Chapter 10 - The Truth Surfaces
Three days turned into two weeks. The chest tube came out, the cast on my arm was set in durable fiberglass, and the bruises along my jaw shifted from violent purple to faint yellow.
The story had exploded nationally. Every major news network ran segments on the "Christmas Eve Miracle in Anchorage." Legal analysts broke down the accidental live stream that had saved my life and destroyed Arthur Carver's fraudulent empire.
I sat in a wheelchair by the hospital solarium, holding a hot cup of black tea. Outside, the Chugach Mountains stood pristine and majestic against a brilliant blue Alaskan sky. For ten years, I had run from this state, run from the cold, believing that Arthur was an insurmountable mountain I could never conquer.
The door to the solarium clicked open. It was Old Man Henderson, wearing his Sunday western shirt and carrying a box of homemade blueberry pastries.
"Brought you some real food," he grunted, setting the box on the low table. "Can't stand that hospital slop."
"Thank you, Henderson," I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face for the first time in months. "For everything. You saved my life out there."
"Naw," Henderson scoffed, waving a thick hand. "You saved yourself. You crawled twenty yards through a sub-zero drift with broken bones. Your mama was tough as caribou leather, and you’re just like her. Don't let nobody tell you different."
He pulled a folded legal envelope from his pocket and handed it to me.
"State marshal dropped this by my place to give to your attorney. Arthur’s defense team wants a plea bargain. Ten years, minimum security."
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I unfolded the paper, looking at the signature line where Arthur had signed his formal surrender of all claims to my mother's estate. The arrogance was gone from his handwriting; the letters were shaky, desperate, defeated.
"No plea," I said firmly, my voice unwavering. "He gets a public trial. Every single dollar, every single lie, every single bruise will be put on the record."
