Chapter 144
~ Franklin ~
The hospital felt colder that night.
Not because of the humming air conditioning or the sterile white walls.
But because sothing vital was missing.
Her.
Octavia.
The absence pressed down on like a physical weight, making every breath feel labored.
Patricia had broken down twice already. The first ti, her legs gave out in the hallway, and I had to catch her before she hit the floor. The second ti ca after the doctors gently guided her to a spare bed in the ward. Her breathing grew uneven, words tangling into panicked sobs as she kept repeating Octavia’s na like a prayer that might summon her back.
"She’s out there, Franklin... she’s confused... she doesn’t even rember who she is..."
I had no answer for her.
Because every scenario playing in my head was worse than the last—Octavia lost and disoriented, Octavia hurt, Octavia... gone forever.
The doctor finally stepped in, his voice low and compassionate. "She needs to rest. Her body can’t handle this level of stress."
A sedative was the only option. I stood silently as the nurse administered it, watching Patricia’s frantic eyes slowly glaze over, her trembling hands finally stilling as forced sleep claid her. Her breathing evened out, but mine remained ragged.
I sat beside her bed long after the nurses left, the room quiet except for the soft beep of monitors. Silent. Still. Waiting.
My phone rang.
I didn’t need to check the screen. I already knew.
"Grandpa," I answered, my voice rough.
"Franklin," Frederick Flemington said, steady but heavy with concern. "Are you coming ho tonight?"
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. "No."
A pause.
Sothing shifted in his tone. "What happened?"
I exhaled slowly, the words tasting like ash. "Octavia’s been kidnapped."
Silence.
Deep. Dangerous.
Then—
"Tell everything."
And I did.
Every brutal detail.
The CCTV footage showing her being drugged and carried away.
The distorted call from her captor.
The cold threat: cooperate or bury her.
When I finished, he didn’t speak right away. The quiet stretched, thick with the weight of decades of power and secrets.
"You wait for the call," he said finally, voice firm.
"That’s it?" I asked, frustration rising. "We just sit and wait?"
"For now," he replied. "We don’t make blind moves. Whoever did this is calculated. Rushing in will only get her killed."
I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. "She’s out there, Grandpa."
"And you rushing in blindly won’t bring her back," he said sharply. "We play this carefully. When they call—you listen. Then we act."
I closed my eyes briefly, the fight draining from my voice. "...Okay."
"We’ll handle this together," he added before the line went dead.
The waiting began.
Morning ca too slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. I didn’t leave the hospital. Didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. I just sat there, replaying every mont, every mistake, every way I could have protected her better.
Until—
12:00 PM.
Right on ti.
Unknown number.
I answered imdiately, heart hamring.
"I’m ready," I said, voice steady despite the storm inside.
A pause.
Then a voice I knew all too well.
"Of course you are, Mr. Flemington."
My entire body went still.
"...Anthony?"
Anthony Rice chuckled softly on the other end, the sound chillingly casual.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to recognize ."
My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. "You... you kidnapped my wife?"
"Not just that," he said calmly. "I also arranged her little accident at JeffTech."
My heart dropped into freefall.
"You pushed her down the stairs?"
"I sent soone to do it," he corrected smoothly. "Precision matters."
Rage exploded through , hot and blinding. "Why?!"
There was a long pause.
Then his voice changed—colder. Darker.
"Because your parents fucking destroyed my family!"
"My father," Anthony continued, "owned a mid-sized investnt firm. Honest work. Real clients. Real growth."
I said nothing, dread pooling in my stomach.
"Then your father, Douglas Flemington, partnered with him. A partnership that turned into a takeover. Your mother, Priscilla Flemington, handled the legal side—contracts rewritten, clauses hidden. My father signed his company away without even realizing it."
I swallowed hard.
"They stripped us of everything. Our ho. Our reputation. My father lost his mind trying to fight it. My mother got sick...and we couldn’t afford treatnt."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"She died, Franklin."
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
"My father followed her not long after," he added bitterly. "And I was left with nothing."
"I built myself back up," Anthony continued. "Got close to you. Beca your secretary. Learned everything about you—every movent, every weakness."
"And when your parents died?" I asked quietly.
He chuckled. "I didn’t do it. But I was glad."
My stomach twisted violently.
"I was the one that sent your nude photos to your wife," he added casually. "So she could see exactly what kind of man you are."
"And now?" I forced out.
"Now I want what was taken from ."
"The original Flemington estate deed," he said.
I froze.
That wasn’t money.
That was legacy.
Power.
History.
"If I give it to you... I get Octavia back?"
"Yes."
"And if I don’t?"
"You bury her."
The line went dead.
---
We t him at an abandoned lot on the outskirts of the city.
.
Grandpa.
Clinton.
The docunt was in my hand, the weight of generations pressing against my palm.
Anthony stood across from us, calm and smiling like this was just another business eting.
"Drop it," he ordered.
I did.
Then—a car door opened.
And they brought her out.
Octavia.
Unconscious.
My heart stopped.
"Octavia..." I breathed, stepping forward instinctively.
Tires screeched.
Another car.
Out of nowhere.
The window rolled down—
A gun.
Pointed directly at .
Everything slowed.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think—
Until—
"FRANKLIN!"
Frederick Flemington stepped in front of without hesitation.
The gun fired.
A single shot.
Echoing.
Final.
He fell.
"GRANDPA!" I shouted, dropping to my knees beside him.
Blood.
Too much blood.
Behind , the car sped off.
And so did Anthony.
Taking everything with him.
I held my grandfather in my arms, hands shaking, my world collapsing around .
Octavia—gone.
My grandfather—dying in my arms.
And the man responsible?
Still out there.
Smiling.
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