I can heal your eyes, sir. The words dropped into the still air like a pebble into deep water soft, almost fragile. The blind man was stunned by what happened next…

But he sees what others miss. He might be able to help. Thomas hesitated.

Can I trust him? If you trust me, she said, you’ll trust him. Then I will. She smiled.

And even though he couldn’t see it, he could feel it like sunshine breaking through fog. I’ll meet you here, she said. Same time.

And just like that, she was gone. Thomas sat in silence, turning the medal over in his hand again and again. It felt solid.

Real. Like something ancient and sacred. Something to believe in.

That afternoon, Judith returned home. Her tone saccharine and rehearsed. How are you feeling? She asked, setting down a tray.

Better, he said. Rest helped. She moved to sit beside him, brushing his shoulder.

You know, if this is all too much, there are other options. You don’t have to keep pushing yourself. Other options? There’s a facility in Austin, she said casually.

Quiet. Comfortable. They specialize in care for men like you.

Thomas kept his voice steady. Men like me? She smiled, though he couldn’t see it. Men who’ve done enough.

Who deserve to rest. And what would happen to the company? I’d oversee things, of course. Temporarily.

Just until you’re settled. He said nothing. Let the silence bloom.

Later that night, he sat in his study with the recorder again. This is Thomas Grant, he said softly. She’s accelerating her plan.

Suggesting I step down permanently. I won’t. Not yet.

Not while I still have my mind and my allies. He touched the metal. Not all light came from sight.

Some light came from faith. And some from a small girl with a big heart, who refused to let him fade. Thomas arrived at Central Heights Park early again.

Earlier than usual. Feeling the chill of morning air through his coat. His cane tapped along the familiar cracks in the walkway.

But his steps were more confident now. Less out of necessity and more out of intent. The small St. Lucy’s medal hung beneath his collar.

Resting over his heart. He touched it every few steps like a rhythm. Like a compass.

He settled on the bench. His body still sore from the fall days earlier. But the bruises were fading.

What wasn’t fading was the quiet fire inside him. Something Jada had stirred awake. Each day, her words carved through the fog Judith had wrapped around his world.

This morning would be different. Jada had promised someone would come. A friend.

Someone who sees what others miss. Thomas didn’t know what to expect. A doctor? A street preacher? A child like her? The air shifted.

And he heard footsteps. Not the light, soft rhythm of a child. But firm, deliberate, adult, work boots.

By the sound. The man sat down beside him without a word. The bench groaned under the weight.

Silence settled. You’re Thomas. The man said after a moment.

Voice deep. Rough. Like gravel over stone.

I am. She told me you might not believe me. Try me.

The man took a breath. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a priest.

I don’t fix people. I find things. Thomas turned his head slightly.

Things? Truth. Motives. People’s weak spots.

A detective? No. The man replied. Worse.

I used to work for people like your wife. That made Thomas straighten. I was an enabler.

The man continued. I helped people bury things. Evidence.

Secrets. They paid me well. Until I saw one too many lives crushed for a payout.

And now? Now I try to stop it before it gets too far. Thomas was quiet for a moment. Then asked.

What did she hire you for? The man hesitated. Two years ago, Judith approached my former firm. Wanted intel on the board.

Dirt on key shareholders. She called it contingency planning. Thomas tightened his grip on the bench.

I never knew. You weren’t supposed to. That’s how these people work.

They move slow. They soften the ground before they strike. And you? I left before I took the job.

But I remembered the name. Then a few weeks ago, a little girl shows up at a food pantry where I volunteer. Smart as hell.

Asked questions. Said her friend was in trouble. Thomas smiled faintly.

Jada? Yeah. Jada. What now? Thomas asked.

Can you help me stop her? I already started, the man said. You were right to be suspicious. I traced a few things.

Judith’s been moving funds. Small transfers. Offshore accounts through shell names.

Her lawyer, Carl Ramsey, is ex-corporate fraud. She’s planning a declaration of mental incompetence You’ve been confused. Disoriented.

Even paranoid. She’s documenting it. Building a case.

Thomas took a deep breath. How long do I have? A week. Maybe two.

Before she files. And you? Why help now? The man didn’t speak for a while. Then he said.

Because I ruined enough lives before. I owe the universe some balance. And because Jada believes in you.

That kind of faith, it’s rare. I figured I’d better find out why. Thomas nodded slowly.

What’s your name? Just call me Walker. Alright Walker, so what do we do? I’ll send you files. Hidden recordings.

Statements. You’ll need a lawyer own that works for you. Not her.

I know someone. Good. What else? You need to act normal.

Let her believe you’re still half-broken. Let her get confident. Meanwhile, we build our case.

