Two years prior, a high-speed crash in his custom sports car had left him paralyzed from the waist down. “Complete spinal cord lesion,” a neurologist in Boston explained grimly. “Irreversible,” repeated a specialist from Berlin.

Once charismatic and commanding, Dominic withdrew entirely from the world. His penthouse became a fortress of steel and glass, where the only echoes were those of his own despair. Family visits dwindled. Old friends called less and less. Even his assistants tiptoed around him, unsure if they would encounter rage or melancholy that day. Money could buy doctors, therapies, and machines, but it could not buy a miracle.