Chapter 2 - THE PROCEDURE THEY HID FROM ME
For six months, I'd believed the doctors had done everything possible to help me walk again.
Now my attorney was telling me someone had authorized a secret procedure while I was unconscious.
I stared at the document.
"Who signed it?"
Richard placed another page beside it.
"Your signature was digitally reproduced."
My jaw tightened.
"Who authorized that?"
"We're investigating."
I hated those words.
I controlled warehouses, shipping contracts, and men who would cross Chicago in the middle of the night if I called.
But I couldn't control the one thing that mattered.
My own body.
"What procedure?" I demanded.
Richard opened a medical summary.
"An implanted neuromodulation device was evaluated and reportedly activated during your early treatment."
I stared.
"Implanted?"
He nodded.
"The records suggest a trial intervention intended to influence nerve signaling."
My stomach turned.
"Why wasn't I told?"
"That's what we need to determine."
I looked down at my right leg.
The same leg that had spasmed violently beneath Faith's hands.
"Could that explain the pain?"
"Possibly. We need a qualified specialist to review the records and examine you."
I sat silently.
For six months, I'd been told my condition was stable.
Permanent.
Unlikely to improve.
Yet someone had hidden an entire part of my treatment.
"Get an independent medical opinion," I said.
Richard nodded.
"And preserve every hospital record."
"Already arranged."
The door opened slightly.
Faith stood in the hallway carrying a folded blanket.
She looked embarrassed.
"I'm sorry. Mrs. Gable said you might need this."
I stared at her.
"Come in."
She entered cautiously.
Richard looked toward me.
"Should I leave?"
"Yes."
He hesitated.
"Dominic—"
"Please."
That last word surprised both of us.
Richard nodded and left.
Faith placed the blanket on a chair.
"Something wrong?"
I looked at her.
"How much do you know about spinal injuries?"
She shrugged.
"More than I ever wanted to."
"Have you heard of spinal stimulation devices?"
Her expression changed.
"Yes."
I watched her carefully.
"Why?"
"My brother was considered for one."
I felt cold.
"What happened?"
Faith looked down.
"The treatment was expensive. Insurance wouldn't cover it."
She hesitated.
"Then someone offered to pay for an experimental program."
I leaned forward.
"Who?"
She swallowed.
"A private medical foundation."
"What foundation?"
Her eyes filled.
"The Blackwood Foundation."
My hand tightened around the wheelchair armrest.
I knew that name.
Blackwood Medical Investments was owned by my business partner, Victor Blackwood.
The same man who had visited me every week after the attack.
The same man who insisted I should stop searching for a cure and accept my new life.
I looked at Faith.
"What happened to your brother?"
She looked toward the floor.
"He died during the program."
My chest tightened.
Then she whispered, "And the foundation told us his death had nothing to do with the treatment."
May you like
I stared.
Because the same foundation that had treated Faith's brother had apparently been involved in my secret procedure.
