ALEX’s POV

I was woken by a loud metallic slam, the kind that rattled through my bones. My head jerked up from my knee, stiff neck protesting, and I blinked blearily at the bars.

I guess I was too exhausted from the chase that I managed to sleep soundly even in a stupid position. But I pushed myself off the wall, stretched, and tried to clear my vision.

One of the cops stood by the opened cell door, clipboard in hand. “Carter!” he called out and my eyes wandered toward him. “Ivy Alexandria Carter.”

My stomach flipped at the sound of the name. That was my full name. Government-use-only name.

“You made bail.”

I blinked again, trying to shake off the sleep fog. “I—what? Bail? Me?”

The other detainees looked at me like I’d just won the lottery. And in a way, I guess I had. The only problem? I didn’t have a ticket. So, I don’t know how the hell that happened.

As I got to my feet, my brain spun in a dozen directions. Bail? Who the hell would pay for me? The people I knew barely scraped enough to put food on the table, let alone buy my dumb ass out of jail.

The cop didn’t care about my confusion though. He opened the cell, shoved me toward the exit, and the next thing I knew, I was out in the blinding, too-clean lobby.

That’s when I froze.

Waiting for me were three men in identical black suits, crisp white shirts, matching black ties, and sunglasses so shiny I could see my bedraggled reflection in them. They were all lined up like guards from a spy movie.

But it was the man standing in front of them that made my stomach sink further. He was older, maybe late fifties, with graying hair slicked back so neatly it didn’t dare move. His suit wasn’t just expensive, it screamed money. The kind of suit that could pay rent for half the year.

He looked me over, expression unreadable. Then he spoke.

“You’re Ivy Alexandria Carter?”

I turned my head slowly, eyes darting toward the cops behind me. For one wild second, I was sure they’d sold me off. Mafia, human trafficking, rich-guy cult, take your pick.

I swallowed. “Depends who’s asking.”

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We need you to come with us.”

Every instinct in me screamed run. But I guess even the guards could read through my expression what I had been planning on doing.

Almost immediately, the men in suits closed in on me. One on each side, one at my back, like I was some VIP who’d accidentally wandered out of the limo and into the gutter. Except instead of escorting me politely, they practically frog-marched me toward a sleek black car waiting at the curb.

“Hey!” I twisted in their grip, stumbling as my sneakers dragged against the pavement. “This is kidnapping! Actual, felony-level kidnapping!”

“Calm down,” the older man said smoothly, as if I were making a fuss over a spilled drink instead of being abducted in broad daylight. And in front of a police station at that.

“Calm down?” I barked as soon as I was in the car with him. “I can’t calm down! I still have things to do. A bag to pack. A life to—oh, I don’t know—live? Plus, I’ve got to find myself some work later.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t scold me. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick wad of cash, and peeled off bills like it was nothing. He held it out to me. “Ten thousand. Would that be enough?”

My mouth went dry. I’d never seen that kind of money outside of a TV show. Ten grand. In my hand. For a second, my brain short-circuited. Pack my bag? Work? Who was I kidding? Screw the bag. Screw the job. Screw everything. I clutched the money, rolled it, and tucked it inside my pocket like it might vanish if I blinked.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to sit still in the car seat, hands pressed tightly over the stack of bills. “Yeah. This could be enough.”

The engine to the Rolls Royce hummed to life, and the city rolled away behind us. My heart hammered, not sure if I’d just been bribed, adopted, or enrolled into some cult. But doesn’t matter. I’ll just escape if it’s some shady ass deal. It’s not like I haven’t done that before.

“So,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my voice cracked, “where are we going again?”

The man smoothed his tie, eyes flicking toward me. “Back to Manhattan.”

I frowned. “What’s that?”

His head turned sharply, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “New York City.”

“Oh.” I sank back in the leather seat, gripping the cash tighter. “Yeah. Sure. Totally knew that. Definitely not geography-challenged.”

The man didn’t respond, but I swore I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. If it was into a frown or a smile, I don’t know.

But wait. Hold on. Rewind.

Did he just say New York City?

I sat up straighter. “Uh—sorry, I must’ve misheard. Did you say Manhattan? As in the place where the series Friends was shot?”

“Yes.” His tone was clipped, like the word was carved out of granite.