Thomas’s fingers traced the St. Lucie medal beneath his shirt. I’m not a fool, he said. I know I’ve been quiet too long.

Passive. But that ends now. Walker stood.

That’s what I hoped to hear. He turned to leave but paused. And Thomas watched the nurse she hired last week.

Jennifer. She’s not who she says she is. With that, he walked off.

Boots crunching softly over damp gravel. A moment later, smaller, lighter steps approached. You met him, Jada said, sliding onto the bench beside him.

I did. He’s intense. She grinned.

He’s kind. Just doesn’t know how to show it. He told me about you.

How you found him. I asked around. People trust kids with questions more than adults.

They don’t see us coming. Thomas shook his head, awed. You shouldn’t have to do this.

Neither should you. They sat in silence for a long moment. A dog barked in the distance.

Somewhere, a bike chain rattled. I’ve got a war coming, Thomas said quietly. I know.

Jada replied. But you’ve got soldiers now. He turned toward her.

You’re more than that. She smiled. Maybe.

But we fight better together. She stood, adjusting her backpack. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Same time? He nodded. Same time. As she walked away, Thomas leaned back on the bench, bruises dulling but heart steady.

The enemy had a name. And so did hope. Jennifer knocked softly on the door to Thomas’s study before stepping in without waiting for a response.

Her voice, warm and well-practiced, filled the room. Good morning, Mr. Grant. Time for your medication.

Thomas sat by the window, hands resting calmly on the arms of his chair. He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t need to.

He could feel the shift in the air the moment she entered the faint scent of gardenia, the careful pause before her footsteps crossed the rug. It was all part of her routine. And his.

Leave it on the tray, he said quietly. You should really take it now, sir. It’s already past nine.

I’ll take it shortly. Jennifer hesitated just long enough to mark her unease. She placed the small cup of pills and glass of water down with more force than necessary.

Judith wants to make sure you’re on schedule. The new dosage is important. I haven’t noticed any difference, Thomas replied, except that I sleep more and think less.

She said nothing to that. Only cleared her throat and said, I’ll check back in an hour. As she walked away, Thomas listened carefully to the door click shut, then reached beneath the chair cushion and pulled out a second cupe empty, clean, identical, one he’d used to secretly dispose of his medications for three days now.

Walker had warned him the pills might be tampered with. Too much sedation could be used as false evidence of cognitive decline. He dumped the untouched pills into the empty cup, capped it tightly, and slipped it into the drawer beside the voice recorder.

Every piece mattered now. Every detail had weight. Later that morning, Walker’s courier arrived posing as a book delivery from the Blind Veteran’s Audio Library.

Thomas smiled at the cleverness. Judith had long since stopped checking his packages. She assumed he was too far gone to care.

Inside were two flash drives, one labeled, Accounts, and the other, Audio. Walker had promised evidence, and it was here, hidden in plain sight. He called Jada that evening, using the burner phone Walker had slipped into his coat earlier that week.

She answered on the second ring. You okay? She asked without greeting. Fine, he said.

Nurse Jennifer is being watched, and the audio’s here. I’m going through it tonight. Want me to come by? Not yet, too risky.

But soon. There was a pause on the line. I hate waiting, Jada muttered.

So do I. Um. They ended the call, and Thomas spent the next hour listening with headphones, rewinding several times when Judith’s voice, his wife’s voice, confirmed everything. The manipulation, the offshore transfers, even a quiet conversation about a false diagnosis being prepared by a medical professional on her payroll.

She was building the perfect trap. Calm, professional, irrefutable. And he’d nearly fallen for it.

Until Jada. Until the fall. Until the quiet moments when he stopped letting blindness define his whole existence.

The next day, he walked more confidently into the park. He didn’t use the cane as much. Miguel, the driver, watched him with quiet surprise but said nothing, just opened the door and helped him down like usual.

Jada was already on the bench, legs swinging, hands clasped around a cup of warm oatmeal. You look taller, she teased as he approached. I feel taller.

Um. She scooted over to make room, eyes scanning the park automatically. Jennifer tried to call someone last night, she said without preamble.

Blocked number. I couldn’t hear much, but she mentioned a report, something being signed. Thomas nodded.

She’s part of the plan. I’m sure of it now. But I have the recordings.

Good. What’s next? I meet with Walker’s lawyer. She’s discreet.

Aggressive. She knows corporate warfare better than Judith ever will. Uh.

You trust her? Walker trusts her. That’s enough for now. Jada passed him a napkin.

Wipe your hands. You’ve got something on your coat. He chuckled.

You’re more nurse than my nurse. Speaking of. I saw Jennifer at the pharmacy this morning.

She bought something. A new prescription. Thomas turned slightly…