After the accident, I dismissed every caregiver after three days, but this girl ignored my threat and acted strangely in front of Carmine

That morning, for the first time, a woman’s voice rang through the corridor of my mansion, telling me that my hell was not her problem.

Six months earlier, in Chicago, men stopped talking at the mention of my name. Harbor bosses answered my calls on the first ring, while people drowning in debt no longer waited for reminders. One movement of my hand was enough for a man to lose his job, his money, or his right to remain in the city.

Then the bullet came.

The official accident report said that a truck that suddenly appeared on the road had hit me. But I knew that the steering wheel had failed before that. I knew that someone had left a cut in the car’s brake line. But that night, when my people came to the hospital, they told me only one thing: everyone was afraid that I would not be able to handle the business.

My legs no longer obeyed me. But my hands still gripped the wheels strongly.

The mansion I had once ruled became a prison. The paintings hanging on the walls, the heavy curtains, and the silver lighter lying on the glass table reminded me every day who I had been and what I could no longer do.

Caregivers could not last more than three days. I threw a plate at one. I frightened another so badly that she cried in the corridor. The third told me, while leaving my room, that she would rather work on the night streets than stay with me.

On the fourth day, Faith Willis came.

Chicago’s rain soaked her cheap boots as if the street were tearing them off her feet. She held a small brown bag in her hand, and an eviction notice lay in her pocket. Mrs. Gable, the strict manager of our house, who had spent twenty-five years here, met her at the door.

“You will not stay longer than three days,” she told her quietly.

Faith pushed her wet hair behind her ear.

“Then I will still be here on the fourth day.”

I was sitting by the window when she entered the room. In her hands was a wooden tray, with coffee, soup, and medicines on it. Her fingers touched the silver lighter placed in front of me as if it were the most valuable thing in the room.

“Tell the cook that I do not want this,” I said.

“Mrs. Gable said that you must eat.”

“Get out.”

She put down the tray, poured me coffee, and answered calmly:

“I will take the dishes in an hour. If you drop them on the floor, I will pick them up. But the food will still be yours.”

Her hands did not tremble. She did not avoid my eyes. She looked neither at the scar on my eyebrow nor at the wheelchair.

I deliberately turned the wheel quickly. The wheelchair’s wheel got stuck in the edge of the carpet. My body lurched forward, and a hot wave of humiliation rushed over my face.

“Are you deaf?”

“No,” she said. “It is just that shouting does not change the answer.”

The next morning I threw the oatmeal onto the floor. The porcelain broke, coffee splashed onto the wall, and the oatmeal scattered over the Persian carpet.

“I did it deliberately,” I told her.

“I know.”

“Then why are you not complaining?”

Faith picked up the paper napkins.

“If I cannot pay the rent by Friday, I will have to sleep in the car. Spilled coffee cannot frighten me.”

At that moment my right leg cramped strangely. Fire ran through my nerves. I groaned through my teeth and clung to the chair.

Faith fell to her knees and placed both hands on my leg.

“Breathe deeply.”

“Take your hands off me!”

“You are fighting the pain. Stop.”

I obeyed her voice. Thirty seconds felt like an eternity. The spasm slowly relaxed, and I remained soaked in sweat, helpless, and furious.

Faith was still on her knees. There was neither fear nor pity in her eyes.

That frightened me more.

Behind the door stood Mrs. Gable, Carmine, and two armed guards. Everyone saw that for the first time someone had touched me and I had allowed it.

Faith only said:

“I will bring a sponge.”

She turned, but stopped at the door. Carmine stretched out her hand in front of her. In her hand she held a small black folder.

“This cannot enter the room,” she said.

Faith looked at the folder for the first time. And I saw how her face changed.

Carmine opened the lock and reached out to take out the first sheet…

Carmine’s fingers touched the sheet, but Faith grabbed her wrist.

“Dominic must see this,” she said.

“Nobody is asking you,” Carmine replied.

I turned the wheelchair toward them.

“Everyone out of the room.”

“Dominic, that is not possible,” Carmine said.

“Then you get out too.”

A heavy silence fell in the corridor. For the first time, Mrs. Gable crossed her arms. Carmine pressed the folder to her chest.

“You have changed since the accident. Someone is trying to use this.”

“Someone has already used it,” I said. “Now I will find out who.”

Faith looked at me.

“My brother’s name is also on these papers.”

Her voice no longer sounded like the voice of the girl who had difficulty paying the rent.

“Who is your brother?”

“The man who was found near your car that night. And who disappeared the next day.”

The color disappeared from Carmine’s face.

“That is a false story.”

Faith took a small memory card from her bag and placed it on the table.

“Then this recording will be false too.”

Thunder roared outside. Carmine signaled the guards to lock the door.

Faith bent toward me.

“Before you see this, I will tell you one thing: the accident was not an accident.”

She reached toward the card…

Faith’s fingers touched the memory card, and suddenly the electricity went out in the room. The sound of rain struck the walls. After several seconds, only the emergency light came on, whose yellowish glow made Carmine’s face look strangely pale.

“Tell the guards to open the door,” I said.

“We cannot risk it,” Carmine said.

“This is my house.”

“And you no longer rule it.”

Her words struck me more strongly than the spasm. Faith inserted the card into the laptop. A foggy parking lot appeared on the screen. The recording showed the time: two hours before the accident.

Carmine was standing beside my car.

Beside her was Leon Vargas, the man I had considered my most loyal adviser for years. Both stood with their backs to the camera, but their voices could be heard clearly.

“Will a cut in the line be enough?” Carmine asked.

“Not enough, necessary,” Leon answered. “Dominic must survive. A dead man cannot answer questions, but a living and helpless man will sign everything.”

It seemed as if the air disappeared from the room.

“What will he sign?” I asked.

Faith opened the next file. A document bearing my signature appeared on the screen. It said that in the event of an accident, all my property and harbor shares would temporarily be transferred to Carmine.

“This signature is not mine,” I said.

“But the expert does not think so,” Carmine said quietly.

Faith placed the folded paper she had taken from her bag on the table.

“Because they prepared the expert’s conclusion too. This was kept by my mother’s friend. She knew that my brother, Elias, was working at a car repair shop that night.”

“Where is your brother?” I asked.

Faith lowered her eyes.

“He is alive. He was hiding for three months. He was the one who gave me this recording.”

Carmine reached for the gun, but Mrs. Gable signaled to the guard from the door and restrained her wrist.

“Did Dominic know that you were betraying him?” Mrs. Gable asked.

“He knew nothing,” Carmine said. “I was protecting him.”

“Protection does not look like breaking someone’s legs,” Faith replied.

I approached the screen. In the recording Leon turned toward the camera and said something I could not understand at first. Faith increased the volume.

“When Dominic is in a wheelchair, everyone will think that the time of his orders is over,” Leon said. “Then Carmine will make him sign.”

I gripped the silver lighter in my hand so tightly that its edge cut into my palm.

Carmine lowered her head. For the first time I saw that she was afraid.

“Where is Leon?” I asked.

Carmine did not answer me.

At that moment Faith’s phone rang. She looked at the screen, and the color left her face.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Elias.”

She answered the call. Only a few words were heard from the other side. Faith slowly lowered the phone.

“He said that Leon found his hiding place. And now my brother can no longer come to me…”

At that same moment, the sharp screech of tires sounded outside the house…