CHAPTER 97: JENKINS &CO.

"I love you immensely. Even words can’t express how much I do... love you," Rachel said, smiling, her eyes full of warmth and affection.

Logan’s heart bloomed at her words, but he didn’t say anything. He simply smiled and nodded.

"Let’s eat. I believe you’re hungry," he said, winking at her.

Rachel smiled shyly and reached out to take the fork. Logan watched as she brought the food to her mouth and took a bite.

"Aren’t you hungry?" she asked, catching Logan red-handed as he continued to look at her instead of eating.

"Oh yes, I’m hungry indeed," he said, chuckling. "But what I’m truly starving for... is you."

He said it to make her smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice how often he was spacing out.

---

Meanwhile, early that morning at the Jenkins residence, tension simmered in the air.

Lewis paced his bedroom floor, his voice tight with anxiety.

"Cassandra, the shareholders are withdrawing every day."

"Yes, I know. But why?" Cassandra asked, clearly as troubled as he was.

"Rachel clearly told us that Logan agreed to help. She even called me back herself and confirmed it."

"Exactly," Cassandra continued. "This is too much. I thought once he agreed to help, everything would turn around like last time. But look—we’re already halfway through the month and still, nothing has changed."

"The stock keeps dropping every day," Lewis said, rubbing his temples. "At this rate, we’re going to collapse, and I can’t take it anymore."

He resumed pacing, faster now, as Cassandra sat quietly, concern etched across her face.

Then she remembered something.

"But wait... what about the person who sent that message—the one who said they were being told to withdraw? Shouldn’t you look into that?"

Lewis froze mid-step. His eyes widened.

"You’re right. Yes. I need to have someone investigate that immediately."

Before he could say anything more, his phone rang sharply on the nightstand. He snatched it up.

"Yes? What is it now?" he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

It was his secretary.

"Sir, the shareholders are all in the boardroom. They’ve called for an urgent meeting. It was arranged at the last minute."

Lewis inhaled deeply, as though the secretary could see his attempt to steady himself.

"Alright. Tell them I’ll be there in forty minutes."

He ended the call without waiting for a reply and stood still for a moment, the weight of the morning settling on his shoulders like stone.

---

Forty minutes later in Jenkins & co Company.

The private elevator opens with a chime that sounds far too cheerful for what waits beyond.

Lewis Jenkins steps out.

He’s dressed in his signature charcoal gray suit—custom-made, flawless—but no fabric could hide the wear in his face.

The sleepless nights have chiseled lines into his once-youthful jaw.

A slight tremble hides in his fingers as he adjusts the cuff of his shirt.

The hallway is quiet, but it doesn’t feel calm. It feels abandoned. Like a battlefield before the storm.

He walks toward the frosted glass doors of the boardroom. Behind them, shapes shift. Movements. Sharp voices, muffled and rising.

Then—he hears it.

"We can’t bleed any more, Douglas. We’re hemorrhaging."

"If he doesn’t have answers today, I’m pulling out. Simple."

"This isn’t the Jenkins legacy. This is a graveyard."

His chest tightens.

His name.

His family’s name.

He pushes the door open.

---

Every head turns.

Seventeen faces. Cold, stiff, expectant. Most with arms crossed or brows furrowed. No one smiles.

The atmosphere is thick, oppressive.

The long mahogany table stretches before him like a courtroom bench.

The Jenkins Company emblem gleams from the back wall—golden, proud, and ironic.

Lewis forces a nod.

"Good morning."

No one responds.

He walks the silent gauntlet to the head seat. Chair left empty. Intentionally. He lowers himself, quietly, deliberately.

The boardroom clock ticks too loudly.

Mrs. Regina Westbrook, a sharp-eyed woman with a sleek silver bob, breaks the silence.

She’s the first to speak—and the last Lewis had hoped to hear from.

"Your morning might be good, Lewis. Ours is bleeding."

Her voice is clipped. Ice-laced. Accusing.

Mr. Douglas Moore, red-faced and broad-shouldered, slams a palm down on the table.

"I’ve just lost four major private investors. They called me, not you. You know why? Because no one has faith in the Jenkins Company anymore!"

Lewis swallows. His voice is calm—but cracking beneath the surface.

"The drop in stock is sharp, yes. But we’ve been here before. We’ve climbed back. We can—"

"Not this time."

The interruption comes from Yusuf Adeleke, one of the most respected members—usually composed, diplomatic.

Today, his eyes are dark, almost pitiful.

"This isn’t turbulence, Lewis. It’s failure."

Lewis’s voice drops. Hoarse.

"We still have leverage. I’ve scheduled a meeting with Meridian Group next week to—"

"Too late."

That voice is low. Grim. Mr. Tully, the silent observer, speaks for the first time in months.

"Five of us are leaving. Effective immediately."

Lewis’s heart skips.

"Leaving?"

"We’re withdrawing our shares," says Regina flatly. "Selling before it turns to dust."

He stares at them—one by one. They don’t even look angry anymore. Just... detached.

---

Lewis rises to his feet. His hands shake.

"I’ve stood with every one of you for years. Regina, I approved your expansion into Dubai. Tully, I personally defended your acquisitions when the board hesitated. Douglas, I sat at your wife’s funeral."

