Six months after a bullet left me paralyzed, my fiancée secretly ordered the staff to stop my afternoon therapy because she believed helping me was pointless,

By 1:00 PM, the heavy mahogany doors of my master suite opened once again.

My younger brother Dominic entered first, wearing a tailored Italian suit that hung slightly too loose on his frame—a man trying desperate to fill shoes too big for him. Behind him walked Marcus Sterling, the family’s lead corporate attorney, carrying a thick leather briefcase. Arya brought up the rear, leaning against the doorframe with a glass of white wine in her hand.

"Vincent," Dominic said, stepping forward with an awkward, rehearsed smile. "You look... better today. Stronger."

"Cut the garbage, Dominic," I said, keeping my voice flat. "What do you want?"

Marcus stepped to the bedside, opening his briefcase with a sharp snap. He laid out three blue-bound legal folders on my movable overbed tray table.

"These are the land assignment forms for the North Harbor terminal, Vincent," Marcus explained, pointing to the yellow sign-here tabs. "The port authority requires executive authorization to renew the shipping leases. Since you haven't been able to attend board meetings, the executive committee voted to transfer signing authority to Dominic."

I looked at the papers. Tucked neatly beneath the harbor terminal forms was the second page of the Power of Attorney document Tessa had shown me hours earlier.

"You want me to sign away my voting rights," I said, looking up at Marcus.

Dominic took a step closer, his eyes flashing with irritation. "It's for the good of Corvino Shipping, Vince! The board is panicked. Shipments are sitting in the harbor because buyers don't know who's calling the shots. You're sitting up here in bed while the company bleeds ten million dollars a week!"

"The company isn't bleeding because of my legs, Dominic," I said quietly. "It's bleeding because you doubled our offshore transit tariffs without consulting the logistics directors."

Dominic’s face turned bright red. "I am managing the daily operations!"

"You're mismanaging them," I corrected.

Arya set her wine glass down on a side table and walked over, placing a hand gently on Dominic’s forearm before looking down at me with an expression of performative pity.

"Vincent, please," Arya whispered softly. "Dominic is doing his best. You need to focus on your health. Look at yourself—you're exhausted. Signing these papers will let us handle the burden so you can rest."

I stared at her. This was the woman who had promised to stand beside me through sickness and health. Now she was standing beside my brother, attempting to strip me of the empire I had spent fifteen years building from the ground up.

"Leave the papers," I said, leaning back against my pillows and closing my eyes. "I'll review them this afternoon."

"No," Dominic snapped, leaning over the bed. "We need them signed now. The port authority deadline is five o'clock."

"I said leave them, Dominic," I opened my eyes, letting the full force of my former authority burn through my gaze. Even from a bed, paralyzed from the waist down, the instinct that had made me the head of the Corvino syndicate made Dominic freeze in his tracks.

"I don't sign documents without reading every single clause," I added coldly. "Get out of my room."

Marcus quickly interjected, sensing the rising tension. "Of course, Vincent. Take a few hours. We'll return at four o'clock."

Dominic glared at me, his fists clenched at his sides, but he turned and walked out. Marcus followed close behind.

Arya stayed behind for a moment, lingering by the edge of the bed. Her eyes were hard, the sweet facade gone.

"Don't be foolish, Vincent," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Things aren't like they used to be. You don't have the leverage you think you do."

"We'll see about that, Arya," I replied.

She turned on her heels and left, slamming the door behind her.

At precisely 2:00 PM, the door opened again. Tessa walked in pushing a small equipment cart containing physical therapy bands, hot packs, and massage oils.

She took one look at the heavy atmosphere in the room, then at the blue folders sitting on my overbed table.

"Vultures?" she asked softly, locking the wheels of her cart.

"A whole flock of them," I replied.

Tessa set up the table and began stretching my left leg, moving the joint through its passive range of motion. Her hands were warm, firm, and completely focused on her work.

"Are you going to sign them?" she asked without looking up.

"I'm going to ruin them," I said. "But I need your help, Tessa."

She paused, holding my ankle in her hands, looking up into my eyes. "What kind of help?"

"I need you to take a drive to the financial district at three o'clock," I said. "I need you to hand an encrypted flash drive to a man waiting in an alley behind the Federal Reserve building."