The Return Of Franklin Miles

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHT

When Franklin returned to the hotel after his drive, the protesters had gone with a warning to return the following day if nothing was done about it. He felt the simmering rage slowly give way to exhaustion. He slumped onto the couch in his suite, running a hand down his face. The protests, the leaked videos, the accusations—it was all too much. He needed help, and there was only one person he could think of calling.

With a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and dialed his father, Mr. Miles.

The line clicked after a few rings. “Franklin,” his father’s deep, familiar voice greeted. “What trouble have you managed to land yourself in this time?”

Franklin sighed, the frustration clear in his tone. “I need your help, Dad.”

There was a brief silence, then a low chuckle. “Help? Or cleanup? Just give me the name, and I’ll make whoever it is disappear.”

The offer was tempting—far too tempting—but Franklin knew he couldn’t take the easy way out. Not this time.

“It’s not that simple,” Franklin