His voice cracks.

"You’re not just shareholders. You’re—were—my allies."

Regina’s lips tighten. No sympathy. Just cold resolve.

"You were a leader. Now you’re a liability."

---

Faces around the table speak volumes.

Mr. Moore’s jaw is clenched tight, like he’s physically holding back his rage.

Mrs. Lam, silent so far, dabs the corner of her mouth with a tissue, her eyes glassy—whether from fury or disappointment, Lewis can’t tell.

Yusuf Adeleke looks down at the table, unable to meet Lewis’s gaze.

Mr. Jin scribbles quietly on a legal pad. Numbers. Maybe a valuation. Maybe an exit plan.

And the rest?

Just silence.

Heavy. Final.

---

Lewis lowers himself back into the chair. Slowly.

The leather creaks beneath him, but the room is dead.

"What happens to this company if you all jump ship?"

Tully shrugs.

"Same thing that happens if we stay. Collapse."

A quiet, bitter laugh from Moore.

"At least we’ll lose less outside the wreckage."

---

Lewis looks down at his hands.

They’re trembling.

His cufflink—gold, engraved with the Jenkins family crest—glistens mockingly.

---

He looks up. His voice barely a whisper.

"We were supposed to grow old at this table."

No one answers.

Chairs scrape back. One by one.

Regina. Moore. Tully. Pierre. Kwame.

Five empty seats. Just like that.

The door closes softly.

But it sounds like a tomb sealing shut.

---

Lewis sits alone at the head of the table.

The hum of the AC sounds louder now.

The ticking of the wall clock suddenly unbearable.

He looks up at the company logo—Jenkins & Co.—the name that used to mean legacy.

Now, it feels like a curse.

His chest tightens.

His fingers curl into fists.

And for the first time since he was 19 years old...

Lewis Jenkins has no idea what to do next.

The door closes behind the fifth shareholder, and silence settles like dust.

Lewis Jenkins doesn’t move for a full minute.

He just sits there, staring at the dark grain of the mahogany table. His fingers are pale against the polished wood.

The chair beneath him suddenly feels too soft. Too low. Like it’s sinking.

Everything’s sinking.

His company.

His name.

His breath.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, then slowly rises to his feet—

And the room begins to tilt.

It starts with a sudden rush of cold.

His skin prickles.

His vision darkens at the edges.

Then comes the sound—a strange, low ringing in his ears, like a distant siren underwater.

His knees buckle. The floor tilts further. The overhead lights swirl.

He clutches the edge of the table—but his hand slips.

A loud thud.

Lewis collapses to the floor, head knocking the chair leg on the way down.

A gasp breaks the silence.

It’s Yusuf Adeleke—one of the few who hadn’t walked out.

He’s on his feet in an instant, crossing the room in long strides, papers scattering from his lap as he shouts:

"Lewis?! Lewis—dammit—can you hear me?!"

He kneels beside him, pressing two fingers to his neck.

A pulse. Weak, but present.

"He’s fainted. Exhaustion. Stress," Yusuf mutters to himself, already pulling his phone from his breast pocket.

His voice sharpens with urgency.

"Get an ambulance to Jenkins Tower—now. 38th floor, boardroom. Unresponsive male, mid-40s, CEO."

He doesn’t wait. He grabs Lewis’s phone from the table and shoves it in his own pocket, then gently props Lewis onto his side, loosening the collar of his shirt.

Others from the hallway are starting to peek in—assistants, junior staff, nervous interns. Eyes wide. Frozen.

"Don’t just stand there!" Yusuf barks.

"Someone bring water. And clear the hallway! Now!"

Ten minutes later...

The paramedics arrive with a stretcher.

Lewis is barely conscious now—eyes fluttering, skin pale, sweat beading along his forehead.

Yusuf stays at his side.

"I’m going with him," he tells the medics, gripping the side of the stretcher as they wheel Lewis through the corridor.

No one dares object.

He leans down as the elevator doors close and whispers:

"You built this damn empire, Lewis. Don’t let it bury you."

IN The Private Hospital

Time: 11:14 AM

White walls. Monitors beeping softly. Clean sheets. And silence.

Lewis lies in a private recovery room, IV hooked into his arm.

His face is colorless. Eyes closed. His breathing shallow but steady.

Yusuf stands by the window, arms crossed, his phone buzzing with missed calls and shareholder messages he’s too tired to answer.

A nurse steps in and speaks quietly.

"He fainted from extreme stress. Dehydration. His vitals are stable now. He’s lucky someone brought him in so quickly."

Yusuf nods, but his face is troubled.

He walks over to the bed and sits down slowly in the visitor’s chair.

"You should’ve asked for help, old friend," he murmurs, voice low.

"You tried to carry this mountain alone."

Lewis stirs.

His eyelids flutter open, but he doesn’t move. His lips part slightly as if trying to form words—but nothing comes out.

Yusuf leans closer.

"You’re in the hospital. You fainted," he says gently. "But you’re okay now. Just rest."

Lewis closes his eyes again.

One tear slips down his cheek.

Yusuf doesn’t look away.

He simply sits there.

Beside the man who once stood at the top of everything.

And now lies beneath the weight of it all.