“Funny thing,” I said, my voice going high and thin. “Because unless I missed a memo, we’re in Chicago. Windy City. Deep dish. Bean statue. Definitely not the same state, let alone the same time zone.”

The suited guy in the front passenger seat didn’t turn around, but I swore I saw his shoulders shake like he was trying not to laugh.

My heart rate spiked, full-blown panic simmering under my skin. “You can’t just take me across the country. That’s called human trafficking, and I’m not interested in becoming a Dateline episode, thanks.”

The man beside me didn’t flinch. “You’re not being trafficked. You’re being escorted.”

“Oh, great. That makes it sound so much better,” I snapped. “Escorted where? To your evil lair? Secret underground lab? Am I getting dissected? Because if so, fair warning, I eat way too much junk food for my organs to be useful.”

Finally, he turned his head, calm and steady. “You’ll find out soon enough. Until then, sit still.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, then leaned back against the leather seat, muttering under my breath. “Yeah. Sure. Just gonna sit here quietly while I’m illegally kidnapped across state lines. Totally normal Tuesday.”

After twenty or so minutes, the car made a sharp turn to the right. I squinted at the sign at the end of the road. It seems to me that we’re in a private airstrip. I turned to the guy beside me. He didn’t even looked concerned.

Wow. They really must be rich.

Two men in collared uniforms opened the gates and the car rolled past them. Two more minutes later and a plane was already visible from where I sat. And it wasn’t just any plane.

The plane was massive, the kind you only ever saw in one of those Hollywood movies. Sleek navy stretched across its body, the word ‘Harrington’ painted in crisp gold letters along the side, a crest gleaming on the tail.

I furrowed my eyebrows at this. “Harrington?” I asked as I was instructed to get out of the car.

The man with me gave me a curt nod. “I assume you are familiar with the name?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I may be dirt poor but we get some cable at our orphanage, too.” I glanced up at the word again. “Isn’t that a family name?”

“Yes.”

“Billionaires?”

“Yes.”

I gulped. “What would a billionaire want from me?”

He stopped midway from entering the plane and looked down at me. I stopped on my tracks too, staring back at him from several steps behind.

“You sure do have a lot of questions.”

“You at least owe me that for the kidnapping.”

He seemed to not like the sound of ‘kidnapping’, his face pulling into a slight frown as he entered the cabin. I was ushered in, too.

But if the outside of the plane was already impressive, the inside was near jaw-dropping.

Stepping in felt like walking into another world. Cream leather seats faced each other across polished walnut tables, thick rugs cushioning my every step. Toward the center was a polished bar stocked with crystal bottles and trays of food, a crew member stationed behind it.

I quickly tailed the old man, sitting across from him once he’s chosen his seat. He just gave me a blank look, fished out his phone, and dialed a number. It didn’t even finish ringing when someone already answered.

I couldn’t hear what the other person was saying but the old man, his eyes still on me, just said, “She’s here.”

Now, I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I’m fairly sure that he was talking about me. That thought made me uneasy. But I guess I’m easy to please because after thirty minutes, with all the attention and food I’m getting, that feeling vanished like it never came.

I stuffed the third serving of fillet mignon that was given to me into my mouth and nodded in satisfaction, not even paying any mind to the old man who was staring at me with mild disgust and embarrassment.

He pushed a glass of water toward me and cleared his throat. “You better slow down. It’d be a shame if you die before we get there.”

I drank the water and gobbled down the next set of food just as fast that by the time we finally landed, my head was swirling. They gave me some time to vomit in the bathroom, wash my face, and change my clothes.

As we drove through the streets of New York, I kept my eyes peeled on the view. I’ve never been here before. I’ve only ever seen this place in magazines and movies. Now, I may not survive from whatever this business is, but hey, at least I got my fair share of heaven. It may have been quick but—

“We’re here.”

The old man’s voice cut through my thoughts as a tall building rolled into view. I pressed my face against the car’s window but still couldn’t see the top.

“What is this place?”

“This, Miss Carter, is the Harrington Group.”

My eyebrows creased. “Group of what?”

“Group of Companies.”

ALEX’s POV

I watched as several numbers flashed through the screen on top of the elevator door. It felt like we’ve been inside the lift for five minutes already and the doors still haven’t opened. The numbers went on from 2s to 3s but it still kept going.

