The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 200

Hackett found out about the old bookstore through a cleaning lady.

After being discharged from the hospital, he didn't return to Cresthaven.

Instead, he rented the most painfully ordinary apartment in Grünerløkka.

The window of that apartment looked directly out onto the flower shop with the daisy sign on the corner.

Every single day, he sat behind that window, watching her open the shop, watching her haul buckets of flowers, watching her laugh with the red-haired girl.

Like an inmate serving a life sentence, staring through a pane of glass he could never break, watching the spring unfold outside.

He managed to find out she was looking for a new space.

Pulling whatever strings he had left, he tracked down the real estate agent handling the old bookstore property.

The agent, Mr. Lewis, was a middle-aged man who had been handling property deals for the local community in Oslo for over a decade.

Hackett met him in a quiet café.

"Mr. Lewis," Hackett cut straight to the chase. "The old bookstore on the corner in Old Town, the Eriksen property. I want to buy it."

Mr. Lewis paused his stirring.

"Mr. Lehman, that building is lease-only. The landlord won't sell."

"Price is not an issue," Hackett pulled a document from his briefcase and slid it across the table. "Whatever the market appraisal is, I'll pay double."

"Double."

Mr. Lewis looked at the document, then back up at the man sitting across from him.

Hackett looked skeletal. His complexion was a sickly gray, and his dark trench coat hung off his frame as if he were a ghost.

Yet, when he uttered the word "double," that bone-deep arrogance was still there.

It was the unshakable certainty of a man who was used to solving every problem in the world by throwing money at it.

"Mr. Lehman, with all due respect," Mr. Lewis pushed the document back. "What exactly do you intend to do with this building once you buy it?"

"Buy it," Hackett's voice was deathly quiet. "And immediately transfer the deed, unconditionally, to a specific person."

"A Ms. Sargent. She wants to open a floral design studio in that space."

Mr. Lewis stared at him for a few seconds before realization dawned on him.

Having been in the real estate game for years, Lewis had seen it all.

The man sitting across from him was simply someone trying to use a building to buy back a second chance.

"Mr. Lehman," Mr. Lewis sighed, his tone softening. "There's something I need to tell you."

"The signatures on those blueprints were Yves Judd and Annelise Sargent."

"He didn't just lease the building to a flower shop. He entrusted his family's legacy to two people he genuinely believed in."

The café was dead silent.

Hackett sat completely paralyzed, his fingers digging so hard into his white porcelain cup his knuckles turned white.

"I'll pay triple," he heard his own voice scrape out of his throat, dry and violently shaking. "No, five times the value. I'll buy the whole building outright. Whatever number he wants, I'll write the check."

Mr. Lewis just shook his head.

"Mr. Lehman, you aren't listening to me."

"Eriksen does not need your money. His family was one of Oslo's original shipping dynasties."

"He never wanted money to begin with."

"He wanted someone who could hear what his building was trying to say."

Hackett opened his mouth, but not a single sound came out.

"Even if you offer him five times, or ten times the value, to him, you're no different than that corporate coffee franchise," Mr. Lewis said plainly. "In his eyes, you and all the people who only care about foot traffic and throwing cash around... you're exactly the same kind of person."