Chapter 159: ~ 159
Chapter 159
~ Franklin ~
Two days before my flight to Bogotá, Colombia, I finally summoned the household staff to my study. The room felt unusually heavy as Olga, Clarence, Lila, and Joyce stood before me, their faces a mixture of curiosity and quiet concern. I took a steadying breath and began.
"Something happened," I said, my voice low. "My grandfather was shot."
Gasps filled the air. Olga clutched her chest, her eyes widening in horror. "Moi bog!" she exclaimed. Lila and Joyce exchanged shocked glances, while Clarence’s normally composed face paled.
"I thought Senior Flemington had traveled," Lila whispered, her hand trembling slightly.
"You know he never travels without Clarence helping with his luggage," Joyce added sadly.
"Moi bog," Olga repeated, covering her mouth as tears glistened in her eyes.
"How did it happen, Mr. Flemington?" Clarence asked, his tone careful but urgent.
I couldn’t tell them the full truth—that my grandfather had been helping rescue Octavia after she was kidnapped. Revealing those details would only spark panic and raise questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
"He was with me when an unknown gunman shot him," I said instead. "He’s in the hospital receiving treatment... but he’s comatose."
"Mr. Flemington?" Lila’s eyes filled with tears. "Senior Flemington is going to be okay, right?"
"Hopefully, Lila," I replied, my throat tightening. "What I need from all of you right now is to keep him in your prayers. Stay hopeful. That’s the best thing we can do for him."
A hollow ache settled in my stomach. I missed my grandfather more than words could express—the man who had been my rock, my guide, my family’s unshakeable foundation.
"Mr. Flemington?" Olga spoke up again, her voice thick with emotion.
"Yes, Olga?"
"Olga will pray for him every single day. He will be fine," she assured me with fierce conviction.
"Thank you, Olga. I need that more than you know," I said, offering a sad smile.
"Is there anything else we can do to help him?" Clarence asked, always practical and ready to serve.
"For now, no. But thank you."
"Can we visit him, Mr. Flemington?" Joyce asked softly.
"Yes, during visitation hours. I’ll instruct Briggs, my head of security, to allow all of you access. I’ll give him the order today."
They nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of the news.
"Olga feels so sad for Senior Flemington," the housekeeper murmured, shaking her head. Then she looked directly at me, her eyes full of maternal concern. "Olga asks... is Mr. Flemington okay?"
I exhaled slowly, the honesty slipping out before I could stop it. "I’m not okay, Olga. I miss him terribly."
She clicked her tongue sympathetically and gave me a warm, understanding look. "Everything will be fine, Mr. Flemington. You will see."
"I hope so," I mumbled.
I straightened my shoulders. "There’s one more announcement."
All eyes turned to me again, a fresh wave of curiosity mixed with apprehension. Lila cringed slightly. "I hope it isn’t more bad news."
"Is it about Mrs. Flemington? Is she okay?" Joyce asked quickly.
"It’s not bad news, and yes—Octavia is okay," I assured them. In reality, she was staying with her parents and hadn’t reached out since her discharge. I had wanted to call her, but with her memories fully restored, I feared she wouldn’t welcome my voice.
"I will be traveling to Bogotá, Colombia, for an important business trip in two days," I continued.
"Oh," both maids said in unison.
"When will you return, Mr. Flemington?" Clarence asked.
"Probably in three or four days, depending on how the negotiations unfold."
"Olga wishes you a safe journey," Olga said warmly.
"Thank you, Olga. I’ll need those prayers too."
"What about Mrs. Flemington?" Lila asked. "Does she know?"
The question lingered in the air. Did Octavia deserve to know I was leaving the country? Should I insist on telling her in person when she wasn’t even speaking to me?
"No, she doesn’t know yet," I admitted. "But I will tell her."
They nodded quietly.
"Poor Senior Flemington," Joyce sighed. "I hope he gets better soon."
"He will, Joyce. Don’t worry," Clarence reassured her gently.
"While I’m gone," I added, my tone turning firm and serious, "I need the four of you to remain extra vigilant. No uninvited guests. No one enters this house without my explicit consent. The only exception is my wife, Octavia, should she come to visit. I’ll relay the same instructions to the security team at the estate gate. Keep this in mind and do not allow anyone—anyone at all—into the mansion. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Mr. Flemington," they replied in unison.
