ambit. [hs au]

Chapter 25

Franklyn's P.O.V:

When I heard about George Styles being father of two boys, I was sick for days.

How could a man, a father for that matter, let something like what that minister had been doing happen right under his nose, while having two children of his own? Didn't he think of what he would do if it happened to one of his boys? Didn't he care?

Even though he was clearly not happy about what was being done, he let it happen. He was protecting the priest, for fucks sake, because in his words, it was a small price to pay, compared to what he had in return. I couldn't even begin to imagine something that could be worth the sins I've seen in those pictures.

Nothing in the world was worth such corruption.

To do that with children. Innocent children.

To this day, I can't think of that without getting sick to my stomach.

We left the church in complete silence, my wife and I. We couldn't bear a glance at each other's face as we walked to my mom's old car, and it didn't matter how much our baby cried or how many times my scared mother asked what was wrong, we kept in silence. We couldn't bring ourselves to talk about what happened inside that church, not right after, not even years later.

I've never had the heart to tell my wife what I'd seen in those pictures. And she never asked as well - I think she knew, deep down, it must've been something bad enough to make me put my life in danger the way I did. And if she didn't know by then, she definitely learned it through the years that came along.

In some cases, shared trauma can be the key to a closer relationship, but it wasn't ourso. Though we managed to keep up appearances, for our children's and family's sake, it was never the same between my wife and I after that day.

The stolen crucifix gave us more than enough money not only to make ends meet, but actually give our two sons the comfortable life, filled with opportunities, we've always dreamed of. It bought us a bigger house, helped me start my own business, enrolled my children into good schools and through college later in life, but it also ruined my life. My marriage. My relationship with my two sons. And although I hate to admit that, I know it was my fault.

I was never the same after that day. How could I be, after what I saw?

More than just traumatized, I became obsessed. I wanted revenge, I wanted justice for what happened to those kids. I wanted to know exactly what the fuck was happening in that fucking city, how it became so bloody rich and independent, even in the middle of the nowhere like it was. I wanted to know everything about Thirskot and its citizens, wanted to know what happened away from the public eyes.

I was obsessed about George Fucking Styles and his role in everything. I wanted to know the extent of his corruption, how dirty he was. And I promised myself that when I finally figured it out, I would expose everything - I would destroy the man, his life, his legacy. I would take him down alongside with his city, like he so promptly called it.

Just like he did with my life, I would take from him everything that mattered. I would leave him empty and leave with no purpose.

I honestly can't measure how many resources I've spent over the last 30 years while investigating George Styles and this fucking city of his. All I can say, securely, is that the fucking crucifix he made such a point of saying didn't mean squat to him, and wouldn't make a difference to his pockets, though it literally saved my family's life, played a huge part in it.

The irony of that was something I always wanted to rub on his face - that his arrogance was what gave me the initial kick to start the investigation that would ruin his life. Fantasizing about the day I would tell him, in great detail, how it was his fault that I ruined his life, because he started it by ruining mine, was one of the few things that gave me strength to leave my bed in the mornings sometimes.