Chapter 169
~ Franklin ~
We touched down in Bogotá, Colombia, just as the sun began to dip behind the mountains. The private terminal was efficient and quiet, exactly how I preferred it. A sleek black SUV waited on the tarmac to take us to Las Estrellas, one of the city’s most exclusive five-star hotels. The na ant "The Stars," and the place lived up to it—towering glass, panoramic views, and an atmosphere of understated luxury.
We settled into our suites on the top floor. After a quick shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped into the bedroom. My phone rang on the nightstand. For a fleeting second, hope flared in my chest. Maybe it was Octavia. Maybe she had finally decided to reach out.
I answered without checking the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Mr. Flemington, finally you answered your call," Olga’s familiar voice ca through, thick with her Russian accent.
"Olga, hey," I replied, the spark of hope instantly fading into disappointnt. Does this an Octavia still won’t call ?
"I tried your line earlier but it was unavailable," she said.
"That’s because I had it on Do Not Disturb. I needed so rest after the flight." I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, staring at the city lights glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Oh, okay. Olga called to make sure you arrived safely at your destination."
"Yes, I have. Thank you for checking, Olga."
"My pleasure, sir."
"How’s everything at ho?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"It’s fine," she replied.
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been burning in my mind. "Did... did Octavia co to the estate while I was gone?"
"No, Mr. Flemington," Olga answered gently.
I let out a quiet sigh of disappointnt. "Was Mrs. Flemington supposed to co?"
"No, don’t worry. I was just asking."
"I have to go now, Olga. Rember to let know imdiately if anyone cos to the estate. Understood?"
"Da," she said.
"Bye for now."
"Bye, Mr. Flemington."
The call ended, leaving the suite feeling even emptier. I stared at the phone for a long mont before setting it down.
The next morning, we headed straight to the eting. The conference room was silent, but it wasn’t the peaceful kind of silence. It was the heavy, charged silence that cos when power is about to shift.
I stood at the head of the long glass table, hands resting lightly on its cool surface, my gaze sweeping over the executives, investors, and governnt representatives seated across from . They were all waiting.
"Flemington Group isn’t here to compete, ladies and gentlen," I began, my voice calm and asured. "We are here to lead."
No one interrupted. I tapped the thick docunt in front of .
"The Andes Trade Corridor isn’t just infrastructure. It’s control over movent, over access, over the entire economic flow between Colombia and northern Brazil."
A subtle shift rippled through the room. They understood the stakes perfectly.
"If you partner with us, you are not simply choosing an investor," I continued, looking each person in the eye. "You are choosing the firm that will ensure this project dominates the region for the next twenty years."
Silence followed, thick with consideration. Then one of the senior board mbers leaned forward.
"And the competing firm?" he asked.
"They don’t have what we have."
"And why is that?"
"Authority," I said simply, straightening my posture.
That single word seed to break the last wall of resistance. Minutes later, pens moved across paper. Handshakes were exchanged. The deal was signed.
"Congratulations, Mr. Flemington," Raquel Cruz said as we stepped out of the conference room. "You just secured one of the most powerful trade investnts in South Arica."
"I don’t secure deals, Miss Cruz," I replied calmly. "I close them."
Even as the words left my mouth, they felt hollow. The victory should have tasted sweet, but my mind kept drifting back to New York—to my grandfather lying motionless in his hospital bed and to Octavia, whose last words to still echoed with pain and distance. The way she had looked at . The way she had said I had hurt her too deeply.
I adjusted my cufflinks and turned to Ian. "Prepare everything for departure. We leave within the hour."
Ian nodded obediently.
I didn’t want to stay in Bogotá any longer than necessary. My grandfather was still unconscious, and Octavia... I needed to see her, even if she refused to speak to . Staying here ant thinking too much, and thinking too much ant going crazy.
The jet cut smoothly through the night sky on the return flight. Everything should have felt calm. The deal was done. Flemington Group had just expanded its global influence in a major way. It was sothing worth celebrating, and I wished more than anything that my grandfather could have been awake to share in it.
I sat back in my seat, covered by a thick fleece blanket, staring out into the endless darkness beyond the window—nothing but clouds and black sky.
"You should be celebrating, Mr. Flemington," Ian said from across the cabin.
"I don’t celebrate outcos I expect," I mumbled.
He shook his head. "That deal changes everything."
I only shrugged.
Suddenly, a subtle shift ran through the aircraft. My fingers tightened on the armrest. That didn’t feel right.
The plane dipped slightly, then steadied.
"Just turbulence," Raquel said, though her voice lacked confidence.
Then ca another shift—stronger this ti. The cabin lights flickered. My chest tightened.
"Captain?" Ian called out. There was no response.
To my growing dread, the plane dropped hard. Everything lifted, then slamd back down violently.
"What the fuck?" Raquel gasped.
I was already on my feet. Sothing deep in my gut told this was wrong—very wrong. I moved quickly toward the cockpit.
"Captain Harris?" I called. No answer.
The intercom crackled to life, static cutting through the cabin.
"Engine failure," the pilot’s voice ca through, strained.
"Brace yourselves!" I yelled as the plane dropped again.
My instincts had been right. This wasn’t turbulence. We were falling.
The cabin erupted into chaos. Raquel scread at the top of her lungs.
"¡Ay, Dios mío!" she cried in Spanish, her voice raw with terror.
The cockpit was a storm of blaring alarms and flashing red lights.
"Hydraulics are gone! We’re losing altitude fast!" Captain Harris shouted.
"Where are we?" I demanded over the noise.
"Over the Amazon—Brazilian airspace!"
My chest tightened painfully. Below us was nothing but endless, dense jungle. No runway. No safe landing. No way out.
"Brace for impact!" Harris yelled.
Ti seed to slow.
For the first ti in years, the deal, the company, the legacy—none of it mattered. All I could see was Octavia’s face. Her eyes. Her laugh. The way she used to look at before everything fell apart.
My jaw clenched.
Not like this.
Then the impact ca.
And the world shattered.
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