Chapter 1: The Call From the Hospital
My daughter called me from her wedding suite while I was lying in a hospital bed, ribs wrapped tight, left arm in a sling, and dried blood still crusted near my hairline.
Her voice sounded almost cheerful.
“Don’t come tomorrow, Dad. Your house and car are sold. Goodbye.”
For three seconds, I heard only the monitor beside me.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny. Because pain sometimes opens a door in you that fear can no longer enter.
“You forgot one thing, Clara,” I said.
Her voice turned cold. “What thing?”
I looked at the forged papers on my phone, then at the IV in my hand.
“The house you sold was never mine alone.”
Silence.
Then Victor, her fiancé, came on the line. “Old man, don’t be dramatic. The sale is done.”
I closed my eyes.
“Victor,” I whispered, “you targeted the wrong injured man.”
