Chapter 3 - THE WATCH THAT STOPPED BEFORE THE ACCIDENT
“You handed a dying man to Adrian Vale, and then let his daughter believe he was a murderer?”
I had threatened Carmine with guns before.
I'd even threatened to fire him.
But I'd never wanted to hit him until that moment.
He stood beside my desk, his thick hands hanging uselessly at his sides.
“Samuel wasn't dying when I left him.”
“Then explain what happened.”
Carmine looked older than his fifty-two years.
“The ambulance was delayed. Samuel had a deep cut across his shoulder and trouble breathing. Adrian arrived with a private medical vehicle. He said he'd take Samuel somewhere safe.”
“And you believed him?”
“He was your partner.”
“He still is.”
“That was the problem.”
I turned my wheelchair toward him.
“Did Samuel tell you what he'd discovered?”
“He kept saying the service vehicle wasn't supposed to be there.”
“What service vehicle?”
“A red maintenance truck. One white door. It was parked near your convoy before the crash.”
I felt a familiar pressure behind my eyes.
Pieces of that night were returning, but never in the right order.
Headlights.
An enormous crash.
The smell of burning rubber.
Then nothing.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Carmine's jaw tightened.
“Because two days afterward, Adrian showed me a statement with your signature saying Samuel had tampered with the brakes.”
“I never signed that.”
“You were unconscious when it was prepared. Adrian said you'd authorized it before leaving the terminal.”
“Then you should have questioned him.”
“I know.”
His quiet admission made me angrier.
“You let an innocent man take the blame.”
“Yes.”
“And when he died?”
Carmine stared at the floor.
“I told myself it was an accident.”
I turned away.
For fifteen years, loyalty had been the foundation of our relationship.
Now I was discovering that loyalty could become cowardice when a man was too frightened to question someone he trusted.
“Get out.”
“Dominic—”
“Not another word.”
He left.
And I sat alone, staring at my legs.
For six months, I'd believed someone outside my organization had attacked me.
A rival looking for territory.
An enemy seeking revenge.
Now the danger had a familiar face.
And Faith Willis had walked directly into it.
I found her in the kitchen an hour later.
Mrs. Gable was preparing dinner while Faith cleaned silverware beside the sink.
Both women looked up when my wheelchair crossed the doorway.
“Mrs. Gable, give us a minute.”
The older woman frowned.
“Mr. Carter, it's almost time for your medication.”
“Please.”
She looked surprised by the word.
So did I.
When she left, Faith dried her hands.
“Did Carmine tell you something?”
“Yes.”
“About my father?”
I nodded.
“He helped pull me from the wreckage.”
Her face crumpled.
She pressed one hand against the counter.
“I knew he wouldn't hurt you.”
“Faith, there's more.”
I told her what Carmine had admitted.
Not every detail.
Just enough to explain why I no longer trusted the investigation.
When I finished, she stared at me.
“So Adrian Vale knew my father was innocent.”
“He knew your father had evidence.”
“And ten days later, Dad was dead.”
I couldn't answer.
Faith touched the watch beneath her uniform.
“His watch stopped at 2:17.”
“What time was the accident?”
“Two forty-three. That's what the report says.”
I remembered seeing the time on my dashboard shortly before the impact.
The report was probably correct.
“Twenty-six minutes earlier,” I murmured.
Faith nodded.
“He was working at the terminal that night. My father was careful with his watch. He wound it every morning.”
“Maybe it broke during the rescue.”
“That's what I thought.”
She reached into her pocket and produced a small receipt.
“But he bought gasoline at 2:19. The cashier remembered him. He was wearing the watch then.”
“Are you certain?”
“The receipt came from his jacket.”
I looked between the receipt and the cracked watch.
If Samuel had been wearing it at 2:19, the watch couldn't simply have stopped at 2:17 because of the crash.
Someone had moved its hands afterward.
“May I examine it?”
Faith hesitated.
Then she unfastened the chain.
I held the watch carefully.
There were scratches around its backplate.
Someone had opened it.
“Did your father repair watches?”
“No.”
“Then somebody was looking inside this one.”
Faith's expression changed.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Before she could answer, Mrs. Gable returned.
