Chapter 17

"Walk to me," she said.He stood up without using the bench this time, pushing up from the wheelchair arms and finding his balance. His legs trembled, but he stayed upright."One step," she said.He took one step."Again. Another step."By the fifth step, his legs were shaking hard, but he kept going: six steps, seven, eight. He reached her and lightly touched her shoulder to steady himself.Breathing hard, but smiling in disbelief, "I walked eight steps," he said.She shook her head slightly. "You didn't walk eight steps," she said. "You took eight steps. Walking is when you don't count anymore."He laughed quietly. "All right," he said. "Then today, I took eight steps."He sat down on the bench, breathing heavily, his legs aching, but it was the kind of pain that meant something was coming back to life."The investigator found the money," he said after a moment.She sat beside him, listening."She moved money into those companies that bought my shares," he continued. "She used other people's names, but the lawyer says we can prove it leads back to her. Slowly, quietly, she was building control."The girl looked toward the house again. "She must think she is very smart," she said."She is smart," he replied. "That's what makes this dangerous. This wasn't a mistake. This wasn't anger. This was a plan." He watched the windows of the house. From outside, it looked peaceful, beautiful, safe. "My lawyer asked me a question this morning," he said. "He asked me when I first realized something was wrong. Not with my legs—with her."He was quiet for a long moment."I think," he said slowly, "it was not when I got sick. It was when I stopped being allowed to make my own decisions. When someone starts telling you what you are allowed to know, allowed to sign, allowed to decide, that's when you should be afraid."The girl nodded. "My grandpa says, 'When someone slowly takes your choices away, they are not helping you. They are training you.'""Training you for what?" he asked.

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