Arthur dismissed the doctor and walked to the guest bedroom. Elian was sitting cross-legged on the massive bed, eating a bowl of hot soup a maid had brought him. He looked small and fragile.
Arthur pulled up a chair and sat backward on it, crossing his arms. "Alright, Elian. The doctor says you're basically a human battery. You drained yourself to fix me. I want the truth. Who sent you? Was it a competitor? A religious cult? A secret government lab?"
Elian took a sip of soup and set the spoon down. "Nobody sent me, Mr. Sterling. I came because my mother told me to."
"Your mother?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And who is she?"
"Her name was Sarah Vance. She died three weeks ago," Elian said, his voice void of emotion, as if he had cried all his tears long ago.
Arthur froze. The name hit him like a physical blow. He remembered the name Sarah Vance. Five years ago, before his accident, Arthur’s chemical company had been involved in a massive illegal dumping scandal in a working-class neighborhood. The toxic runoff had poisoned the local water supply. Sarah Vance was the community leader who had organized a massive class-action lawsuit against him.
Arthur had used his infinite wealth to crush the lawsuit. He hired private investigators to ruin Sarah’s reputation, framed her for embezzlement, and bankrupted her. The stress had broken her. Shortly after, Arthur got into his car accident. He had always secretly wondered if his paralysis was karmic retribution for what he did to Sarah and that community.
"Sarah..." Arthur whispered, the color draining from his face. "You're... Sarah's son."
"She got sick from the water," Elian said quietly. "A lot of people did. She died in a charity hospital. But before she died, she told me who you were. She told me you were a bad man who was broken in half."
Arthur felt a cold sweat break out on his neck. "If she hated me... if I killed her... why would you come and heal me?"
Elian looked up, his blue eyes piercing straight through Arthur’s soul. "Because my mom said that living with a broken body is nothing compared to living with a broken soul. She said your wheelchair was your excuse to be cruel. If I took away your excuse... you would have to finally face what you are."
Chapter 4: The Burden of Miracles
For the next two weeks, Arthur kept Elian hidden in his estate. The world outside was going crazy. Rumors of Arthur Sterling’s miraculous recovery had leaked despite his threats. Paparazzi camped outside his gates. Medical journals begged for an interview. Rival billionaires sent spies to figure out what cybernetic or biological breakthrough Arthur had hoarded for himself.
But inside the estate, Arthur was fighting a different kind of battle. A psychological one.
He tried to go back to his old life. He marched into his corporate headquarters on his own two feet, expecting to feel the old rush of power as he terrorized his board of directors. But as he stood at the head of the boardroom table, looking at the terrified faces of his executives, he felt... nothing. The thrill of crushing smaller companies, the joy of hostile takeovers—it all tasted like ash in his mouth.
Every time he walked, every time he felt the muscles in his legs flex and carry him forward, he remembered the dirty, malnourished boy sitting in his guest room. He remembered the toxic water. He remembered Sarah Vance.
Arthur found himself returning to the estate earlier and earlier every day. He began spending time with Elian. He learned that the boy’s powers weren't just limited to spinal cords. One afternoon, Arthur’s prized Doberman, a massive, vicious guard dog, was struck by a delivery truck on the estate grounds. The dog was dying, its ribs crushed.
Before the vet could arrive, Elian knelt in the bloody grass. He placed his hands on the dog’s chest. The air around them seemed to shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt. The dog’s crushed bones snapped back into place. Its ragged breathing steadied. Moments later, the Doberman stood up, licked Elian’s face, and bounded away.
But Elian collapsed. Arthur caught him before he hit the ground. The boy was freezing cold, his pulse barely there. It took three days of bed rest for Elian to recover enough to speak.