Chapter 4 - The Man Who Wanted the Chair
Dr. Lena Cho did not believe in inspirational language.
Casius liked her immediately.
She reviewed his imaging, nerve studies, surgical history, rehabilitation notes, and the videos Gideon had taken during the first six months after the bombing.
Then she spent forty minutes testing him without once saying miracle.
At the end, she sat on a stool and folded her arms.
“Your original prognosis was reasonable.”
Casius’s jaw tightened.
“Then my wife was wrong.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Dr. Cho tapped the chart.
“Your original prognosis was reasonable twenty months ago. Your current plan is lazy.”
Casius stared at her.
Delphine, sitting in the corner because Dr. Cho had insisted on a second pair of ears, looked down quickly.
He knew she was hiding a smile.
“What does lazy mean medically?”
“It means everyone decided the most likely outcome and stopped testing the edges.”
“Can I walk?”
“Maybe.”
He hated the word instantly.
She held up one finger.
“Not the kind of maybe people use because they are afraid to disappoint you. A measurable maybe. You have incomplete motor return in the left leg, trace response in the right hip flexor, and more trunk control than your chart suggests. Walking independently may never happen. Standing with support may. Transfers can improve. Pain can improve. Your wheelchair may remain part of your life.”
“I know that.”
“I’m not finished.”
He went still.
“If your goal is to throw the chair away so everyone thinks you are whole again, I’m not treating you.”
Silence.
Delphine looked at him.
Casius felt anger rise, then stop.
Dr. Cho continued.
“The chair is equipment. Not failure. We train your body because you want more options, not because walking makes you more of a man.”
No doctor had ever said that to him.
Most had promised acceptance in soft voices.
Dr. Cho sounded annoyed by the premise.
“When do we start?”
“Tomorrow.”
The next morning, Matteo Ferraro arrived without an appointment.
Casius’s cousin wore a navy suit and a concerned expression that had fooled half the family for years.
“I heard you changed doctors.”
“News travels.”
“People worry.”
“People gossip.”
Matteo sat without being invited.
“You know the captains are nervous.”
“They’re always nervous. It just changes who they blame.”
“The alliance helped, but Salvatore’s deadline didn’t disappear because you signed a marriage certificate.”
Casius watched him.
“What do you want, Matteo?”
“To help.”
“No.”
Matteo smiled.
“Still charming.”
He glanced toward the rehabilitation equipment Dr. Cho’s team had delivered.
“You really think this is wise?”
“What?”
“Building expectations.”
Casius’s voice flattened.
“Be specific.”
Matteo gestured toward the parallel bars.
“If you fail publicly, it makes the family look weaker.”
There it was.
Not concern for pain.
Not concern for recovery.
Optics.
Delphine entered carrying a folder.
Matteo stood immediately.
“Mrs. Ferraro.”
“Mr. Ferraro.”
His eyes moved to her scar and away.
Too quickly.
Delphine noticed.
Casius noticed her noticing.
“What’s the folder?” he asked.
“Your insurance denials.”
Matteo laughed lightly. “Romantic marriage.”
Delphine looked at him.
“Your cousin’s rehabilitation was denied twice for lack of medical necessity.”
Casius frowned.
“What?”
“You paid privately after the first month. Before that, the insurer rejected an extended neuro-rehab program.”
Matteo shrugged. “Insurance companies reject everything.”
“Not with forged physician notes.”
The room changed.
Casius looked at Delphine.
“Forged?”
She opened the folder.
“The denial package contains a note from Dr. Harlan saying further intensive therapy would be non-beneficial. Dr. Harlan died six days before the note was entered.”
Matteo’s expression did not change.
That interested Casius more than surprise would have.
“Where did you get this?” Casius asked.
“Hospital records.”
“You accessed my file?”
“With your written authorization yesterday.”
He remembered signing a stack of documents for Dr. Cho.
Delphine continued.
“I thought the chart was inconsistent. Someone wanted your rehab narrowed early.”
Matteo leaned back.
“You’re suggesting conspiracy from paperwork?”
“I’m suggesting a dead physician did not write a note six days after his funeral.”
Casius turned toward Matteo.
His cousin smiled thinly.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“I’m looking at everyone.”
“Casius.”
“Leave.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“You need allies.”
“I have them.”
His eyes flicked toward Delphine.
For half a second, something ugly surfaced.
“Be careful which damaged people you trust because they understand your damage.”
Casius moved before thought.
His hand caught the edge of the table.
His torso came forward.
The chair rolled half a foot.
Gideon took one step.
Delphine did not.
Casius’s voice was very quiet.
“Say one more word about my wife.”
Matteo looked at him.
Then at the chair.
Then back at his face.
He stood.
“No offense intended.”
“Get out.”
After he left, Casius’s hands shook.
Not from anger.
From the effort of holding himself forward.
Delphine watched.
“You lifted your weight off the backrest.”
“I was threatening my cousin.”
“You can multitask.”
He looked at her.
“Not now.”
She nodded.
No praise.
No celebration.
He appreciated that more than he could explain.
That night, Gideon brought security logs.
Matteo had visited the hospital three times during the month after Casius’s bombing.
Twice after midnight.
Once using a visitor credential registered to a physician who later claimed not to know him.
Casius read the pages twice.
Then he called Salvatore.
The old man answered on the third ring.
“You sound awake.”
“I am old, not dead.”
“I need a question answered.”
“Ask.”
“Who benefited most when my rehabilitation stopped?”
Silence.
Salvatore did not answer immediately.
Casius counted.
Six seconds.
Too long.
“Matteo has been asking captains whether the family needs an acting head,” Salvatore finally said.
“How long?”
“Fourteen months.”
Casius closed his eyes.
The bombing had happened twenty months ago.
His rehabilitation had been quietly sabotaged eighteen months ago.
Matteo had begun campaigning four months after that.
Delphine stood across the room.
She knew from his face.
“This is bigger than my legs,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And your father?”
She opened her folder to another page.
At the bottom of the forged hospital note was the name of the outside billing consultant who processed the denial.
BOWMONT RISK SERVICES.
Casius looked at her.
Delphine looked back.
Two families.
Two injuries.
One pattern.
May you like
Their arranged marriage had been intended to settle a debt.
Instead, it had placed two survivors at the same table with the first evidence that their separate tragedies might have been built by the same hands.
