Chapter 4: The Darkest Hour
Charles was ousted from the board and slapped with a massive lawsuit, but the legal system moved slowly, allowing him out on bail. Stripped of his money and reputation, Charles’s greed morphed into pure, unadulterated vengeance. If he couldn't have Lane Tech, no one would.
A month after the boardroom victory, Victoria was invited to give the keynote speech at the Global Tech Summit in downtown New Orleans. It was meant to be her triumphant public return. Derrick was backstage, adjusting her posture brace, smiling as he listened to the crowd chanting her name.
“You ready to show the world?” Derrick asked, adjusting his earpiece.
Victoria squeezed his hand. “I couldn't have done this without you, Derrick. You’re the son I never had.”
As Victoria walked onto the brightly lit stage to deafening applause, Derrick watched from the wings. But something was wrong. As she approached the podium, a rogue technician in a dark cap—whom Derrick immediately recognized from Charles’s security detail—hurriedly walked past the electrical rigging above the stage.
Snap.
A massive, heavy steel lighting truss above the podium broke loose from its safety cables.
Derrick’s heart stopped. “Victoria, move!” he screamed, sprinting onto the stage with a speed born of pure adrenaline.
He tackled her just as the steel truss crashed down, shattering the wooden podium into a thousand splinters. The crowd erupted into terrified screams. Dust and sparks filled the air.
Derrick groaned, pushing the debris off himself, completely ignoring the bleeding gash on his forehead. “Victoria! Victoria, are you okay?!”
He looked down. Victoria was unconscious, pinned beneath a secondary beam that had caught her lower back. Her legs lay at unnatural angles. The nightmare had returned.
The next three weeks were a blur of sterile hospital walls, flashing sirens, and frantic surgeries. Charles’s henchman was caught, and Charles himself was finally arrested for attempted murder, locked away with no bail. But the victory felt hollow, like ashes in Derrick’s mouth.
Victoria was in a medically induced coma. The impact of the beam had shattered her L4 and L5 vertebrae, severely compromising the spinal cord they had spent eight years meticulously rehabilitating.
The hospital’s chief neurosurgeon, Dr. Aris, pulled Derrick into the hallway, his face grim. “Derrick, I know you’ve worked miracles with her before. But this isn't just nerve damage. The spinal column is structurally compromised. Even if she wakes up, she will be a complete quadriplegic. The trauma was too severe.”
Derrick slammed his fist against the wall, tears streaming down his face. “No. I refuse to accept that. There has to be a way.”
“We’ve done everything science allows,” Dr. Aris said softly. “You need to prepare yourself, and her company, for the worst.”
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Derrick retreated to Victoria’s private hospital room. He sat by her bed, listening to the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. He looked at her pale, lifeless hands—the hands that had signed the check to save his mother, the hands that had handed him his diploma. He had started his journey with a promise to cure her for a box of leftovers. He wasn't going to let her story end in a hospital bed.
For days, Derrick barely ate or slept. He transformed the hospital waiting room into a war room, covering the walls with Victoria’s scans, global neurological studies, and experimental surgical journals. He was searching for a miracle, and time was rapidly running out.
