Chapter 22
~ Franklin ~
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my grandfather's private study, staring out at the jagged Manhattan skyline.
"He's here, sir," one of my grandfather's bodyguards announced as he stepped into the room.
"Let him in," my grandfather commanded. The bodyguard nodded obediently and vanished.
My grandfather looked ancient today. The lines around his eyes were etched deeper than ever—the heavy price of a legacy built on a foundation of secrets. Then, the door swung open, and Dorian Harrington stepped in.
He didn't look like a disgraced, rejected board member. He looked like a victor returning from a long, successful war. He wore a suit and his smile was a jagged blade.
"Frederick. Franklin," Dorian said, his voice as smooth as silk and twice as slippery.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
I clenched my teeth, the muscles in my jaw ticking. "We aren't here for pleasantries, Harrington," I snapped, finally turning away from the window. "You sent the wire instructions. You made your demands. My grandfather has already authorized the first installment of the silence money. Let's get this over with so you can crawl back into whatever fucking hole you've been hiding in."
Dorian surprised us both by letting out a short, dry chuckle. He pulled out a chair, making himself comfortable as he crossed one polished shoe over the other.
"Ah, the arrogance of youth," Dorian mused, glancing at my grandfather. "Always thinking that money is the only currency that matters. Frederick, did you not teach your grandson that in the Flemington Group, power is the only gold worth hoarding?"
My grandfather narrowed his eyes, provoked. "What is it, Dorian? You asked for five million dollars. The transfer is pending."
"Cancel it," Dorian said flatly, looking utterly uninterested in the cash.
The room went silent. A cold prickle of unease crawled up my spine.
Blackmailers didn't just 'cancel' five million dollars unless they had found a way to take fifty.
"I've had a change of heart," Dorian continued, leaning forward.
His eyes were cold, calculating, and devoid of mercy. "Money is fleeting. But a seat at the table? That lasts a lifetime. I have watched you Flemingtons play the board like a fiddle for decades. I watched you, Frederick, fire me because I saw through the cracks in your ivory tower. And now, I've fucking seen the biggest crack of them all!"
He reached into his breast pocket and tossed a manila envelope onto the desk. It slid across the wood, tapping against my grandfather's hand. Frederick opened it slowly. I didn't need to see the photos to know what they contained: Octavia and I on the terrace, standing six feet apart with palpable tension, and shots of me leaving the guest room followed by Bella leaving it as well.
"My theory was proven. I was right; the marriage was a fraud from the minute you Fredrick announced the engagement at the Tower," he said, his voice ringing with terrifying clarity.
"If the board sees this—if the press sees this—the Ethics Committee will have your head on a platter by lunch. You will be ousted, Franklin. Stripped of your title, your shares, and your reputation."
Dorian was savoring the moment, feeding off our silence.
"What do you fucking want, Harrington?" I growled, my fists clenching.
"Now you're talking," he chuckled. "I have a son about your age...his name is Clinton. He has a brilliant mind, but he lacks opportunity. I want you, Franklin, to step down as CEO, effective immediately. You will cite 'personal reasons' to focus on your marriage. In your place, you will recommend Clinton as the interim CEO. I, of course, will return as a member of the board."
The air left the room. It was a coup. A bloodless, corporate execution.
"You are insane if you think I would ever do that," I breathed. "You want me to hand over the keys to the kingdom to a boy who hasn't even run a lemonade stand? The board would never approve it."
"They will if the alternative is a scandal that drops the stock price by forty percent," Dorian countered. "You both have twenty-four hours."
He stood up and walked out. The door clicked shut, leaving a silence so heavy it felt like lead. I didn't stay to comfort my grandfather; I had no patience for his sighs of regret.
"Where are you going?" he called out, his voice weak.
"I need to leave. It's suffocating in here," I spat, storming out and driving back to the estate, my blood boiling.
This was Octavia's fault. If she hadn't been sulking like a child at the party, Harrington's vultures wouldn't have sensed blood in the water. I found her outside at the gazebo, tucked away with a book.
"Congratulations, Octavia!" I barked, clapping my hands mockingly. "Your pathetic display of misery last night just cost me my company."
She turned slowly, her eyes red-rimmed, but her face was set in that new, annoying mask of indifference. "What are you talking about, Franklin?"
"It's fucking Harrington! He has photos of us from the party—how 'happy' we looked—and photos of me and Bella. He's using them to blackmail me into stepping down so his useless son can take my chair. If I lose the CEO position, the Flemington guarantee on your parents' debts is gone. Do you hear me? Gone! They'll be on the street by the end of the month."
"So now you are blaming me?" she asked, her voice trembling as she stood up. "You were the one in that fucking guest room with Bella! You were the one who broke the 'convincing' image, not me! Don't you dare try to take the moral high ground. This is your fault, Franklin!"
I stepped into her space, looming over her with every bit of the coldness I felt. "I'm the one paying the bills! I'm the one keeping your family's pathetic legacy from drowning in the gutter. Your only job was to look like a woman who was satisfied, and you couldn't even manage that!"
"I'm a person, Franklin! Not a fucking puppet you can pull strings on whenever you feel like cheating!"
"You are a line in a contract!" I roared, my voice echoing off the architecture. "I don't fucking care about your feelings! I don't fucking care about your tears or your 'heartbreak.' All I care about is my company, and right now, you are a failing asset."
She looked at me, a single tear escaping, but I felt no pity. Only irritation.
"You are a monster, Franklin," she whispered.
"No, I'm a businessman, honey," I corrected, my voice dropping to a deadly, quiet chill. "And since you managed to ruin the 'happy couple' angle, you are going to fix it. We have a masquerade ball to attend to tonight. You will put on the most expensive dress you own, you will paint a smile on that face, and you will stay glued to my side. If I see even a hint of that 'sad ghost' routine, I will personally sign the paperwork to liquidate your father's assets before the sun comes up tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?"
She stared at me, her chest heaving with silent sobs.
"Answer me!" I snapped.
"Yes," she jumped in fear, her voice barely a whisper.
"Good. Get out of my sight and start getting ready. You have four fucking hours to make yourself look like someone worth five billion dollars. Don't waste my time."
She gave a solemn nod, her shoulders shaking as she hurried away. I watched her go, feeling nothing but a cold sense of necessity.
Clarence appeared with a tray of juice for Octavia who by passed him as she fled, he greeted me but I was too consumed by rage to acknowledge him.
I had a kingdom to defend, and if I had to break her spirit to keep my crown, so be it.