I stuffed one hand in my pocket, fishing out a muffin I had wrapped neatly inside a table napkin. The old man’s gaze immediately landed on me.

“Where did you get that?” he asked through his neatly combed mustache.

“From the plane?” I said and took a bite. I fished another one from my other pocket. “You want one?”

“Just how many muffins do you exactly have?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

I shrugged. “Just the two.”

He raised another eyebrow.

“I also took the chocolate truffles.”

He kept waiting.

“And the wafers… and the bread… and the bagels.”

He sighed sharply at this and extended a hand. “Give it here.”

“What, why?” I complained, immediately backing away from him as I stuffed the rest of the muffin into my mouth.

He huffed, “Because there is no way I will present you to the Harringtons with your pockets filled with food. I promise you, you will have plenty more once we’re in there.”

I was left with no choice once the doors finally opened to reveal the top floor. I gave up every single one of the food I had stuffed into my jeans and jacket. I could’ve saved one of the cookies but the loud crinkling once I started to walk gave it away.

The floor we were in, surprisingly, looked nothing like the rest of the building. If the Harrington Group was heavy on polished marble floors and glass walls, whoever was in the topmost floor had a different idea.

The walls were lined with dark wood paneling, polished to a shine, and heavy crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at even intervals. A dark red carpet ran the length of the floor, muffling out our every step. Towards the end of the hallway, two massive doors awaited.

As we walked down the corridor, my eyes landed on all of the paintings that flanked the room.

“Who are these people?”

“Your ancestors.”

My head whirled towards the old man. “My what now?”

The old man gave me a knowing smile, the kind of smile that you would give to someone if you know something and you’re taunting them with it.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

The guards that were with us opened the double doors and we stepped into the room. It was exactly what you would expect with the kind of hallway this office had. Dark opulence, crystal chandeliers, and leather furniture. But it was empty.

The old man led me to another set of doors on the right of the room. And when it opened, the sound of hushed talking immediately filled the room. Until they noticed me, that is.

Everyone fell silent, their heads turned to me completely. I gulped and adjusted myself, suddenly overwhelmed by how sharp their gazes were.

“Is that her?” a drawl sounded and I turned towards the person who spoke. He looked about the same age as me, only a little older.

The old man that was beside me nodded. He then urged me to take a seat on any of the empty conference chairs. I sat there, still confused and absolutely terrified by the people in this room.

I mean, I’ve had my fair share of scary people. Criminals, mean adults, meaner teenagers—but it’s nothing quite like this. Each one of them look like they could destroy my life without even batting an eye or remembering my name.

A man in a suit at the other end of the table cleared his throat and said, “Should we begin?”

There was a chorus of comments. Some of them saying that this should’ve been over months ago already. Heck, I don’t even know what I’m doing in here. Was this some kind of mistake?

No, wait.

Are they going to throw me back into the slammer if they find out they got the wrong person? Nah. I’ll just run.

The man, who looked to me like a lawyer, adjusted his glasses and rested a black briefcase on top of the table. He opened it, took a couple of papers from inside, and then took a seat.

The lawyer cleared his throat again, shuffling the stack of thick papers before him. His voice carried easily across the room, clipped and precise.

“This is the last will and testament of Reginald Alexander Harrington. Dated the 5th of May, 2024. As per the wishes of the late Chairman, the following allocations shall be made.”

He adjusted his glasses, eyes flicking briefly toward the old frail woman seated nearest the window. She was just staring out into the cityscape below, probably not even aware what was going on inside the room.

“To my beloved wife, Margaret Harrington, I leave the right to remain in the Harrington Estate for the rest of her life. She shall occupy her own wing of the mansion, and all her needs—medical, personal, and otherwise—will be met without restriction.

In addition, I provide an annual allowance of ten million dollars to be placed in a trust, administered by her physician and nurse, to ensure her continued comfort and care. These funds shall not be interfered with, diverted, or withheld under any circumstances.”

Quiet nods in agreement circled the room and the lawyer continued the reading of the will, turning his attention to the woman with the slicked-back blonde hair on his right.

“To my eldest daughter, Claudine Harrington-Davenport, I leave a portfolio of blue-chip stocks valued at fifty million dollars, along with minor real estate holdings in Geneva. I also grant her a cash settlement of five million dollars, and a stake of two percent in Harrington Group.”

