Chapter 273: Grandmother and Grandson
Back in the day, Grandma hired a few college students to work in her studio—Dr. Noah was one of them. While attending school, he joined her studio to earn some extra cash.
Then came the explosion.
The studio blew up, two people died, Grandma got arrested, and Dr. Noah fled the scene. Worse still, he cleaned out the money Grandma had stashed away in a bank safety deposit box.
When she got out of prison and went to retrieve the money, the box was empty. She knew immediately—Noah had taken it.
That college kid is now a cosmetic doctor with his own clinic, even has a bit of a name in the industry.
Grandma tracked him down and reclaimed her money—every last cent that was originally hers.
"She didn't tell me the exact amount," Sammy whispered to Frank, "but judging by the thickness of the envelope, it had to be at least two hundred grand."
That kind of money wasn't small change. In the South Side, you could buy a house for forty or fifty thousand. For most families, two hundred thousand was a fortune.
Grandma had several kids, but after getting out of prison, she didn't go to any of their homes—except Frank's. To Sammy, that was all the proof she needed: Grandma had made her choice.
She was nearly 80. If she passed away, that money would go to Frank. That's why Sammy told him about it—to get him to seize the opportunity, treat Grandma well. If he did, the money would be his.
Two hundred grand—it wasn't a joke.
Of course, Sammy didn't know anything about Frank's business ventures, or his money laundering. For her, that amount was astronomical.
Seeing her so excited, Frank didn't bother explaining. He just nodded.
As for Grandma's money, Frank didn't care. Once upon a time, he might have—two hundred grand would've felt like a windfall. But now? It was just pocket change.
"Dad, look! Grandma bought me the latest game console! Let's play together!" Carl said excitedly.
With her money back, Grandma started buying gifts for the kids.
She was trying to win them over. After all, when she went to prison, they were just little.
Fiona was only eleven when Grandma was locked up—she barely remembered her. The younger kids didn't remember her at all.
In all those years behind bars, not one of the children visited—except for the one time Frank brought them.
Now older and sentimental, Grandma wanted a taste of family life. But the kids were strangers to her, and all she could do was try to buy their affection, trying to make up for lost time.
"Grandma gave me a thousand bucks," Fiona said.
Unlike the other kids who got electronics, Grandma simply gave Fiona—now a grown woman—cash.
"She gave it to you, just accept it. It's her way of showing she cares," Frank said.
Later that night, the kids had gone to bed.
"You go get some rest too, no need to stay up with me," Grandma told Sammy.
Sammy nodded, glanced at Frank, and went upstairs.
"Come on, sit down and have a drink with your old lady," Grandma said, raising her glass.
Frank sat across from her and poured her a drink.
"Are you really Frank?" she asked suddenly, mid-sip.
"Huh?" Frank paused.
"I never believed people could change. A dog doesn't stop eating shit."
"The Frank I knew was trash. A pathetic loser. A coward. I used to pray the hospital would call me and say, 'Peggy, we made a mistake—he's not your son.' But that call never came."
"Frank lived like a worm, born a failure. Always let me down."
"I asked the kids about you. Turns out you were a lousy son, a worse father, and had terrible taste in women. I never liked that slut Monica."
She drank and insulted 'Frank' without restraint.
Grandma had grown up at the bottom of society. She'd seen it all—violent, crass, even sexist. In many ways, she had shaped Frank into what he was.
But of course, she never thought she was wrong. To her, Frank was just worthless—mud that couldn't be shaped into bricks.
None of her four children, Frank included, wanted to be around her. They all feared her like the plague.
She'd spent over a decade in prison. In all that time, her kids had barely visited. The only time she ever saw her grandchildren was when Frank brought them.
Frank wasn't her favorite son, but he was the one she understood best—the one she could control.
He'd been terrified of her since childhood—like a mouse scared of a cat. If she said go east, he wouldn't dare go west. If she told him to catch a dog, he wouldn't dare chase a chicken.
That's why, after getting out, she came to him, not the others.
When he brought the kids to visit her in prison, she noticed something different about him—but thought little of it. Visitation time was too short.
To her, Frank was still the same loser.
But now, after living with him for a while, she started seeing the change. The kids talked about all the things Frank had been doing lately.
The Frank she remembered would never have acted with this much responsibility.
"I don't know what you've been through," Grandma said, "but you're not the Frank I knew."
"Then think of me as a brand new Frank," he replied, forcing himself to drink with her.
She gave him a long, scrutinizing look, then lit a cigarette.
"I don't know this Sammy girl, but she's been serving me so diligently. I know what she's after," she said.
Grandma had lived through more than most—bottom of society, years in prison. She was nearly eighty and had seen it all. Sammy's little schemes? Transparent.
"She already told me everything," Frank said. "You're not using your money anyway. We're not going to steal from you."
"No one can steal from me," Grandma said coolly.
"You disappeared for half a year. Everyone thought you were dead. Then you came back—with a pile of money. You've gone down my path, haven't you?" she asked, looking him dead in the eyes.