Chapter 9 - Digging into the Past
By Friday morning, I had checked out of Massachusetts General and moved into a secure private rehabilitation suite at the Sterling Institute.
Funded entirely by my own personal savings, the facility offered state-of-the-art physical therapy and twenty-four-hour armed security at the gates.
The moment the nurses settled me into my room, Marcus arrived with a heavy portable scanner and two encrypted laptops.
We turned the dining table into a war room to investigate my past.
With Elena’s shocking discovery about my 2022 medical records hanging over us, the narrative of my life had completely unraveled.
If Julian had lied about my medical prognosis, what else had he lied about over the past four years?
“We need to go back to the night of the accident on the Massachusetts Turnpike,” I said, spreading out the original police reports.
“It was raining heavily, and I was driving back from the foundation’s annual retreat in the Berkshires.”
The police report stated that my steering column had locked up and the brakes had failed due to a mechanical hydroplane.
Marcus pulled up a digitized folder of insurance claims on his laptop screen.
“I looked into the payout on that vehicle, Clara, and the car was declared a total loss by the adjusters.”
He revealed that the salvage rights weren't claimed by our usual insurance underwriter.
“They were purchased independently by a local towing and scrap company called Apex Recovery three days after your crash.”
He turned the laptop toward me, pointing to the business registration documents for Apex Recovery.
My eyes scanned the legal paperwork until I hit the section listing the corporate officers and financial guarantors.
“Vance Holdings LLC,” I read aloud, my voice barely above a horrified whisper.
The sterile scent of the clinic faded into the background as the pieces of a monstrous puzzle clicked into place.
“Julian’s private investment firm owned the scrap yard that destroyed the wreckage of my car before an independent forensic mechanic could examine the brakes.”
“He didn't just capitalize on your accident, Clara,” Marcus said, his eyes dark with protective rage.
“He orchestrated it because four years ago, your father was preparing to name you sole executive director of the endowment.”
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Two weeks after that decision, my brakes mysteriously failed on a wet highway, leaving me paralyzed while Julian took over the leadership.
“It was a bloody coup from the very beginning,” Marcus muttered.
