Chapter 197

Chapter 197

Elizabeth's POV

But I knew he wasn't.

A man who had gotten his own brother and sister-in-law killed could never be harmless.

"Alexander," Franklin said, his voice gentle, the way someone might speak to a child. "You've grown up. Last time I saw you, you only came up to my shoulder."

Alexander didn't answer.

He just stood there, holding my hand, his expression unreadable.

But I knew he was holding himself back.

Fifteen years' worth of rage, hatred, grievance, and bitterness was locked under the ice, buried so deep no one else could see it.

Franklin's gaze shifted to me.

"So this is Elizabeth?" His eyes swept over me once before settling on my stomach. "In the blink of an eye, Alexander's about to be a father. Time really does fly."

His tone was easy, natural, like an ordinary uncle making small talk with his nephew.

But I noticed the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth when he said my name.

He cared. He knew exactly whose daughter I was.

"Sit," Gray said, gesturing to the chairs nearby.

Alexander sat down, and I took the seat beside him.

Franklin remained standing next to Gray, one hand resting on the arm of the chair. The posture said everything without words: this is my father, this is my home, and you should remember your place.

"Alexander, Franklin came back this time to talk to you about that notebook," Gray said, getting straight to the point.

Alexander said nothing.

Franklin smiled, pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, and set it on the coffee table. "This is for you."

Alexander lowered his eyes to the paper but didn't move.

"Take a look," Franklin said.

Alexander picked it up, and I leaned in enough to read the top line. [Stock Transfer Agreement.]

Transferor: Franklin Windsor.

Transferee: Alexander Windsor.

Assets to be transferred: all shares in every company under Franklin's name.

Transfer price: zero.

My fingers tightened in the fabric of my dress.

He wasn't handing those companies to Alexander out of generosity. Those companies were worthless now.

His overseas businesses were under investigation. His domestic assets had been frozen. Everything in his hands had turned into a liability, and dumping it on Alexander was just a way to save himself.

"You give me the companies, and then what?" Alexander asked.

"Then you return that notebook to Grandpa." Franklin's smile never wavered. "Let the past stay in the past. We're all part of The Windsor Family. There's no need to drag this in front of outsiders."

I almost laughed from sheer disbelief.

Let the past stay in the past.

He said it so lightly.

He had caused four deaths. Alexander's parents. My father. The truck driver.

And he said it like it was some small thing people could just move on from.

"Franklin." Alexander's voice wasn't loud, but every word sounded like it had been pulled out of frozen water. "The car crash that killed my parents. Did you arrange it?"

Silence fell over the room.

Gray didn't look at anyone.

Franklin's smile stiffened for a second. "Alexander, what kind of question is that—"

"Yes or no?"

Franklin looked at him, and little by little, the smile disappeared from his face, as if some invisible wind had stripped it away.

"You spent fifteen years investigating, just to ask me that?" His voice changed. It was no longer gentle, no longer harmless. Something cold and naked showed through. "Alexander, you don't need to ask me. The notebook in your hand says more than I ever could."

"There isn't a single line in that notebook with those words coming out of your mouth." Alexander rose to his feet and looked down at him. "I want you to say it."

Franklin stared back at him for a long time.

"Yes," he said at last. "I arranged it."

Gray's hand clenched hard around his cane.

Alexander's expression didn't change. But the hand I was holding had gone ice-cold at the fingertips.

"So you admit it," Alexander said.

"I admit it." Franklin's voice was calm again. "But have you ever thought about why I did it? Your father was the oldest son, the heir to the Windsor Family. I was smarter than him, more capable than him, more suited to that position than he ever was. But because I was the younger son, I was supposed to step aside, bow my head, and spend my whole life living in his shadow."

Franklin let out a small laugh, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"I wouldn't accept that."

The room went so quiet it hardly felt real.

Gray sat in his chair with his eyes closed, his lips trembling.

I didn't know what he was thinking. Rage. Shame. Regret for covering for Franklin all these years.

Or all of it at once.

"Alexander," Gray said, his voice so hoarse it was almost impossible to hear.

Alexander turned to look at him.

"What are you going to do?"

He had asked that question three times.

Fifteen years ago, when Alexander came to him with the transfer records, he had asked, "What are you going to do?"

A few days ago, when Alexander came to him with the notebook, he had asked the same thing.

And now, after Franklin had confessed with his own mouth, he was still asking it.

Did he really not know what to do?

Or was he just too afraid to do it?

Alexander let go of my hand, reached into the inner pocket of his coat, took out his phone, pressed three numbers, and lifted the screen so Gray could see it.

Three words glowed there.

"No need," Alexander said flatly, with no emotion at all. "I already did it."

The air in the room seemed to vanish.

Gray's hand froze in midair. His cane slipped from his grasp and hit the hardwood floor with a dull crack.

It wasn't a loud sound.

But in that suffocating silence, it felt like something far bigger had shattered.

Not the cane.

Something else.

Franklin stood there with no expression on his face.

Not calm. Blank.

Like his mind had stopped working for a second and hadn't yet caught up with what he'd just heard.

A voice came through the phone. "Hello, what's your emergency?"

Alexander raised it to his ear, his voice clear and steady. "I want to report a murder case under my real name. The victims are Daniel Windsor and Lyanna Patel. It happened fifteen years ago. The suspect is Franklin Windsor."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the rapid clicking of keys.

My hand flew to my mouth.

Daniel. Lyanna. His parents' names.

Fifteen years had passed, and he still remembered every syllable, every detail, every clue.

He had carried all of it inside him for fifteen years, and now, in front of everyone, he spoke it out loud one word at a time, like he was reading from a eulogy he had written long ago.

Gray lurched to his feet, and the chair behind him crashed backward onto the floor.