"Any questions?"
They exchanged brief glances before Clarence shook his head. "No, sir."
"Good. You’re dismissed."
As they filed out of the study, I let out a long, weary sigh and opened the top drawer of my desk. Inside lay the original copy of the Flemington estate deed. If Clinton hadn’t snatched it from Anthony, I would have lost one of our most cherished family legacies to that bastard. I would return it to the archives where it rightfully belonged.
Later that afternoon, I had Walter drive me to Soho, where Octavia’s parents lived. On the way, I stopped to pick up thoughtful gifts—beautiful flowers, fine chocolates, and a bottle of Ben’s favorite wine.
When I arrived, Ben and Patricia greeted me warmly at the door.
"Welcome to our home, Franklin," Ben said, extending his hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Herman."
"I wanted to see you the day Octavia was discharged, but she mentioned you had already left," Ben added.
"Yes, I had urgent matters to handle at the company."
"We wanted to visit your grandfather," Patricia said, "but we didn’t stay long. We weren’t sure if your bodyguard would ask us to leave."
"I instructed Briggs to limit regular access to Octavia and myself because my grandfather knows us best," I explained. "But since you’re her parents, he made an exception. Forgive me if I didn’t formally include you on the list—"
"No need to apologize," Ben interrupted kindly. "We completely understand. You’re being cautious, and that’s perfectly reasonable."
"Thank you."
"How is he now?" Ben asked.
"He’s not okay yet, but I’m holding onto hope that with time, he’ll improve."
"Don’t worry," Patricia added gently. "He will."
I studied Ben’s face carefully. It didn’t seem like Patricia had told him about Octavia’s kidnapping. Probably wise—Ben struck me as the type who would push hard for police involvement, which could risk complicating everything further.
"I brought gifts for all of you," I said, placing the elegant bags on the coffee table.
"Thank you, Franklin. This is very thoughtful," Ben replied as Patricia nodded in agreement.
"You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do after everything you’ve both done to help care for Octavia."
"It’s our job as her parents," Patricia smiled warmly. "But we should be thanking you. You’ve been a good husband to her."
"Thank you, Mr. Herman," I said quietly.
"Don’t mention it."
"Would you like something to eat or drink?" Patricia offered.
"I’m fine, thank you. I actually came to see Octavia and tell her something important."
"How is she doing?" I asked.
"She’s getting better every day," Patricia replied.
"That’s good to hear. Is she around?"
"She is, but she’s asleep right now," Patricia explained. "The hospital bed wasn’t comfortable, so she’s been catching up on proper rest. She dozed off after lunch."
I nodded slowly, disappointment settling heavily in my chest. "Okay."
"That means I won’t be able to tell her in person," I said with a sigh.
"What did you want to tell her?" Ben asked curiously.
"I’m leaving the States for Bogotá, Colombia, in two days for a critical business trip."
They exchanged a concerned glance.
"That’s important," Ben said, "but isn’t the timing difficult with your grandfather in critical condition?"
"It’s not ideal," I admitted. "But this is exactly the kind of responsibility my grandfather would have expected me to handle. I can’t abandon the family business, even now. I have to keep moving forward for our legacy."
"You’re a brave young man, Franklin," Ben said sincerely. "And I pray in my heart that you don’t lose your grandfather."
"Me too," I replied, my voice thick with emotion.
"Can we let Octavia know when she wakes up?" Patricia offered.
"Please do. Tell her I stopped by and that I’ll be away for a few days on business."
"We will," they assured me.
"Thank you." I stood up. "I should be heading back. I’ll return to the States in a few days."
"Safe journey, Franklin," they said together.
"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Herman."
I paused at the door, glancing back toward the hallway where Octavia slept. I wished desperately that I could have seen her face before leaving. Just one look might have calmed the storm raging inside me.
As I walked toward the waiting limo, I pulled out my phone and called Briggs.
"Sir," he answered promptly.
"I’m on my way to the hospital to see my grandfather."
"Understood, sir."
I ended the call and slid into the car. "Walter, take me to Manhattan General."
"Yes, sir."
As the limo pulled away from the apartment building, my thoughts remained fixed on Octavia—her face, her guarded eyes, the growing distance between us. The city blurred past the windows, but the ache in my chest only sharpened with every mile.
