Chapter 35

~ Clinton ~

Returning to the city wasn’t part of my original plan; it was my father’s.

Now a disgraced shell of the man he once was, he was the very person I had helped strip of his power under the Flemingtons.

As I drove toward the Harrington manor, I saw that the estate had become a shadow of its former self.

No gardeners patrolled the grounds as they had two years ago; instead, weeds and unwanted vines choked the fields.

I stepped out of the car and looked up at the mansion.

It possessed a ghastly, neglected image—all because my father had stopped caring the moment Franklin Flemington overthrew him.

And I was the one who had handed Franklin the keys.

In the foyer, I was met by Gertrude "Trudy" Oakley, the only soul who hadn’t fled when the money dried up.

She had been with us through thick and thin, a surrogate mother to me after I lost my own as a child.

"Master Clinton!" she cried out, her face lighting up with genuine joy. "You’re back."

"Hello, Trudy," I said, offering a small smile.

"It is so good to see you, after you left us for all those years," she said, dabbing her cheeks with her apron.

"It was only two years, Trudy. I just needed to find my purpose," I told her as we hugged.

"And now that you are back, it seems you have found it," she said, pulling away to study my face.

"Not exactly. I just missed home. I missed you and Dad."

I looked past her into the hollow, darkened living room.

The estate had withered since I left. Trudy sighed, "Your father stopped caring about everything after you went away. The staff followed the money, as you know. I only do what my strength allows."

"I’m sorry, Trudy. You shouldn’t have had to handle this alone."

"It’s alright," she shrugged.

"He’s in his bedroom. He spends all his time there now. Why don’t you go up? I’ll bring some tea and cookies. I’m sure you have much to catch up on."

"I doubt that," I muttered, but I headed toward the dim, deserted stairs anyway.

I paused outside my father’s bedroom door. The last time I saw him, he was being shamefully cast out from the empire he had tried to steal.

I couldn’t just stand by and watch him blackmail the Flemingtons when they had done nothing to him.

My father was a predator, a man who had spent twenty years embezzling from the company and scamming his way into high society.

He was obsessed with Frederick Flemington, blaming the chairman for every failure in his own life.

He had tried to drag me into his schemes, but I wanted a life built on something honest.

I knocked softly. "Dad?"

Silence. I tried the knob; it was locked. "It’s me. It’s Clinton."

The door snapped open.

Standing there was a man who seemed to have aged twenty years in the two I’d been gone. His skin was sallow, his eyes sunken.

"Why are you here?" he asked as I stepped into the room.

The curtains were drawn tight, sealing out the sun.

"I came to see you," I said, sitting on the sofa while he slumped back onto his bed.

"You lost the right to see me the moment you joined forces with Franklin Flemington," he spat, fumbling for a lighter to spark his cigar.

"I had to do something, Dad. You weren’t going to stop until you burned everything down. I sided with the truth, not a stranger."

"You chose a stranger over the father who wanted a better life for you," he said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

"Embezzlement and blackmail isn’t a ’better life,’ Dad. You were living off an innocent family’s sweat. Is that the legacy you wanted for me?"

"Where do you think the money to raise you came from?" he shouted. "After your mother died, I had nothing! No insurance, no safety net. I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret a single second of it."

"You almost went to prison! If it wasn’t for me convincing Franklin to let you go, your name would be a laughingstock on every news outlet in the country. You should be thanking your lucky stars."

"Save your lectures for someone who cares. I don’t want to be reminded of my shame by the son who betrayed me," he growled. "Get out. I have no son. All I see is a sheep in linen clothing."

"Dad, I—"

"Get out! Never return unless you are ready to redeem yourself!"

I looked at him, feeling the crushing weight of being an orphan in a house full of ghosts. I didn’t want to lose him.

Not after losing my mother.

"I’m not going anywhere," I said, my voice cracking. "How do I redeem myself? Tell me. I want to be your son again."

Trudy entered then, setting down the tea.

She immediately went to the windows, throwing back the curtains and letting the sunlight punish the shadows, then she left.

My father finally looked me in the eye.

"If you want to be my son, you follow my plan."

"What plan?" I asked, a cold dread settling in my chest.

"I know that Franklin’s marriage to that girl, Octavia Herman, is a fraud. A contract. My men have been investigating them for years, looking for the crack in the armor. I need a scandal, Clinton. I need you to approach her. Use that charm of yours. Gather information, win her over, and create a spectacle that will ruin the Flemington name forever."

He leaned in, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "Do not tell her who you are. Use your mother’s maiden name—Sancho to avoid being suspected. If you do this, I will call you my son again. If you don’t... then walk out that door and consider yourself an orphan. The choice is yours."

I stared at him in disbelief.

He wanted me to be a weapon.

He wanted me to destroy an innocent woman to satisfy a grudge.

I looked at the door, then back at the broken man on the bed.

With no time left to hesitate, I spoke the words that would change everything.

"Okay. I’m in."