Frank Thornton finished his donut, holding my ashes, and quietly lay down on the bed.

A strange smell gradually filled the room. I sniffed and realized—it was gas!

Looking around, I noticed that the windows, the doors, everything that could ventilate was nailed shut by Frank Thornton.

It struck me now that Frank Thornton's recent improvement was merely a preparation for his death. Running the company, donating buildings, helping those impoverished students—it was all his attempt to do one last thing for me in his final days.

"I don't need this!" I screamed, my voice tearing through me. "Frank Thornton, I don't need your pity, and I don't need you...