Chapter 96

~ Franklin ~

The sterile smell of the hospital followed me into Dr. Aris’s office. He was finishing a phone call as I entered, and the moment he hung up, I didn’t give him a chance to breathe.

"I’m Franklin Flemington. Octavia Herman is my wife," I stated, my voice tight.

"Ah, Mr. Flemington. Please, take a seat. I was just about to head back down to the ER to check on her latest vitals."

"I don’t want a seat. I need to know her condition. Now," I said, though I lowered myself into the chair anyway, my legs feeling like lead.

"Your wife sustained a significant head injury from the fall," he began, his professional calm acting as a grating contrast to my internal chaos. "There is also visible trauma along her shoulder and her left side—mostly severe bruising as she is unconscious. Fortunately, the initial scans haven’t detected any major fractures or spinal displacement."

I let out a slow, jagged breath. The grip on my heart loosened, but only by a fraction. "And her brain? You said she was unconscious."

"She is. However, her vitals are stable, which is a positive indication. The body often shuts down like this to protect the brain from further stress."

I ran a hand over my face, the stubble on my jaw rasping against my palm. "How long? When does she wake up?"

The doctor paused, and that hesitation made my blood run cold. "It’s difficult to determine, Mr. Flemington. With head injuries, the brain dictates the timeline. It could be hours...or it could be significantly longer. We have to monitor the swelling."

"That’s not a concrete answer," I growled.

"In neurosurgery, there are very few concrete answers until the patient opens their eyes," he replied evenly. He stood up. "I’m going to examine her again. Follow me."

Back in the ER, I watched him perform a series of neurological tests—shining lights into her eyes, checking her reflexes. Octavia remained a pale, silent ghost.

"Is she in danger?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"We’ve ruled out severe internal bleeding for now," Dr. Aris replied. "But the next twenty-four hours are critical. We’ll be monitoring her neurological responses every hour. If she doesn’t respond to stimuli by tomorrow, we’ll run another MRI."

"And when she does wake up?" I pressed.

"Expect confusion. Memory gaps are very common with this type of acceleration-deceleration trauma. We won’t know the extent of the cognitive impact until she can communicate with us."

My heart skipped a beat.

"She’s a strong woman," I said, more to myself than to him. "She’ll wake up soon."

"Resilience counts for a lot in these cases," the doctor nodded.

I leaned in, my gaze sharpening. "Doctor, do you think she just fell? Does this look like an accidental trip to you?"

Dr. Aris looked at me cautiously. "I’m a surgeon, not a detective. However, if you suspect foul play, hospital protocol requires us to report it to security and law enforcement immediately."

"It will be reported," I said firmly.

I stayed with her for another hour, holding her cold hand, before the need for answers became an itch I couldn’t stop scratching. I left Walter at the hospital to keep watch and took a car to JeffTech. I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for a miracle when there was a crime to solve.

I stormed into the corporate headquarters, ignoring the startled receptionist. I went straight for the boardroom, finding Mr. Norman, the head of the board. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Mr. Flemington, we were just..."

"Did you see it? Do you know what happened to my wife?" I cut him off, slamming my hands onto the mahogany table.

"Calm down, Mr Flemington," he said, holding up his hands.

"I will not calm down! My wife is lying in a coma at Manhattan General because your building is a death trap! How did she fall?"

"The report says it was an accident. She was rushing to a high-stakes presentation. Vernon Hill from IT found her in the fourteenth-floor stairwell while he was moving between floors. He called the paramedics immediately."

"Get him here. Now."

Minutes later, a nervous-looking man named Vernon was ushered in.

"Mr. Hill," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "You found her?"

"I did, sir. She was...she was at the bottom of the flight. Unconscious. I checked for a pulse and called 911 immediately."

"Was there anyone else there? Did you see anyone exiting the stairwell? Hear a door close?"

"No, sir. It was quiet. I didn’t see anyone else."

"Are you sure? Think carefully, Vernon."

"I’m positive. I was just as shocked as anyone else."

"Fine. You can go." I turned back to Norman as Vernon scurried out.

"I want the security footage. Every angle of that stairwell."

"Mr Flemington, that’s highly irregular..."

"I don’t care about ’irregular’! I want the footage, or I’ll have my legal team dismantle this company by nightfall."

Ten minutes later, I was in the security office.

The room was dim, lit by the flickering blue light of a dozen monitors.

"Show me the fourteenth-floor stairwell," I commanded.

The head of security tapped a few keys. The screen flickered to life, showing the concrete steps of the stairwell. I saw Octavia enter. She was moving fast and she looked focused, determined.

"There," the officer pointed. "That’s her."

I leaned forward, my nose inches from the screen. She was halfway down the flight when a shadow appeared at the very edge of the frame. It was a dark, blurred shape, hovering just behind her.

"What is that?" I snapped.

"Seems like a shadow, sir."

Then, a hand emerged.

It was covered in a sleek, black leather glove. It was fast, deliberate, and violent.

The hand shoved Octavia directly between the shoulder blades. I felt my stomach turn as I watched her lose her balance, her body pitching forward into the abyss of the stairwell until she disappeared from the camera’s view.

"Pause it! Zoom in on that hand!"

The image pixelated as it grew larger. The glove was high-quality, tight-fitting leather. No skin was visible. No face.

"Zoom more!"

"It’s going to be too blurry, Mr. Flemington..."

"I don’t care! Do it!"

The image was a mess of grey squares, but the action was unmistakable. It wasn’t a trip. It was an attempted murder.

"Where is the rest of the person?" I yelled.

"Where is the face?"

"The camera angle doesn’t cover the landing behind the door, sir. It’s a blind spot.

Whoever did this knew exactly where the lens couldn’t reach."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "So someone walks into your building, pushes a woman down the stairs, and vanishes into thin air because of a ’blind spot’?"

"We’re checking the hallway cameras, but so far...nothing. Whoever it was must have used a service exit or a disguise."

I stormed out of the security room, my blood boiling. I ran into Miranda in the hallway.

"Mr. Flemington, I heard you were looking at the footage..."

"Your security is an atrocity, Miranda!" I roared, pointing a finger at her. "My wife was pushed. Pushed! In your building! I should sue every one of you for this!"

"Mr Flemington, please," she said, looking genuinely shaken. "I was in the conference room waiting for her. We heard the sirens... we had no idea. I take full responsibility for her being under my supervision, I’m so sorry but I never thought..."

"An apology doesn’t wake her up!" I spat. "I don’t care what it takes or how much money I have to burn. I am going to find the person who wore those gloves. and when I do, they’ll wish they had died in that stairwell instead of her."

I turned on my heel and walked out, the image of that black-gloved hand burned into my retinas.