The woman, Claudine, looked like she was still expecting to hear more of her inheritance. But her face darkened when the attorney turned to someone else.

“Wait!” she said, and the lawyer turned to her. “Is that it?Just fifty?!”

My eyebrows immediately furrowed. ‘Just’ fifty million dollars? Damn. I’d be happy to take that if she doesn’t want it.

The lawyer checked the paper and nodded. “Apparently.”

Claudine looked like she’d been stricken. The lawyer did not care though as he continued the reading of the will. “To her husband, Hugh Davenport, I leave no direct assets, though Davenport Shipping & Trade will remain under favorable contracts as previously negotiated.”

The husband who was beside Claudine was aghast, too. Looks like they were all expecting more from the dead billionaire, huh? Whoever this Reginald Harrington was, he must really hate this family.

“To my youngest daughter, Cassiopeia Harrington-Fitzroy, I leave the Harrington luxury fashion subsidiaries, including Harrington Couture and Maison de Lys, with a combined valuation of seventy-five million dollars, and a cash settlement of three million dollars. To her husband, Peter Fitzroy, no direct allocation is made, though Fitzroy Holdings shall continue to benefit from minor joint ventures.”

Cassiopeia’s reaction was even worse. If she smiled at the reading when she heard about what was apparently a ‘small’ share her older sister got, she was now near to fainting when she heard hers.

Was I just brought in here to watch a live soap opera? If yes, I think the ten grand is worth it.

A woman dressed in corporate attire went around with a food tray, offering the people some food. None of them could even look at her, their faces all ashen.

I waved a hand at her and smiled when she offered me the food. I took the entire tray, much to her surprise, and thanked her. I just sat there eating food while the lawyer continued.

“To my eldest grandchild, Percival Davenport, I leave a seat on the Harrington Group board, and a trust tied to the company’s development fund, valued at thirty million dollars, to be accessed fully on his thirtieth birthday.”

The blond guy from earlier who spoke when I arrived had his mouth wide open. I rolled my eyes. Their reaction was over the top. They’re all acting like they’ve been given spare change. What were they expecting exactly?

“To my first granddaughter, Henrietta Fitzroy, I leave a full trust of forty million dollars, half of which is to be directed to any charitable ventures of her choosing.”

Henrietta’s face paled, embarrassment seeping through her face. “Charity?” she whispered, her voice croaking at the word like it was something disgusting. “You want me to do… charity? Seriously?”

The lawyer carried on. “To my youngest granddaughter, Blaire Fitzroy—”

She was already practically shaking in her seat, her eyes closed, probably praying relentlessly for a different result of their grandfather’s cruel joke.

“—I leave a lifetime stake within the Harrington fashion royalties, estimated at ten million dollars annually.”

Blaire blinked, clearly not comprehending the insult until she saw her mother’s glare.

“And to George Davenport, my youngest grandson, I leave an educational trust of ten million dollars, unlocked in full at his twenty-first birthday, with yearly stipends provided until then.”

Hugh’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing toward Claudine. “Ten? He leaves my son ten?” he hissed under his breath but nearly everyone in the room could still hear him. The mother immediately ran to George, who looked like he was just about four years old.

“To Mr. Harold Greene, who has served faithfully as the groundskeeper of the Harrington Estate for over four decades, I leave a cottage house within the estate grounds, situated by the southern lake, along with a lifetime stipend of one hundred thousand dollars annually for upkeep and personal needs.”

Alistair’s weathered hands folded in his lap, his jaw tight with emotion. His wife, seated beside him, dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. They both smiled at each other—the very first ones who actually appreciated what was given.

“To Mrs. Eleanor Greene, his wife and my dear wife’s best friend, I leave a trust of one hundred thousand dollars, to be drawn upon freely, as thanks for her years of devotion in maintaining the estate’s household and gardens.”

The room shifted uncomfortably; some of the cousins are glancing at each other, the insult of comparison already burning through their eyes.

“To Mr. Thomas Hale, head of security, I leave a personal trust of five hundred thousand dollars, in recognition of his loyalty to myself and my family, with the instruction that he remain in service should my wife, Margaret, or my granddaughter, Ivy Alexandria, wish it.”

Everyone turned to me at the mention of my name.

I stiffened and nearly choke on my croutons.

Granddaughter? What?!

