I thought I was going to spend my days taking care of . A. wealthy man who had lost the use of his legs.
I thought my biggest challenges would be helping him with his routine, managing his medications, and keeping him comfortable.
I was wrong.
Because the moment Alexander Whitmore moved his toes in front of me, I realized something much bigger was happening inside that house.
Someone wasn’t taking care of a disabled man.
Someone was keeping a powerful man trapped.
And I had just become the first person he trusted enough to see the truth.
I stood there frozen, staring at Alexander’s foot.
The same foot everyone in that house believed was completely useless.
“How long?” I finally whispered.
Alexander looked toward the locked door before answering.
“Forty-seven days.”
My eyebrows tightened.
“Forty-seven days?”
He nodded slowly.
“Forty-seven days since I first moved my ankle.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Then why didn’t you tell your doctors?”
A painful smile crossed his face.
“Because my doctors are paid by my family.”
That sentence made my stomach drop.
