Chapter 5 - THE CARETAKER WHO WAS CHOSEN
Faith Willis had believed her new job was a miracle.
After months of unemployment, overdue rent, and sleeping in her car between interviews, a placement agency had called with an offer.
Live-in caretaker.
Private estate.
Excellent salary.
Immediate start.
She hadn't asked many questions.
Desperation made people grateful for opportunities they should have examined more carefully.
Now she stood in my study while Carmine explained the employment records.
"Victor Blackwood requested her by name," he said.
Faith stared.
"What?"
"The agency received instructions to place you here."
She shook her head.
"That's impossible."
I watched her face.
She looked genuinely shocked.
"Why would he do that?" she whispered.
I had the same question.
Victor knew about my accident.
He knew about my rehabilitation.
He knew my doctors.
And apparently, he knew Faith was connected to Daniel Willis.
Perhaps he wanted her close enough to monitor.
Perhaps he thought she'd lead him to her brother's evidence.
Or perhaps there was another reason.
"Faith, did anyone ask about Daniel during your interview?"
She thought for a moment.
"The recruiter asked whether I'd ever worked in medical research."
I frowned.
"What did you say?"
"That my brother had."
"Anything else?"
"She asked whether I still had his old notes."
My stomach tightened.
"What did you tell her?"
"That I didn't know."
I looked toward Carmine.
"Get the agency records."
He nodded.
"And have the independent investigators review them."
Faith sat slowly.
"I thought someone finally wanted to hire me."
I looked at her.
"You're qualified."
She laughed bitterly.
"Apparently, I'm qualified to be bait."
I hated how believable that sounded.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Faith looked at me.
"Mr. Carter?"
"Dominic."
She blinked.
"What?"
"You can call me Dominic."
Her expression softened slightly.
"Dominic."
Something strange happened when she said my name.
It didn't sound like fear.
It sounded like trust beginning.
I wasn't sure what to do with that.
She looked toward my legs.
"Can I ask something?"
"Yes."
"Have you had any other spasms?"
I hesitated.
"Two."
"When?"
"Last night."
Her expression changed.
"Did you tell your doctor?"
"No."
"Why not?"
I looked away.
"Because I'm tired of doctors."
Faith sighed.
"Well, that's inconvenient."
I frowned.
"What?"
"Because your legs don't care whether you're tired of doctors."
I stared.
Then, despite everything, I laughed.
A real laugh.
The sound startled both of us.
Faith smiled.
"See? You're not completely impossible."
I shook my head.
"Don't get used to it."
She stood.
"Too late."
Later that afternoon, a neurologist examined me.
He ordered imaging and reviewed the newly discovered treatment records.
He couldn't promise recovery.
But he identified inconsistencies that required further investigation.
The implant might have been activated without adequate monitoring.
And my recent spasms could be related to changes in nerve signaling.
Then he asked a question that made my stomach tighten.
"Mr. Carter, who told you your spinal injury was complete and irreversible?"
I stared.
"Dr. Malcolm Reed."
The neurologist's expression changed.
"Reed?"
"Yes."
He looked toward Richard.
Then said quietly, "Dr. Reed was removed from the Blackwood trial five months ago."
I froze.
"Why?"
May you like
The neurologist hesitated.
"Because investigators found evidence he'd falsified patient evaluations."