ALEX’s POV

Everything appeared to be swirling. I dropped the food on the table and grabbed a glass of water, drinking it all in one go. When I still wasn’t satisfied, I asked the lady handing them out for more. She gave me another.

It was useless. Everything just seemed to get caught in my throat.

“Can we get on, now?” Percy said impatiently when even after a full beat has passed and the attorney still hasn’t said anything, he was just staring at me choking.

When my lightheadedness finally left, I looked around at the table. No one, not even the old man who had taken me here appeared to be shocked by the words. They all knew… I think. And they… just don’t care?

The old man offered me a handkerchief and I took it, wiping my mouth. I don’t know what to think of this. I just sat there for the next five minutes staring down at the oak table. I didn’t even listen to the rest of the will, apart maybe from all the sharp objections once the part about the charities were read.

“…Children’s Hospital, and the Harrington Foundation for the Arts, I leave endowments totaling twenty-five billion dollars—” A chorus of outraged objections sounded throughout the entire room. “—to be divided among them as specified in the attached documents. It is my wish that these institutions continue to thrive long after I am gone.”

“We get a measly five million while some lousy charity gets billions?!” Claudine’s outburst rang through the room and she stood up, her chair clattering on the floor behind her.

Cassiopeia was the next to react. “Well, at least you get five! I only have three!”

“Goddamn that old man.” Hugh gritted his teeth, putting out the cigar he’d been holding on the wooden table. “I knew he’s going to fucking screw us up. He’s crazy, that’s what he is!”

“Are you sure, attorney, that this is final? I’m sure he has an old draft somewhere with even better conditions.”

The lawyer looked up at Claudine, a polite smile on his face. “I’m not done yet. There are still a few lines I have yet to finish reading.”

“Well, then, get on with it!” Percival yelled, slamming his fist into the table.

The lawyer looked startled. He scrambled for the paper and fixed his glasses, clearing his throat for the nth time. “Where was I… uh, right.” He straightened. “To Mr. Henry Caldwell, my trusted advisor and the newly appointed Chairman of the Board of Harrington Group, I leave a personal trust of five million dollars annually, as well as the legal guardianship of my grandchild, Ivy Alexandria, until such a time as she reaches the age of twenty-one and is deemed capable of managing her inheritance.”

There goes my name again. And there goes all of their heads and piercing looks. Among everyone in the table, only four of them didn’t give me any dirty looks.

Claudine stood up again, interrupting the attorney. “You mentioned that…” She turned to me, “…the girl gets an inheritance?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

Everyone seemed to lean in apart from Henry. Even I was curious. I mean, I ain’t expecting much anyway—if I was even expecting something. Maybe a couple grand and I would happily go back to Chicago. I wouldn’t be rich but hell, I’d survive.

The attorney flipped to the next page. He gulped. ““And now, we have come to the final provision of this will — the matter of my granddaughter, Ivy Alexandria Carter. Although you have not spent much time with this family, Ivy, know that I have always intended you to inherit more than a name.”

I looked away. Everyone in here seemed to be anxious about something. They all looked like they could bounce off the walls at any minute. Even Cassiopeia who didn’t seem like a nail-biter to me was near to cutting off half her nails with all the nervous biting.

“Accordingly, after the allocations already specified in my previous statements, the residue and remainder of my estate, which is calculated at approximately four hundred seventy-two billion dollars, shall vest solely in you. This inheritance includes all remaining assets: liquid and illiquid, controlling interests, accounts, and properties not otherwise specified.

By this provision, you inherit the greater part of my estate, along with the privileges and responsibilities it carries. And to the family gathered here, know that while the distributions differ, my intent has always been the same — that each of you find purpose beyond what wealth alone can provide.”

The attorney finished reading and closed the folder with Reginald Harrington’s will and testament in it. Everyone was silent. No one even dared move.

If earlier, there were loud objections from the family, now there was only silence. And it wasn’t even a good kind of silence. It was heavy, almost charged.

“You mean…” It was Henrietta who broke the silence. “…this girl, whoever she is… she’s getting it all?”

The attorney nodded. “Yes. And this is supposed to be effective immediately.”

More silence followed. The vein on Hugh’s neck looked like it was about to explode. Cassiopeia was just staring blankly at the table. Claudine snatched the paper from the attorney and started reading feverishly across pages.

When I looked directly in front, Blaire was already staring at me.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

My eyebrows immediately creased. “What?”

