"Emmy, are you alright?"
Emilia Hart popularly known as Emmy by everyone around her sat in front of the entrance to the house where she stays with her mother and her Nephew who was barely 6months old, lost in thoughts, mind wandering all over staring out at the endless Pacific Ocean way up front.
"I'm okay, Mom," she called back, her voice soft, almost lost in the wind.
The waves crashed gently against the shore. It was peaceful, yes, but also... lonely. Emmy had lived in this small coastal cottage with her mother for almost a year now. After everything; her sister's death, the breakup, the collapse of the life she had in Los Angeles this quiet place had become her escape.
But sometimes it felt like hiding.
Inside the house, baby Dylan's giggles echoed faintly. Emmy smiled. Her sister's son was a bright spot in all the darkness.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the screen:
Interview – 10:00 AM tomorrow, Melrose Boutique, Santa Barbara.
She stared at the reminder for a long moment and took a deep breath
The door creaked open behind her.
"Emmy?" her mom, Helena, called out. "Please can you help with making dinner?"
"Alright I am coming," she said, as she adjusted herself, stood up while slipping her phone back into her pocket.
Helena glanced over as she approached the kitchen.
"You seem quiet tonight."
Emmy hesitated, then said, "I got an interview. Tomorrow. In a Boutique."
Her mom stopped slicing for a second. "That's good, right?"
"I guess. I don't know.At least it is much better than staying idle."
Helena touched her arm gently. " I understand your feelings Emmy, lots of drastic situation we've been in of recent. Take your time. But don't be afraid to live again."
Emmy nodded but didn't say anything. She didn't feel ready. Not yet.
Elsewhere in Los Angeles...Westwood Corporation Headquarters: 9:45 a.m.
"Mr. Westwood is still not here?" Margaret (Chief of Administration,Westwood Corp) asked again, her voice shaky and her eyes scanning the large conference room worried.
The room full of executives shifted uncomfortably.
"No, ma'am," the assistant replied, lowering her voice.
"His driver said he dropped him off at the office entrance an hour ago."
Margaret took a deep breath, adjusted her glasses, and checked her tablet.
"The board meeting is to start in fifteen minutes. His father is flying in from London today, and if Franklin is pulling another disappearing act….."
She didn't finish the sentence. Her heels clicked briskly against the marble floor as she marched toward the elevators, already dialing his number.
Straight to voicemail.
Malibu Cliffside Vacation Home – 10:03 a.m.
Laughter echoed through the glass walls of the luxurious beach house. Sunlight spilled over the deck where music played, drinks flowed, and a group of well-dressed twenty-somethings lounged in swimsuits and sunglasses.
"Frankie!" Chase called out, raising a bottle of champagne.
"To skipping responsibility in style!"
Franklin grinned, shirtless, hair tousled, drink in hand.
"To freedom, my guy!"
"Dude, your dad's gonna freak," laughed Lexi, lounging on a pool float, sunglasses perched on her nose. "Wasn't today, like, super important?"
"Board meeting," Franklin said lazily, flopping onto the sunbed. "Same script, different day. Suit up, nod, say a few empty things, and pretend I care about stock projections. Nah. Not today."
"But aren't they expecting you?" Chase asked, chuckling.
"Oh, I'm sure Margaret is already pacing the floor, clutching her iPad and making series of phone calls." Franklin smirked, taking a sip.
"She'll survive. I needed this."
"Tell that to your dad when he lands," Lexi teased.
Franklin shrugged. "Let him land. I'll deal with the consequences later. Right now, I want to feel alive."
Westwood Headquarters – 10:22 a.m.
Margaret was visibly disturbed and anxious.
"I checked the parking garage, his car's not there. His phone's off. The driver swore he dropped him here, but security said he walked right through the lobby and out the back."
She turned to the assistant. "Get me the GPS on his car. Now."
"Uh… It's pinging near the Malibu coast, ma'am. One of the Westwood properties."
Margaret pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course it is."
She tapped her phone again, typing furiously. Texted him instead of calling.
Still no response.
She sighed, then turned to the assistant.
"Make everything is set for the board meeting, I have to go over myself because when Mr. Westwood gets here and learns his son is throwing poolside parties instead of learning how to run a billion-dollar empire, I might not survive it."
Malibu Beach House – 10:45 a.m.
Franklin's phone buzzed on the poolside table. He glanced at it, saw the text, and chuckled.
"What did she say?" Chase looked over
"She used the word 'storm.' That means my dad's in the air and hell is inbound."
"So… are you gonna go?"
Franklin leaned back, staring up at the clear blue sky.
"Eventually. Maybe. I think she's on her way to pick me up"
Lexi laughed. "You're hopeless."
He turned to her with a lazy smile. "No, just allergic to tiring meetings and fake smiles. I want more than all that, Lex."
Lexi raised an eyebrow. "And what do you want, Frankie?"
He looked out over the ocean, the wind brushing his face.
"I don't know," he said softly. "But I'll know it when I find it."
Then as Margaret arrived in a helicopter, she came with her ipad opened, handed it over to Franklin who was sitting shirtless on a bench at the poolside.
"You Have One Chance.
Franklin,
I just landed and received word—yet again—that you skipped the board meeting. Your behavior is not only irresponsible, it's disgraceful. I didn't build this empire for you to treat it like a playground.
Since you seem to think leadership is optional, let's put that theory to the test.
There's a critical deal pending in Santa Barbara. A merger proposal with Halberg Technologies is on the table, and they're hesitant. I want it closed—this week. If you want to prove that you're more than a last name and a party trick, go down there, negotiate, and sign it.
Margaret will accompany you. She has full authority to report back.
Close the deal, and we talk about the future.
Fail, and consider yourself disowned. I will have your name removed from all legal rights to Westwood Corp. and its holdings.
I've given you enough chances.
This is your last one.
Dad".
Franklin stared at the message on his phone, the words blurring for a second.
Disowned?
He let out a short breath, almost a laugh—but there was no humor in it. The music from the party inside kept playing, but it suddenly felt far away. Everyone was still dancing, drinking, having fun. Like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
He read the message again. Slowly.
"This is your last one."
His hand dropped to his side, phone still in it. He looked out at the night sky, the ocean barely visible in the distance. It felt like the world had just shifted beneath his feet.
Behind him, the door slid open. Margaret stepped out, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm.
"Be ready by morning. We're going to Santa Barbara."
Franklin didn't move.
Did his father really mean it?
Was he really ready to throw him away like that?
He swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Then, quietly, like he was talking to himself—
"Santa Barbara... of all places."
He looked out into the dark again, and something changed in his expression. The usual charm, the easy-going smile—it was gone.
All that was left was a spark in his eyes.
A decision forming