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…

For me? Maybe. Couldn’t get close enough to read the label. He filed that away.

Another detail for the pile. It was all coming together, now pieces of a puzzle being laid out by a girl with eyes too sharp for her age, and a man with a conscience built from mistakes. They sat in silence, the air warming as the sun climbed higher.

I keep thinking, Thomas said after a while, about how easy it is to lose yourself. One minute, you’re building something. A company.

A family. A life. And the next, you’re just surviving it.

Jada nodded solemnly. That’s why people like your wife win. Because they count on you forgetting who you are.

Not anymore, he said. I’ve remembered. She smiled.

Not just with her lips but with her whole presence. Then you’re ready. Ready for what? To take back what’s yours.

He reached into his coat and touched the metal again. A habit now. A reminder.

Then he said something he hadn’t dared speak aloud until now. She loved me once. I believe that.

But now? Now she only loves power. And I was in the way. Jada said nothing, just reached over and placed her hand on his.

Then it’s time to move. He nodded, steady and clear. They stood together, an unlikely alliance forged in secrecy and pain, bound by trust and a sense of justice that went far beyond the courtroom.

The storm was coming. And this time, he wouldn’t be caught beneath it. He’d be the one calling the lightning.

The law office didn’t look like much from the outside, just a brick townhouse wedged between a florist and a bail bondsman on a quiet street downtown. No gleaming glass tower. No polished marble floors.

But when Thomas Grant stepped through the door, leaning slightly on his cane but walking taller than ever, he felt something shift. The receptionist, a woman with a smoky voice and the scent of lavender, greeted him warmly. Mr. Grant.

Miss Price is expecting you. Right through that door. Uh.

The room beyond was narrow but neat, filled with leather-bound books and sunlight cutting across worn hardwood floors. At the far end, behind a cluttered desk with a brass nameplate reading, Naomi Price, ESQ, sat a woman with a sharp chin, silver streaks in her black hair, and eyes that missed nothing. She stood when he entered.

Mr. Grant, she said, shaking his hand firmly. It’s an honor. Thomas took the chair across from her.

I’m not sure honor is the right word. I’m half blind and nearly robbed blind. Price sat, flipping open a file already thick with papers.

Yes, but you’re still standing. That counts. They got down to business quickly.

Walker had already provided her with the audio files and financial trails. She had cross-checked them against recent corporate records, traced suspicious account movements, and identified three board members Judith had likely influenced with financial promises. She’s meticulous, Price said, admiration laced with disgust.

Started planting seeds more than a year ago. The false incompetency case, the power of attorney revisions, the medical manipulation, this wasn’t spontaneous. She planned to dismantle me in silence, Thomas said.

Yes, Price agreed. And she nearly succeeded. But you’ve got something she didn’t count on.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. What’s that? An unexpected witness. A little girl who’s smarter than half the lawyers I’ve met.

I smiled. Jada. Price leaned forward.

I want to bring her in, discreetly, not to testify yet, but to record a formal statement. She’s credible. Her age actually helps.

Judges listen harder when children speak clearly. I’ll talk to her, Thomas said. But I won’t risk her safety.

Not for me. She’s already at risk, Mr. Grant. Because she stood by you.

Judith’s people are watching your movements more than you think. We need to move fast. What do you need from me, he asked.

Three things, Price said, ticking them off on her fingers. One, we file a countersuit before she can file hers. You’ll claim duress, manipulation, medical coercion.

Two, we serve an injunction freezing any further transfers or asset reallocations. And three, we call a private meeting with the board. She’ll know something’s coming.

She already suspects you’ve figured her out. It’s better to confront her while she’s still pretending to play nice. Once she’s backed into a corner, she’ll lash out and that’s when we’ll catch her.

Thomas exhaled slowly. All right, let’s do it. As he stood, Price reached for a manila envelope.

One more thing. I need you to start writing down what you remember. Your relationship with Judith.

Key events. The first signs of change. It helps us build a psychological profile of the marriage for court.

I’ll start tonight. Um. She walked him to the door.

Mr. Grant? Yes? You may be losing your sight, but you’ve regained something far more valuable. What’s that? Your voice. Back in the car, Thomas asked Miguel to take the long route through the city.

He rolled the window down, letting the autumn air hit his face. He thought of Price’s words. His voice.

For too long, he’d let silence speak for him. Let others decide what he felt. Needed.

Deserved. No more. Back at the estate, he found Jada waiting near the fountain, sitting cross-legged with her notebook on her lap.

She stood when she saw him or rather, when she heard his cane tapping along the stones. You’re early, she said. So are you.

She smiled. How was the lawyer? Sharp. Dangerous.

On our side. Jada nodded approvingly. What’s next? We go on record.

She wants your testimony. Jada didn’t flinch. Okay.

You’re sure? You don’t have to do this. Jada folded her arms. If she gets away with this, she’ll do it again.

