Chapter 136

~ Franklin ~

That evening, when I returned to the hospital, I brought Olga with me. She had been eager to see Octavia ever since she learned about the accident, her usual stoic Russian composure cracking with quiet worry. The moment Olga stepped into the ward and spotted Octavia sitting up in bed, she rushed forward without hesitation.

"Easy, Olga—she’s still fragile," I cautioned gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I know, I know...I just miss her so much," Olga replied, her voice thick with emotion as she wrapped Octavia in a careful but heartfelt hug.

"That hug was unexpected," Octavia laughed softly, patting Olga’s back.

"Indeed," I nodded, watching the two women with a small smile.

"I pray every single day to God to keep you alive," Olga said as she pulled back and dragged a chair closer to the bed. "Seems like my prayers are finally answered."

"Yeah," Octavia nodded, her eyes warm despite the lingering fog in her memory.

"Your accent sounds so Russian," Octavia observed, narrowing her eyes playfully.

"That’s because she is Russian, sunshine," I told her with a light chuckle.

"Oh," Octavia said simply, processing the new piece of information.

"From Vladivostok, to be precise," Olga added with a proud nod.

"You really want her to remember you, don’t you, Olga?" I said softly, touched by the older woman’s devotion.

"Da," Olga replied, her single word carrying years of loyalty.

"I’m sorry that I can’t really remember you, Olga," Octavia said, genuine regret in her voice.

"Not your fault, Mrs. Flemington," Olga reassured her, patting her hand gently. "With time, you will remember. No rush."

"Thank you," Octavia murmured, visibly relaxing under Olga’s kind presence.

Olga reached into her bag and handed me another one. "Olga brought you something to eat. Good, nourishing food."

I arranged the containers on the tray in front of Octavia. The moment she lifted the lid, a rich, savory aroma filled the room—warm broth and hearty grains that instantly made the sterile space feel more like home.

"Smells nice. What’s the name?" Octavia asked, inhaling deeply.

"Kuriny bulyon and Ovsyanaya kasha," Olga responded proudly.

"Kuruni what?" Octavia widened her eyes, trying to wrap her tongue around the unfamiliar words.

"Kuriny bulyon is chicken broth, and Ovsyanaya kasha is oatmeal," Olga explained patiently. "This food is good for patients who are sick. It will help you get stronger, Mrs. Flemington. It will even help your memories return faster."

"Wow, then I’m definitely going to enjoy this meal," Octavia chuckled, picking up the spoon and digging in with enthusiasm.

"You are a good woman, Olga," she said after the first few spoonfuls, her voice sincere.

"Moi bog... Olga is touched by your words," Olga replied, placing a hand dramatically over her heart, her eyes glistening.

"It’s true," Octavia insisted, and Olga broke into a wide, heartfelt grin.

I loved how quickly they bonded, even with Octavia’s memories of Olga still locked away. It felt like watching two souls reconnect on a deeper, almost instinctive level—beyond names, beyond the past. The easy laughter and gentle conversation between them warmed the entire room.

"Do you have any children, Olga?" Octavia asked between bites.

"Da, Mrs. Flemington. One son. His name is Mikhail. He is married now, and he lives with his family in Moscow."

"Wow, that’s wonderful. Do you go visit them often?"

"Da, twice a year," Olga said, then turned to me with a grateful smile. "Mr. Flemington always helps with my flight fees. How generous of him."

"Awww... how sweet," Octavia said, reaching over to pat my hand affectionately.

They continued talking comfortably, sharing stories and small laughs, while I sat quietly beside Octavia, content to watch their connection bloom. My phone suddenly rang, cutting through the gentle atmosphere. It was the private investigator.

"Excuse me, ladies. I have to take this call," I told them.

They nodded, already resuming their conversation as I stepped out into the hallway. The corridor felt cooler and quieter compared to the warmth inside the ward.

"Good morning, Mr. Flemington," Detective Tate greeted.

"Morning, Tate. I assume you’re calling because you have information on the case I assigned you."

"Yes, I do—but not everything yet. I have some solid leads," he replied.

"Okay, go ahead," I said, my pulse quickening with anticipation.

"I finally decrypted the private number. It wasn’t easy—it took longer than expected, which is why I haven’t called sooner. I traced it to a specific area here in New York."

"Where in New York?" I asked quickly, heart pounding.

"Manhattan. Upper West Side, to be precise. But it’s still anonymized through a relay service, so I can’t tie it directly to a name yet. Still, it’s a strong lead we can follow."

"So the private number is owned by someone in the Upper West Side?" I clarified, frowning as I paced the hallway.

"From the data I gathered, yes."

"Okay. What about the person who pushed my wife down the stairs? Have you made any progress on that side of the investigation?"

"Not really," he admitted, and I let out a heavy sigh, frustration rising.

"If you need a lead, you’ll have to get the security footage from the accident at JeffTech—the company where my wife worked. That footage is crucial."

"I can try, but I can’t just walk in and take it without proper channels. That would be illegal and risky. I can pursue a legal subpoena, or I can talk to someone who might grant access quietly. The second option is tempting, but we need to stay on the right side of the law if we want admissible evidence, Mr. Flemington."

I sighed again, rubbing my temple. "Alright. Work on that and get back to me."

"Will do. I’ll update you as soon as I have more."

Before ending the call, I remembered something else. "Detective Tate? Can you also dig up information on a man named Zeb Marshall? He was in Long Island a few months ago—the same time I was there for a business trip at the resort. We met at Cosmic Restaurant. I need you to investigate him thoroughly too. Don’t worry about the cost—I’ll double the payment. I just need answers."

"I’ll add him to the list and work on everything," Tate assured me.

"Okay. Keep me updated."

I ended the call and stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the phone. Upper West Side. Someone there had sent those incriminating photos right before Octavia’s fall. The lead was small, but it was something. My mind raced with possibilities—who in that upscale neighborhood had reason to target my wife?

Pushing the thoughts aside for now, I took a deep breath and headed back into the ward. Octavia and Olga were still laughing about something, their easy camaraderie filling the room with light. I forced a smile as I rejoined them, but in the back of my mind, the name of that Manhattan neighborhood kept echoing.

Upper West Side.

Whoever was behind this was getting closer to being unmasked—and I would stop at nothing to protect Octavia from the shadows still hunting her.