The first time my fiancée called me useless, the entire room laughed. The second time, I decided to let them keep laughing.

The sun rose on Monday morning under a blanket of heavy grey clouds. Inside the glass-and-steel skyscraper of Vance Enterprises headquarters, the air was electric with anticipation.

I arrived in a specialized medical van, driven by Marcus. Sitting in my motorized wheelchair, wrapped once again in the unassuming gray blanket, I was rolled into the private executive elevator. Clara accompanied me, wearing her neat maid's uniform, holding a leather briefcase that contained "my medical records"—or so everyone thought.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, the atmosphere in the hallway instantly shifted. Executives, secretaries, and legal aides froze, watching me with expressions ranging from pity to outright contempt.

Uncle Martin was already standing outside the main boardroom doors, flanked by Daniel and a team of high-priced corporate lawyers. Martin looked radiant, wearing a customized navy suit with a silver power tie.

"Ethan," Martin announced loudly, ensuring his voice carried down the hallway. "You really shouldn't have dragged yourself out here in your state. We could have handled this paperwork at the house."

"I wanted to be here, Uncle," I replied, keeping my voice faint and strained. "This company was my father's legacy. I have a right to face the board."

Daniel stepped forward, shaking his head with fake concern. "Ethan, man, don't make this harder than it needs to be. Just sign the management transfer over to Martin. You need to focus on your rehabilitation. You can't even stand up, let alone manage a five-billion-dollar portfolio."

"He's right, Ethan," Vanessa’s voice rang out. She emerged from the VIP lounge, looking stunning in a designer red dress. She walked over and stood right beside Daniel, her hand subtly brushing against his arm in plain view of everyone. "Accept reality. You're broken. Let real leaders handle the heavy lifting."

I looked at Vanessa, then at Daniel, and finally at Martin. "Let's begin the meeting," I whispered.

The heavy double doors opened, and we entered the grand boardroom. The long mahogany table was surrounded by the fifteen board members—men and women who held the fate of the company in their hands. Many of them looked uncomfortable seeing me in the wheelchair, but greed is a powerful sedative for guilt.

Martin took the head of the table—the seat that belonged to me.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the board," Martin began, standing tall and placing his hands on the table. "We are here today under tragic circumstances. As you all know, my nephew, Ethan Vance, suffered catastrophic injuries in his recent automobile accident. Medical reports confirm permanent paralysis."

Martin signaled to his lawyer, who distributed thick packets to every board member.

"These documents," Martin continued, "detail the temporary transfer of full executive authority to myself, with Daniel assigned as Chief Operating Officer. This will ensure market stability and protect shareholder value during this transitional period. Ethan, if you would kindly sign page twelve..."

A quiet murmur went through the room. Several board members looked ready to sign off immediately.

"Before I sign," I said, my weak voice cutting through the chatter, "I would like to ask my uncle one question."

Martin smiled benevolently, as if indulging a child. "Of course, Ethan. Anything."

"What are your plans regarding Project Sentinel?"

Martin’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Project Sentinel was our flagship software technology—the crown jewel of Vance Enterprises, worth billions on the open market.

"Project Sentinel will remain under heavy development," Martin lied smoothly. "We will protect it fiercely."

"That's interesting," I said, leaning forward slightly in my chair. "Because according to bank transfer records from two hours ago, a shell corporation registered under your name in Zurich just received a twenty-million-dollar down payment from our fiercest competitor, Apex Global, for the exclusive rights to Sentinel's source code."

The boardroom erupted into dead silence.

Martin's face drained of color. "What... what nonsense are you talking about? You're confused, Ethan. The medication is making you delusional!"

"Am I?" I turned to Clara. "Clara, please hand the documents from the briefcase to the board members."

Clara stepped forward with complete composure, handing out official financial audit documents, complete with bank stamps and intercepted email chains provided by Marcus's security team.

Daniel’s eyes widened in horror as he glanced at the pages. "This... this is impossible! How did you get these?"

"Because while you were busy shopping for luxury cars and celebrating my supposed ruin, I was watching every move you made," I said. My voice was no longer raspy or weak. It was cold, clear, and resonant.

Martin slammed his fist on the table. "This is a setup! You have no standing here! You are an incapacitated manager! Board members, look at him! He's a cripple sitting in a chair! He can't run this company!"

I looked at Martin. Then I looked at Vanessa, who was staring at me with a sudden, creeping sense of dread.