Chapter 104

~ Franklin ~

The following morning, I brought my grandfather with me to the hospital. It was his first time seeing Octavia since the accident, and the moment we stepped into the VIP suite, the air seemed to leave his lungs. His eyes, usually sharp and full of mischief, welled up with immediate tears.

"Is this...is this how serious it truly is, Franklin?" he whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at Octavia’s motionless body.

She looked like a porcelain doll—beautiful, but tragically fragile. Her face and arms were a ghostly pale against the stark white of the hospital linens, her hair fanned out against the pillow, looking stiff from lack of movement. Every two days, I made sure to replace the bouquet in her room with fresh orchids and sunflower. I wanted the environment to feel lively and fragrant, a sensory tether that might pull her back from the gray world of her coma.

A few days prior, Victoria Whitmore, her best friend, had come to visit. She had been so overcome with grief, sobbing so hysterically, that I’d had to gently usher her out. That wasn’t the energy Octavia needed; she needed strength, not mourning. To her credit, Victoria had composed herself and apologized later, and I’d welcomed her back once she could speak to Octavia with hope instead of despair.

"Grandpa, are you about to cry?" I asked, watching the way his lower lip quivered.

"Of course not," he lied gruffly, turning his head away to blink rapidly. "Just a bit of dust in the air. These hospitals...they never clean properly."

"Grandpa, she’s going to be fine," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "There’s no need for tears. Octavia is a fighter. She’s survived everything the world has thrown at her so far; she won’t let a flight of stairs be the end of her story." 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

"But," my grandfather paused, fishing a silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket to dab at his eyes. "What if... what if she never wakes up, Franklin? The doctors, they use such clinical words. ’Uncertain.’ ’Guarded.’"

"Don’t say that," I scolded him softly, my heart tightening. "Don’t even think it. Octavia might hear you, and I don’t want her thinking we’ve given up on her."

"She’s unconscious, Franklin. I don’t think she’s eavesdropping on our worries."

"The doctors said comatose patients can often perceive their environment," I reminded him. "That’s why I spend hours talking to her, telling her I love her, telling her about the office. Positive reinforcement is a catalyst for recovery. From now on, only words of motivation, okay?"

My grandfather straightened his back, tucking his handkerchief away. "You’re right. I’ll give her a proper pep talk. She’ll wake up just to tell me to be quiet, I suspect."

I managed a small smile. Even in the darkest moments, my grandfather’s humor was the only thing keeping me upright.

"Thanks, Grandpa."

"For what?"

"For everything. For being here."

He nodded solemnly, wiping away a final stray tear. "How is the investigation? Are we any closer to finding the person responsible?"

"Not yet," I admitted, my jaw tightening. "The trails are being wiped clean almost as fast as I find them. But I’m not stopping. Whoever did this is still out there, and I’m going to find them."

"If you need my influence, or my checkbook, you just ask," he said fiercely. "Octavia is family. And we Flemingtons take care of our own."

We spent the rest of the day there. The next morning, my grandfather returned early to meet with Octavia’s parents. Watching the three of them bond over their shared terror was heartbreaking.

Eventually, a series of urgent calls from the office forced me to leave them, but my mind wasn’t on work.

I decided it was time for a more direct approach with the investigation. I asked Anthony for the physical address of the private investigator’s office. I didn’t want to call; I wanted to look Detective Kane in the eye.

The office was located in a cramped, nondescript building in Brooklyn. It was a small, rented space that smelled really awkward. I walked up to the reception desk.

"Good day. I’m Franklin Flemington. I’m here to see Detective Kane. Is he in?"

The receptionist looked up, her expression professional. "Do you have an appointment, Mr. Flemington?"

I knew if I said no, Kane would have me barred. "Yes, I do. He’s expecting me."

"One moment." She picked up the phone. I sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, my leg bouncing with nervous energy.

After a few seconds, she hung up and looked at me with a confused, slightly apologetic frown.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Flemington, but Mr. Kane says he is in the middle of a high-priority case and isn’t in a position to see you. He asks that you leave your contact information and he will...get back to you."

"Bullshit," I hissed. I stood up and marched toward the back hallway.

"Mr. Flemington! You can’t go back there!" she called out, but I ignored her.

I found the door marked KANE and threw it open. The detective jumped, his eyes widening in a mixture of surprise and genuine fear.

"Kane," I growled, slamming the door shut behind me. His secretary, rushed in behind me, protesting my entrance, but I silenced her with a single, icy look.

"It’s alright, Fern. Leave us," Kane said, his voice shaky.

Once she was gone, I leaned over his desk.

"Why the hell did you back down? I paid you a fortune to find the owner of that private number. You called me! You told me you had the name! And then suddenly, you turn into a ghost and tell me to drop it for my own sake? What the hell is going on?"

"I’m sorry, Mr. Flemington," Kane said, refusing to meet my eyes. "I realized I was out of my depth. I’ll refund every cent of your retainer by the end of the business day."

"I don’t want the money, Kane! I want the name!" I yelled, my fist hitting the desk with a dull thud. "You traced it. You knew who it was. Who threatened you? Was it the same person who pushed Octavia?"

Kane looked terrified. He was a man who lived in the shadows, but whatever shadow had touched him was clearly darker than mine. "I can’t help you. Please...just leave. Drop it, Franklin. Some things are better left buried."

"Are you being threatened?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"I have nothing more to say to you. Your money will be wired back. Please leave my office."

I scoffed, my disgust for the man boiling over.

"Keep the fucking money, Kane. If you’re that much of a coward, you’ll need it to buy a new conscience."

I stormed out, ignoring the stares of the staff. I got into my car and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

I was back at square one, and the frustration was becoming unbearable.

I was about to start the engine when my phone began to vibrate. It was Patricia. My heart skipped a beat—usually, calls at this hour meant bad news. I picked up, my voice tight.

"Mrs. Herman, I’m just leaving an appointment, I’ll be there in..."

"Franklin! She’s awake!" Patricia’s voice was a joyous scream, punctuated by what sounded like sobbing in the background. "She opened her eyes! Octavia is awake!"

The world seemed to stop spinning. I sat bolt upright, my eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "What? Are you sure? Is she speaking?"

"She’s disoriented, the doctors are with her now, but she’s awake, Franklin! Come quickly! Oh, thank God...I can’t believe it!"

"I’m on my way," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I ended the call and tore out of the parking space, the tires screeching against the pavement. I drove like a madman, weaving through Brooklyn traffic and across the bridge, my mind a whirlwind of relief and hope.

I was right. She was strong. She was the strongest woman I’d ever known, and she had fought her way back to the light.

I was coming for her, and this time, nothing—not my past, not the Harringtons, and not the coward in the stairwell—was going to keep us apart.