Chapter 12 - THE LETTER THAT COULD HAVE SAVED ME
The warning letter was found in an archived correspondence folder at Carter Holdings.
It had been received three days before my attack.
Stamped.
Logged.
Then marked as reviewed.
By Carmine.
I stared at the paper.
My hands trembled.
Daniel Willis had tried to warn me.
He'd risked his life to stop Victor Blackwood.
And the letter had never reached my desk.
I looked toward Carmine.
His face was pale.
"Why?"
He closed his eyes.
"Victor told me the letter was from a disgruntled employee."
I stared.
"And you believed him?"
Carmine nodded.
"I was wrong."
I felt anger rise.
"Wrong?"
My voice cracked.
"Carmine, I lost the ability to walk."
He lowered his head.
"I know."
"People died in that attack."
"I know."
I gripped the wheelchair arms.
"And you ignored the warning."
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Carmine whispered, "I wish I could change it."
I looked away.
So did I.
But regret wasn't enough.
Not anymore.
Carmine agreed to provide a full statement to investigators.
He accepted responsibility for his failures and resigned from his position.
Our friendship would never be the same.
Perhaps it could never be repaired.
But I no longer believed loyalty meant protecting someone from consequences.
Sometimes loyalty meant telling the truth, even when the truth destroyed a friendship.
Over the following weeks, the investigation into Victor Blackwood expanded.
Financial records connected his companies to questionable medical billing.
Research documents showed discrepancies in safety reporting.
Witnesses described pressure to conceal complications.
And investigators uncovered evidence that the security failures surrounding my attack had been deliberately arranged.
Victor was arrested.
His attorneys denied the allegations.
But the evidence continued accumulating.
Faith attended the first court hearing.
She wore a simple blue dress.
Her hair was pulled into a neat bun.
She looked nervous.
But when the judge entered, she sat straighter.
I sat beside her.
"Are you okay?"
She took a slow breath.
"No."
I smiled faintly.
"Fair answer."
She looked at me.
"Are you?"
I shook my head.
"Not even close."
For some reason, we both laughed.
Then she reached for my hand.
I let her take it.
The gesture was small.
But it meant more than anything.
For months, I'd refused to let people touch me because I hated feeling helpless.
Now I understood that accepting comfort didn't make me weak.
After the hearing, Faith looked toward the courthouse steps.
"Dominic?"
"Yes?"
"I want to start something."
I smiled.
"That sounds dangerous."
She laughed.
"A foundation."
I looked up.
"What kind?"
"One that helps people who can't afford proper rehabilitation."
My chest tightened.
"And?"
"One that funds independent research so nobody gets pressured into unsafe treatment."
I nodded slowly.
"That's a good idea."
She smiled.
"I'd call it the Daniel Willis Foundation."
I looked at her.
"Then let's make it happen."
Her eyes filled.
"Really?"
"Really."
Then Richard approached.
He was carrying an envelope.
"Dominic, the independent medical team has completed your latest evaluation."
My heart hammered.
"What did they find?"
Richard smiled cautiously.
"They've documented voluntary muscle activation below your injury."
I stopped breathing.
"Meaning?"
He looked toward my neurologist.
The doctor spoke carefully.
"It means there's measurable function we didn't identify in your original assessment."
I stared.
"Could I stand?"
The doctor nodded.
"With proper rehabilitation and support, that's a possibility we'll evaluate."
May you like
For the first time since the accident, hope didn't feel like a cruel joke.
It felt like a door opening.
