Chapter 5 - The War Room in Queens
The converted auto repair shop on 31st Street in Astoria smelled of motor oil, welding torches, and old rubber, but inside the rear office partition, Calder Wynn had built something extraordinary.
The walls were lined with custom pulley systems, resistance bands, infrared thermographic scanners, and specialized biomechanical rigs designed to support partial weight-bearing without the crushing pressure of traditional harnesses.
When Marlo’s Maybach pulled up to the sliding roll-up door an hour later, Richard Sterling looked like he was walking to his own execution.
"Marlo, this is insanity!" Richard protested as the driver pushed her wheelchair across the concrete floor toward the office partition. "Hollister Defense has mobilized half the federal oversight committees against us! Our stock dropped four points before noon! We need to issue a retraction, call an emergency board meeting, and sue Hollister for tortious interference!"
"Richard," Marlo said without looking back, her voice deadly calm. "If we sue him in public right now, we look weak. We look like a wounded animal thrashing in the water."
"Then what do you propose we do?"
Marlo rolled her chair past a heavy workbench and stopped beside Calder, who was calibrating a digital force plate on the floor.
"We let Hollister think he’s winning," Marlo said, her eyes gleaming with cold tactical precision. "He wants to squeeze our supply chain and choke our adaptive mobility grants? Let him. While he’s busy celebrating his supposed victory over my corporate assets, we are going to do something much more dangerous."
Calder looked up from his calibration tools, a faint, approving smile touching his lips. "And what’s that?"
"You're going to teach me how to stand," Marlo said.
Richard gasped, clutching his briefcase to his chest as if he might faint. "Stand? Marlo, your medical files explicitly state—"
"My medical files were written by men who didn't want to look past a wheelchair," Marlo cut him off sharply. She turned to Calder. "You said my injury was incomplete. You said the protocol can take me further than the hospitals admitted. How long?"
Calder stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. He walked over and crouched down beside her chair so they were eye-to-eye. There was no pity in his gaze—only total, uncompromising professionalism mixed with a fierce, quiet challenge.
"Six weeks to activate baseline neural pathways," Calder said steadily. "Three months before you take your first unsupported step. And it will hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life, Marlo. No painkillers. No shortcuts. Because if you numb the nerves, you block the feedback loop."
May you like
Marlo didn't flinch. She held his gaze for ten long seconds, measuring the man, his past, his conviction, and the strange, undeniable pull that had started with a waltz under the grand chandeliers of the Pierre Hotel.
"Start the clock," she said.
