in that room who had asked what I needed rather than what I still owned.
After the accident, she had brought meals I could actually eat when my appetite disappeared.
She had moved furniture so the wheelchair could pass comfortably.
She had asked permission before touching my belongings.
Once, when Celeste complained about the inconvenience of my recovery, Mara had quietly reminded her that healing was not something anyone could schedule.
Celeste had threatened to fire her for being disrespectful.
Now Celeste laughed again.
‘How touching.
The maid has fallen in love with the invalid.’
Mara stood.
‘No,’ she replied.
‘I just remember what a decent human being looks like.’
The laughter stopped.
Celeste’s expression hardened.
‘You’ll be looking for a new job tomorrow.’
Mara did not answer.
She simply remained beside my wheelchair.
At that moment, my phone vibrated beneath the blanket.
Marcus had sent a message.
We found who caused the crash.
For several seconds, I forgot the ballroom existed.
The accident had been a mechanical failure.
I had suspected sabotage but had been afraid of reaching that conclusion without proof.
Now Marcus was telling me someone had deliberately tampered with my vehicle.
I looked up at Celeste.
‘Why did you invite the entire board tonight?’
She blinked.
‘Because they deserve to see how you’re doing.’
‘And what happens after they see me?’
Raymond stepped between us.
‘Owen, we shouldn’t discuss complicated business matters in your condition.’
‘What condition would that be, Uncle?’
He glanced at my wheelchair.
‘You’re recovering.
You’re vulnerable.
Let the family take care of things.’
I looked toward Grant.
He was carrying a leather folder embossed with our company’s crest.
‘What’s in that folder?’
Grant hesitated.
‘Routine corporate documents.’
Celeste bent toward me and lowered her voice.
‘Just sign what Raymond recommends.
There’s a lovely private rehabilitation residence outside Portland.
You’ll be comfortable there while we straighten everything out.’
I stared at her.
‘You arranged a place for me to live?’
‘It’s called planning ahead.’
‘Without asking me?’
She sighed.
‘Owen, don’t make this difficult.’
I suddenly understood the purpose of the party.
They wanted the directors to see a diminished man, surrounded by relatives who appeared willing to assume responsibility for him.
Then they intended to convince me that signing away my authority was the sensible thing to do.
The company had strict rules for changing control.
My signature alone would not automatically accomplish everything they wanted, but an apparently voluntary delegation would make their next steps much easier.
And the proposed sale of my father’s estate could begin moving forward.
Mara approached with a glass of water.
Celeste snapped at her to leave.
Instead, Mara turned toward me.
‘Mr.
Mercer, may I show you something?’
Celeste immediately objected.
‘We’re discussing private family matters.’
‘Let her speak,’ I said.
Mara reached into her apron and removed a small brass key tied to a faded blue ribbon.
My heart began to pound.
I recognized it instantly.
It belonged to my father’s private desk.
The desk stood in his study, a room I had barely entered since his death fourteen months earlier.
For years, he had used it to store personal letters, old photographs, and documents relating to the family estate.
‘Where did you get that?’ I asked.
‘Your father gave it to me two