To someone else. Maybe someone who doesn’t have a me. Or a Walker.

Or a Naomi Price. Thomas chuckled. You sound like a closing argument.

She grinned. I’ve been practicing. He sat beside her on the low stone wall.

I’ll start writing everything down tonight. Every memory that matters. Every lie she told that I believed.

That’s the first step, Jada said. Truth always starts with memory. Uh.

They sat in silence. The wind rustling through the tall hedges. The world quiet except for the occasional chirp of a bird or hum of a distant lawnmower.

Do you think she ever loved me? Thomas asked suddenly. Jada was quiet for a moment. Maybe.

But power is louder than love for some people. They forget who they were to chase what they think they deserve. He nodded slowly.

That’s what I became. An obstacle to her empire. Um.

Then let’s remind her, Jada said, standing. That the man she tried to erase isn’t done yet. He smiled.

Not with bitterness. But with resolve. He wasn’t done.

Not by a long shot. That evening, as the sky shifted from steel blue to violet, Thomas stood at the window of his study, his fingertips brushing the cool glass. He couldn’t see the sunset, but he could feel its warmth pulling away from the world.

Behind him, the house was still. Too still. Judith had not returned, which wasn’t unusual anymore.

Her nights were increasingly late. Her explanations thinner. Her excuses mechanical.

He welcomed the silence now. It gave him time to write. On his desk lay three pages already filled in his tight, slanted handwriting.

His hand ached from the effort. But his memory poured out clearer than he’d expected. The first year with Judith her charm.

Her ambition. The late nights building the company together. Then the shift.

The sharp words. The passive control. The subtle dismissal of his opinions.

Like water carving stone, it happened slowly. Until he couldn’t tell when he stopped speaking up. He paused.

Fingers resting on the edge of the paper. Then picked up the pen again. It was the night of the shareholders’ gala, he wrote.

She wore red. I remember that. Red like warning.

I was sick double vision. Migraines. She told me I was just tired.

But the next day I collapsed. That was the beginning of the decline. And she never once suggested seeing a real doctor.

Just gave me the specialist. She’d handpicked. He stopped again.

His breathing was uneven. A knock at the door. He turned, expecting silence.

Instead, a voice filtered and soft. Measured. Deliberate.

Thomas, may I come in? It was Judith. He hesitated. You’re home early.

I thought I’d check on you, she said stepping in. I saw your light was still on. She moved with grace.

Her heels muffled on the carpet. She stopped short of his desk. Eyeing the papers.

Writing something? Thomas smiled thinly. A bit of reflection. Feels overdue.

She tilted her head. Are you feeling better? I think clearer. Good, she said quickly.

Clarity’s important. He said nothing. She moved closer.

I’ve been worried about you, Thomas. Ever since the fall, you’ve seemed unsettled. Uh, you mean since I stopped swallowing everything I was told? Her face didn’t twitch.

Not visibly. But her breath caught for half a second. I’ve always done what’s best for you, she said.

No, he said calmly. You’ve done what’s best for you and convinced me it was the same. She stepped back, folding her arms.

Is this how it’s going to be now? Accusations and dramatics? No, Thomas said. It’s going to be facts. Evidence.

And choices. She narrowed her eyes. You don’t have the strength for this, Thomas.

I didn’t, he said. But someone gave it back to me. Her brow furrowed.

A girl, he added. You wouldn’t notice her. That’s your mistake.

You only see threats when they wear suits. You’ve been manipulated, she snapped. No, he said.

I’ve been awakened. Judith’s face shifted. Her veneer cracked just slightly.

I’ll make tea, she said abruptly, turning on her heel. You need rest. When the door closed, Thomas exhaled.

His hands trembled slightly. He reached for the phone and dialed a secure number. Walker answered on the second ring.

She knows, Thomas said. She’s guessing, Walker replied. Letter, just be careful.

She wants me to feel safe. That means she’s almost ready to strike. Then we stay ahead.

Naomi’s prepped the injunction. You ready to sign? First thing tomorrow. Good.

And Jada? She’s stronger than we think. Isn’t she always? Walker chuckled faintly. Keep the recorder on.

Every conversation. Even the quiet ones. I already did, Thomas said.

This one’s gold. He hung up and slipped the small digital recorder deeper into the drawer, beside the sealed pill cups. The file would be labeled, TEA TALK.

A calm domestic visit, layered with threat. Downstairs, he heard the kettle whistle. He didn’t move.

Instead, he opened the desk again and took out the St. Lucy’s medal. He ran his thumb across it slowly. The carved image cool and unyielding.

He didn’t need eyes to see Judith anymore. The next morning, Thomas sat across from Naomi Price in her office. The injunction was printed, notarized, bound.

It would be delivered to the financial authorities by noon. You’ll need to prepare for blowback, she warned. She’ll fight….