𝗙𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗲

17 - Anchor in The Storm.

"It's harder to heal than it is to kill."

- Tamora Pierce

Papa and I stepped out of the car, the towering grey walls of Stateville Correctional Center casting a long shadow over us.

We waited, watching the gate, until the sound of frantic footsteps broke the silence. A guard sprinted toward us, sweat slicking his forehead.

"What's going on?" I asked, my stomach already sinking.

"Your client-he was found dead in his cell." The words came out between heavy breaths.

"Fuck!" The news hit me like an unhinged bull, a white-hot fury igniting in my chest. "How the hell did it happen?"

The guard hesitated. "It... it looks like suicide. He hung himself."

I turned to Papa, and in his eyes, I saw the same bitter rage burning through me.

"Suicide my ass," I spat, my jaw tightening. "Richard was silenced. They fucking murdered him."

We stormed out of Stateville, my grip on my briefcase tightening until my knuckles ached. When it hit the pavement with a sharp thud, so did my temper.

"They got to him!" I shouted, fury boiling over. "All because I fucked up! They got to him before I could!" My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out reason. "This is on me! I screwed up—big time!"

"Frankie! Stop! Don't do this to yourself," Papa said, his voice firm, steady-useless.

I whipped around, my vision burning red. "A fucking lawyer, Papa. A lawyer wants Uncle Ben dead, and I don't have a single damn clue who he is! How the fuck am I supposed to protect him when this bastard is smart enough to get Richard taken out without leaving a single trail?"

I barely heard my own words over the pounding in my skull. The hit was methodical. Executed flawlessly. A message.

Whoever this lawyer was, he was careful, calculated, untouchable.

And I was running out of time.

The weight of it all was crushing me, pressing against my ribs like a goddamn vice. It felt too familiar, like déjà vu wrapped in barbed wire—like losing my father all over again.

──●◎●──

Walking back into the hospital, anxiety twisted in my gut like a knife. I wanted good news about Uncle Ben, but there was none.

Three cops stood outside his room, but the only ones I trusted to keep him safe were Sawyer and Manny. If the bastards who put him in that bed decided to finish the job, I knew those two wouldn't let it happen.

I pushed open the door and spotted Jamie sitting beside the bed, completely still.

"How's he doing?" I asked.