“Mr. Carter, you have a visitor.”
I looked up.
“Who?”
“Mr. Vale.”
Faith immediately reached for her watch.
But I'd already seen Mrs. Gable's expression.
She looked frightened.
“Tell Adrian I'm unavailable,” I said.
“He insists it's urgent.”
“Then he'll learn disappointment.”
Mrs. Gable almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she lowered her voice.
“He says the company could lose several major contracts if you don't sign his agreement today.”
I watched Faith tighten the chain around her neck.
Suddenly, I understood something.
Adrian wasn't simply visiting.
He was applying pressure.
And he had chosen the same day Faith showed me her father's watch.
“Send him to the library,” I said.
Faith stared at me.
“You just said—”
“I know.”
I turned toward her.
“Stay away from the library until he leaves.”
“You think he'd hurt me?”
I wanted to tell her no.
Instead, I said, “I don't know what he's capable of.”
Adrian Vale entered my library carrying an expensive leather briefcase.
He was forty-six, handsome in a polished way, with silver at his temples and the easy confidence of a man who never expected to hear no.
“Dominic.” He smiled. “You're looking better.”
“Interesting. I feel worse.”
He sat without being invited.
“Your doctors mentioned the spasms. I'm arranging another consultation.”
“I already have doctors.”
“Of course.”
He opened his briefcase.
“Now, about the company.”
He produced a twelve-page agreement.
I skimmed the first section.
Then the second.
Buried near the end was a clause authorizing Adrian to make independent decisions regarding company property and financial accounts while I remained medically unable to perform executive duties.
It wasn't an ordinary management agreement.
It was an attempt to remove me from my own business.
“You've been busy,” I said.
Adrian smiled.
“Someone had to be.”
I closed the document.
“I'm not signing.”
His smile weakened.
“Dominic, the port authority is reviewing our permits. We have creditors waiting. If you're unable to attend meetings—”
“Being unable to walk doesn't mean I'm unable to think.”
“That's not what I'm saying.”
“Then stop treating me like a child.”
Adrian leaned back.
For the first time, his pleasant expression disappeared.
“You used to trust me.”
“I used to trust a lot of people.”
Silence settled between us.
Then I placed Samuel Willis's personnel photograph on the desk.
Carmine had retrieved it from our archived records.
Adrian's eyes flickered.
Just once.
“Remember him?”
“Of course. The mechanic.”
“The one accused of sabotaging my convoy.”
“A terrible business.”
“He pulled me out of the vehicle.”
Adrian went completely still.
“Who told you that?”
I watched him.
“You didn't know?”
“Of course I knew he was present. I didn't realize he helped.”
“Carmine says you took Samuel away afterward.”
“Yes. To receive treatment.”
“Where?”
“An emergency clinic.”
“Name?”
Adrian paused.
“Dominic, this was six months ago.”
“Then find the record.”
He gathered his papers.
“I don't appreciate being interrogated.”
“And I don't appreciate people dying around me without explanations.”
Adrian stood.
At the doorway, he turned back.
“I hear you've hired a new caretaker.”
My stomach tightened.
“A very determined young woman,” he continued. “Faith Willis, isn't it?”
I said nothing.
Adrian gave a small, humorless smile.
“Samuel's daughter.”
He knew.
He had known before entering my library.
“Be careful, Dominic,” he said quietly. “Grief makes people desperate. Desperate people sometimes invent enemies.”
After he left, I opened the agreement again.
Inside was a reference to an earlier authorization granting Adrian temporary control after my accident.
Dated six days after the attack.
Signed by me.
I reached for my medical records.
On that exact date, doctors had documented that I was heavily sedated and unable to give informed consent.
I stared at the signature.
It looked perfect.
Every letter.
Every flourish.
Then I noticed the witness's name.
Eleanor Gable.
My housekeeper.
The woman who had been caring for me since I was nineteen.
I looked toward the doorway.
Mrs. Gable stood there, holding my medication.
She saw the document in my hand.
May you like
And without waiting for me to speak, she whispered:
“Dominic, please don't ask me about that signature while Adrian's men are still inside the house.”
