Chapter 4 - If He Walks

The envelope contained six photographs, a handwritten therapy schedule, and a copy of a bank transfer.

The photographs showed me.

Not at the hospital. Not in physical therapy.

Walking.

In one picture, taken through the glass doors near the pool, I was standing without my cane for nearly four seconds. I remembered that day. It had happened two months earlier, before Keller rushed in and told me the movement could destroy my knee.

Someone had photographed it from outside.

Another image showed me asleep while Lauren adjusted the brace.

The transfer was for fifty thousand dollars.

Recipient: Keller Orthopedic Consulting.

Sender: Whitmore Strategic Holdings.

Lauren laughed once, softly. “This looks terrible. I understand that.”

“Good,” I said. “We're making progress.”

She folded her arms. “I paid him for private care.”

Keller nodded too fast. “Extended consultation.”

Marcus held up the handwritten sheet. “Then what's this?”

Across the top was a list of dates, stiffness settings, medication doses, and one repeated instruction:

Maintain dependence.

Keller's face collapsed.

Lauren stepped toward him. “Don't.”

He looked at her. “You said this would never—”

“Stop talking.”

I had known Lauren for three years. We had been engaged for eight months. She was elegant under pressure, almost unnaturally calm. I had watched her manage charity boards, hostile investors, and reporters after the shooting.

Now she was losing control.

“Maintain dependence on what?” I asked.

Keller said nothing.

I looked at Marcus. “Call the police.”

Lauren's head snapped toward me. “You cannot be serious.”

“Watch me.”

She moved closer, lowering her voice. “Vincent, think. If this becomes public, Hale Industries takes a hit. The board panics. The press tears apart your medical records. Lily's name ends up everywhere.”

She knew exactly where to aim.

My daughter.

I smiled without humor. “You should have thought of Lily before hiding a transmitter under her father's chair.”

Lauren blinked.

Marcus hadn't told her about the device.

Nobody had.

For the first time, she looked genuinely afraid.

Then Keller whispered, “The transmitter wasn't for Vincent.”

Marcus turned.

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Keller stared at the floor.

“It was for the girl.”