Chapter 64: Are You Crazy?

Franklin lived in Phoenix Garden, a prestigious residential area in Horington. With houses costing a million dollars or more, it was beyond the reach of most people.

"Jared, when we arrive, remember to be polite and respectful. We're asking him for a favor. Given your situation, finding a job is difficult; most companies are reluctant to hire ex-convicts. You need to be mindful of…"

In the car, Hannah anxiously nagged Jared, fearing he'd make a mistake.

Gary, in the front passenger seat, turned around. "Enough. There's no need to keep harping on it. So what if he's been to prison? Does that automatically make him a bad person? I've been friends with Franklin for a long time; this won't be a problem."

He worried Hannah's nagging would upset Jared, particularly regarding his prison time. After all, it wasn't his fault he ended up there.

"Since you two are so close, why hasn't he visited you these past few years? It's not like you're unaware of our recent struggles," Hannah retorted, upset. Jared's imprisonment had severely impacted their livelihood, yet Franklin had been absent.

"Stop blaming him. I never told him about our situation, and he doesn't know where we live. Besides, we've been through a lot together. Remember that stray grenade during training? I tackled him to the ground; he wouldn't be alive today otherwise," Gary said, his pride—especially as a former squad leader—preventing him from revealing his current circumstances to his old comrades. He wouldn't have sought Franklin's help if it weren't for Jared needing a job.

"Mom, you know Dad. I'll be careful when we're there. Once I start earning, our family's situation will improve," Jared reassured her.

Despite having ten million dollars, Jared couldn't tell his parents. There was no way to explain it; even if he told the truth, they wouldn't believe his bizarre prison experience over the past three years.

Meanwhile, on the second floor of a Phoenix Garden mansion, Franklin, a man in his fifties, donned an old military uniform, adjusting it before the mirror. His daughter, Maria Saunders, a woman in her twenties with pretty features and a slender figure, lay on the couch in floral pajamas, playing on her phone.

"Dad, are you crazy? Why are you wearing that old uniform?" Maria asked, glancing at him.

"I'm meeting an old army comrade. Unfortunately, my stomach's gotten too big for it!" he replied.

At that moment, Franklin's wife, Frieda Lansome, a middle-aged woman in a suit, white shirt, nude stockings, and high heels—clearly a professional—entered from the kitchen with a plate of fruit. Her light makeup gave her a youthful appearance. She was the sales manager of their company.

"Franklin, who is this comrade? I heard some of them made a fortune. You should reconnect and ask for their help. We might overcome this crisis; otherwise, we'll go bankrupt," Frieda said gravely, placing the fruit on the table.

"Don't worry. It's my old squad leader. I haven't seen him in years, so be nice," Franklin snapped.

"Squad leader? Maybe he's rich. You said he saved your life. After the army, he joined the government…" Frieda mused.