Almost noon sunlight poured through the skylights of Jefferson Memorial Rehabilitation Center in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The private courtyard looked like a gathering place for aristocrats instead of patients. Linen tablecloths fluttered in the warm breeze. Pitchers of imported sparkling water glimmered beside untouched glasses. The scent of sandalwood and roses clung to the air like perfume designed to disguise suffering.
At the center of it all sat Rafael Cortez, forty years old, in a wheelchair that cost more than most houses. He held court like a monarch trapped in a cage of steel and quiet rage. Two years earlier, he had been the face of Cortez Enterprises, a construction empire known for swallowing smaller companies whole. Now, his legs remained unmoving, reminders of a mountain-climbing accident that fractured his spine and scattered his pride across the cliffside.
Around him lounged four wealthy acquaintances: Gerard Whitmore, Mason Delacroix, Levi Chambers, and Silas Beaumont. They traded jokes the way children throw stones into rivers, careless of what might sink beneath the surface.
Gerard lifted his tumbler in a toast. “To Rafael, the invincible emperor,” he said, laughter bubbling like champagne. “Even gravity couldn’t take you out completely.”
Rafael smiled thinly. He had learned to wear charm like armor. “I prefer ‘temporarily inconvenienced emperor’,” he replied. The wheelchair hummed as he shifted his weight.
Near the edge of the courtyard, a ten-year-old girl wiped rainwater from an outdoor bench. She used an old rag that soaked up more dirt than moisture. Her jeans were too short. Her sneakers had been taped together at the seams. Her hair fell in tangled waves down her back. Bella Morales. Her mother, Teresa Morales, stood nearby with cleaning supplies strapped to a cart, scrubbing patio stones until her fingernails bled.
Gerard eyed the girl with idle amusement. “Rafael,” he said, gesturing with his chin. “Is that the prodigy your staff mentioned? The one who stares like she knows all our secrets?”
Mason snorted. “Probably wondering how many zeros sit in our bank accounts. Poor thing.”
Teresa bowed her head. “She is just helping me. Please ignore her.”