“The will. Admit it,” She stood up and circled the table, “when my grandfather was on his deathbed, you conned your way into his will.”

“What are you talking about?”

Henrietta’s head shot up. “Yes! Blaire could be right. I mean, we’ve never even met this girl. What if she’s a con artist? Is Ivy Alexandria even her real name?”

“Now, now!” The attorney tried breaking it up. “We have documents that prove her identity. She couldn’t have been a con artist—”

“But wasn’t she just arrested?” It was Percival who said that. “How are you all so sure she wasn’t conning you?!”

I stood up, pulling away from Blaire who looked ready to pounce. “Listen, alright?! I didn’t even want to be here. You were the ones who dragged me into this mess.”

Claudine stood up, too, and was about to come near me but one of the guards barred her.

“What are you doing?” she asked the men. “Get out of my way!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But we’re here to protect the heir.”

“The heir?! HA!” Percival burst out of his chair, too, his finger pointed at me. “You’re calling this girl an heir?! She’s from an orphanage for fuck’s sake! I’m sure one of you messed up big time and switched the documents or something.”

Hugh shook his head at this, running his hands through his hair multiple times. “That’s it. I’m calling my attorney. I’m sure there’s some way we can change this.”

“There isn’t,” Henry said.

The room went silent again.

“What do you mean there isn’t?”

The attorney stood up. “Mr. Caldwell is correct. The firm was directed to run a thorough review of the will and it doesn’t have any loopholes.”

“But my poor father could be sick when he wrote this!”

“Or he could have been blackmailed.”

The attorney smiled at both Claudine and Cassiopeia’s attempts. “He made this himself a year ago in the entire firm’s presence. Before doing so, he was subjected to a full psychiatric and medical evaluation. I assure you, he did not have any sickness when he wrote this.”

“But—”

“If you have any objections to the document, feel free to contact your attorneys. I, myself, will assist them willingly if they do turn up at the firm.” And with that, he closed his briefcase and left.

I was ushered by the head of security, Thomas Hale, out of the room where his men still struggled to keep the rest of the family away from me. Blaire almost got ahold of my arm but Peter, her father, managed to drag her away.

We went through the same hallway again. I glanced at the portraits. My supposed ancestors stared back.

“Let’s go,” Henry said when he noticed that I was slowing down, staring at the last portrait.

I turned to him. “Where are we going now?”

“To your estate.”

The moment we walked out of the building, a crowd of reporters with their microphones and cameras boxed us in. There was so much flashing lights that I’m pretty sure my eyes were closed in every single one of their photos.

“Miss Carter! Miss Carter! Here! Look here!”

“Is it true that you’re Reginald Harrington’s grandchild?”

“The reading of the last will was today. What can you say about it, Miss Carter?”

“Miss Carter! Is it true that you got arrested?”

Hale immediately blocked the cameras facing toward me, his men pushing the paparazzi to the side, making way for us. Once we descended the stairs leading to the sidewalk below, I was steered into a black SUV. Henry sat beside me and ordered for the driver to drive away.

I was still in shock.

“Good,” Henry said and I turned to him.

“What was?”

“Your response to the media.”

I blinked, my lips pulling into a slight frown. “But I didn’t respond.”

“Exactly. That’s what you need to do when facing these people. Do not speak unless absolutely necessary.”

Now, my attention was pulled into what just happened. “How did they find out that fast?”

“About your arrest or about the will?”

“Both.”

“They’re the paparazzi, dear. They’ll slither their way into the tiniest crevices if it means they’ll get the story out first. Nothing ever truly stays a secret around here.”

I just nodded at Henry’s explanation, my eyes wandering down the street. I’ve had a lot of questions about why I was dragged here in the first place but now that I’ve got my answers, it feels like I’m forming a million more.

Who exactly was Reginald Harrington and why did he leave me everything he owned? He couldn’t even do that for his own family whom he’s known for years. And if he knew that he had a granddaughter out there that’s an orphan, why didn’t he come sooner? Was I that hard to find? It’s not like I changed my name or anything. Or was I just irrelevant? Some pawn he’s using to get back at his family that he probably hates?

My head was pounding with questions. I pressed a hand on my temple and Henry turned to me.

“I understand you have a lot of questions.”

I sighed, forcing my eyes shut. “I don’t even know where to start.”