Hello, campers, grab your marshmallows and gather around the true crime campfire.

We're your camp counselors. I'm Katie. And I'm Whitney. And we're here to tell you a true story

that is way stranger than fiction. We're roasting murderers and marshmallows around the true crime campfire.

All the money in the world can't buy peace of mind. Family life, with its jealousies and rivalries,

carries the same pressures no matter the size of the bank account. But when wealth is measured in

millions, those pressures can twist into something far darker. Arguments over favoritism,

inheritance, and control, the kind of disputes most families recognize in small ways become

battles with stakes that can determine the course of lives. And when greed collides with

resentment and morality is already thin on the ground,

the results can be catastrophic. This week's story is about what happens when the bonds of family

are tested not by love, but by money. This is part one of the price of Love, the murder of Franklin Bradshaw.

So I got to preface this by saying that I just had some dental work done and I am currently the proud owner of some

temporary falsies. So if I'm lisping terribly this week, I apologize, it is temporary. So, campers,

for this one, were in Salt Lake City, Utah, July 23rd, 1978. The morning started just like any other. Franklin Bradshaw was

almost obsessively a creature of habit. He got up at the crack of dawn, had a lukewarm bath, did 31 push-ups,

and had oatmeal and evaporated milk for breakfast. Then he brown bagged a slice of meatloaf for lunch and headed

off for work in his old Ford Courier truck, even though it was a Sunday. Frank was 76 years old,

and he'd started slowing down a little. It used to be a hundred push-ups before breakfast, and nowadays

he usually took things easy and got home around

9 p.m. instead of 11 or 12, like when he was younger. The Bradshaw's had moved into their house

on Gilmer Drive 40 years ago, and since then Frank had started every morning, weekends included

the same way. Frank's wife, Bernice, was vaguely aware of the truck starting in the driveway

...