'S READY TO KNOW THE TRUTH.
I stared.
Then called him.
"Desmond?"
He rolled into the room.
"What?"
I held up the envelope.
"Found this under your cushion."
His expression changed.
"Where?"
I showed him.
He took it carefully.
Inside was a letter.
Written in familiar handwriting.
Patrick's.
Desmond read silently.
Then his face went pale.
"What is it?" I asked.
He looked up.
"My brother knew about the bomb."
I stared.
He continued.
"Before it happened."
The letter explained that Patrick had been secretly investigating financial transfers connected to Victoria Sterling and a company called Northlake Development.
He believed someone was preparing to remove Desmond from power.
Patrick tried to warn him.
But the message never reached him.
Desmond read the final paragraph aloud.
"If anything happens to you, don't trust the people who tell you you're helpless. The person who controls your care may control your future."
I felt cold.
"That's a strange thing to write."
Desmond nodded.
Then he looked at the wheelchair.
"Who installed this cushion?"
I frowned.
"I don't know."
He called Frankie.
The answer came twenty minutes later.
The cushion had been delivered by a medical equipment supplier.
Paid for by Victoria Sterling.
Desmond stared at the receipt.
Then looked at me.
"Claire."
"Yes?"
"Check every piece of equipment in this room."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
May you like
His expression hardened.
"Because I don't think the bombing was the end of the plan."
