Chapter 9 - The Injunction
Katherine filed Thursday morning. By Thursday afternoon, Trevor knew.
I was in the kitchen when his car came up the driveway fast — too fast, tires loud on the concrete. The front door banged open. I heard him cross the hall and go straight up the stairs.
I followed at a distance. He was already in Warren's room when I reached the doorway. He hadn't knocked.
"What did you do?" His voice was controlled. Barely.
Warren was in his wheelchair by the window. He looked at his brother, calm. "I hired an attorney."
"You filed an injunction. Do you have any idea what that does to the board review? To the company? There are investors watching this thing, Warren — people who'll walk the second they see a legal fight over the ownership structure—"
"Then they walk," Warren said.
"This is your company. Your life's work." Trevor spread his hands. "I have been running it for you. Protecting it while you couldn't."
"You restructured the ownership while I was sedated in a hospital bed."
"You agreed to that restructuring. You signed—"
"The signature was traced, Trevor."
The room went dead silent. Trevor's hands dropped to his sides.
"A forensic analyst examined both documents," Warren said. "The report goes to the court Friday. And the medical file — the supplemental notes from a Dr. Nolan, a physician I never met, added six weeks after the accident — that's in the filing too."
Trevor looked at me in the doorway. Every trace of warmth was gone from his face. "You."
"She's my caregiver," Warren said. "She did her job."
"She went through my house—"
"She delivered a letter to a clinic. She drove me to a lawyer's office. Everything she did, she did because I asked her to, with my authorization." Warren's voice didn't rise. "You want to be angry at somebody, Trevor? Be angry at the analyst who found the trace lines. Be angry at the administrator who processed a direct request from a patient. Be angry that you weren't half as careful as you thought you were."
Trevor looked back at his brother. "I was protecting you," he said. "The company needed stability. You were — you couldn't—"
"I couldn't what?"
A long pause. "You weren't well," Trevor said. "You still aren't."
"Stand up," Warren said.
Trevor blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I said stand up. Step back from the door."
Trevor didn't move.
Warren reached down and locked his wheelchair brakes. He put both hands on the armrests. Slowly, with everything he had, he pushed himself upright.
He stood.
Not steady — his legs shook and he kept one hand on the chair — but he stood, all the way up, at his full height, looking his brother in the eye across the room.
Trevor went white.
"I've been getting better for weeks," Warren said. "And you knew. Because Dr. Hartley told you. And instead of telling me — instead of telling our mother — you made sure the reports never changed."
Trevor said nothing.
"Get out of my room," Warren said.
Trevor left.
May you like
I waited until his footsteps hit the bottom of the stairs. Then I crossed the room and stood next to Warren, close enough that he could grab my shoulder if his legs gave. They didn't. He stood there another full minute, breathing. Then he sat back down.
"Call Katherine," he said. "Tell her it's started."
