Dakota walked back to the spot where the Ford had died. She dropped her backpack onto the thick roots of the oak tree and sat down.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the heavy diamond necklace. The stones caught the afternoon sun, throwing sharp rainbows across the dirt. She let the necklace dangle from her fingers, entirely unimpressed by the fortune she held.

A deep, rhythmic vibration hummed through the soles of her boots.

Dakota looked up. Down the long stretch of highway, a massive vehicle approached. It didn’t bounce or rattle. It moved down the road, smooth and silent.

A brand-new Rolls-Royce Cullinan pulled to a stop right in front of her. The paint was a flawless obsidian black. The chrome grill gleamed aggressively. The sheer size and luxury of the SUV made the smoking Ford behind it look like a piece of garbage.

The driver’s side door opened. Gus stepped out.

He still wore his cheap, wrinkled clothes. Sweat still coated his forehead. But he held a heavy, silver key fob in his hand. A massive grin split his face.

Gus walked quickly to the rear passenger door. He pulled a pair of pristine white cotton gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. He grabbed the heavy chrome handle and pulled the door open.

Gus bowed deeply from the waist.

“Your car is ready, Miss Dakota,” he said. His voice swelled with pride.

Dakota stared at the plastic protective film still clinging to the edge of the leather seat. She finally understood what Gus meant when he said he was going to “buy a car.” He hadn’t meant a cheap replacement.

She didn’t ask questions. She shoved the diamond necklace back into her pocket, grabbed her faded backpack, and climbed into the cabin.

Gus shut the heavy door. The highway noise vanished instantly. The cabin was dead silent, smelling intensely of rich leather and fresh wood polish.

Gus climbed into the driver’s seat and shifted the gear. The Cullinan surged forward smoothly, leaving the broken Ford behind in the dust.

Dakota sank back into the plush leather. She watched the scenery change outside the tinted windows. The empty trees gave way to concrete buildings.

The SUV drove onto a massive bridge. The skyline of Manhattan rose in the distance, a jagged wall of glass and steel.

Dakota watched the city approach. Her heart beat at a steady, calm pace.

Gus checked the rearview mirror. He expected the girl to be staring in open-mouthed wonder at the luxury around her. Instead, Dakota looked completely bored. Gus gripped the steering wheel tighter, his respect for her growing.

The Cullinan drove deep into the city. The chaotic traffic of Midtown faded as they entered the Upper East Side. Modern glass towers gave way to historic limestone townhouses.

The vehicle slowed. It approached a massive property surrounded by a ten-foot-tall wrought-iron fence. It took up an entire city block.

Two giant stone lions sat on massive pedestals on either side of the gate. A solid brass plaque was bolted to the iron bars. A single word was engraved in deep, elegant letters: SU.

The heavy iron gates slid open silently.

Gus drove onto the property. A massive circular driveway wrapped around a towering stone fountain. Beyond the water, a mansion that looked like a European palace dominated the landscape. It was ten times the size of the Walton estate.

Dakota looked at the massive stone columns and the rows of perfectly symmetrical windows. A tiny flicker of surprise touched her eyes. This was not the slum the Waltons had promised.

The SUV glided to a stop at the base of the wide marble steps leading to the front doors. A line of staff in crisp uniforms stood waiting.

Gus scrambled out of the car. He opened Dakota’s door and bowed his head.

Dakota stepped out. Her worn boots hit the flawless marble driveway. She gripped her cheap canvas bag and looked up at the towering doors of her true home.

Dakota walked up the wide marble steps. Her boots made soft, dull sounds against the stone. She didn’t rush. She kept her chin level, her eyes scanning the massive facade of the Su mansion.

A line of maids and footmen stood on either side of the heavy carved doors. As Dakota passed them, she felt the weight of their stares.

The maids looked at her faded denim jacket. They looked at the scuffed toes of her boots. They looked at the cheap canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Several of them exchanged quick, sideways glances. Their lips tightened. Hidden disgust. To them, she was a peasant tracking dirt into a palace.

The massive double doors swung inward.

An older man stood in the grand foyer. He wore a perfectly tailored black tailcoat. His silver hair was slicked back. Ingram Ruiz, the head butler. His face was smooth and unreadable.

Ingram bowed. The angle of his spine was exact, but his eyes remained cold and distant.

“Welcome home, Eighth Miss,” he said. His voice was smooth, professional, and completely devoid of warmth.

Dakota caught the subtle sneer hiding in the corners of his eyes. She didn’t react. She gave him a slow, shallow nod and stepped past him.

The foyer was cavernous. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing fractured light across the polished floors.

Before Dakota could take in the room, frantic footsteps echoed from the grand curving staircase.

A woman in an elegant silk dress ran down the stairs. Francine Su gripped the wooden banister tightly. Her eyes were red and swollen. Tears streamed down her face. She stared at Dakota like she was looking at a ghost.

A tall, broad-shouldered man hurried down behind her. Algot Su radiated the terrifying aura of a corporate titan, but right now his jaw trembled. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Francine hit the bottom of the stairs and stopped. She gasped for air, her hands hovering in the space between them.

“My daughter,” she sobbed. The sound tore from deep inside her chest.

Francine lunged forward and threw her arms around Dakota, pulling her into a crushing embrace. She buried her face in Dakota’s neck, her tears soaking the collar of the faded jacket.

Dakota’s body went completely rigid. The sudden, overwhelming contact shocked her system. Every instinct screamed at her to pull away. But the woman’s desperate, heartbroken sobs bypassed her defenses. She felt the desperate heat of Francine’s body. The soft scent of iris perfume filled her nose.

Algot stepped up beside them. He reached out with a massive, shaking hand and placed his palm gently on the top of Dakota’s head.

“You’re home,” he said. His deep voice cracked. “You’re finally home.”

Something tight in Dakota’s chest loosened. Her throat ached. Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her arms and wrapped them around Francine’s back.

“Mother,” Dakota whispered.

Francine let out a loud wail of pure joy. She squeezed Dakota tighter, her fingers digging into the cheap fabric like she would never let go.

Ingram Ruiz cleared his throat. The sound was sharp in the emotional room.

“Sir, Madam,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps we should move to the sitting room. The young miss must be tired.”

Francine pulled back, wiping her wet face. She grabbed Dakota’s hand and pulled her toward the living area.

Two maids stepped forward to take Dakota’s bag. One reached for the canvas strap. Her nose wrinkled slightly. She pinched the fabric between two fingers, treating it like garbage.

Dakota saw the micro-expression. She twisted her shoulder, pulling the bag out of reach.

“I’ll carry it,” she said flatly.

Algot’s eyes narrowed. He caught the maid’s look of disgust. A terrifying darkness washed over his face. He glared at the two women. They instantly dropped their heads, terrified.

Francine pulled Dakota down onto a plush velvet sofa. Ingram snapped his fingers.

A line of maids hurried in, carrying silver trays loaded with steaming black tea and delicate French pastries.

One maid leaned over to place a teacup on the table. Her hand jerked. A single drop of hot tea splashed onto the floor, landing inches from Dakota’s scuffed boot.

Dakota stared at the dark liquid sinking into the expensive rug. She didn’t say a word. She knew exactly what kind of battlefield she’d just walked into.

Francine pushed a silver plate of pastries toward Dakota. Her eyes constantly scanned Dakota’s face, searching for the little girl she’d lost.

“Did they treat you well?” Francine asked. Her voice shook. “The Waltons. Were they good to you?”

Dakota picked up her teacup and took a slow sip.

“It’s in the past,” she said. Her voice was perfectly level. “I don’t want to talk about those people.”

Algot sat in the armchair across from them. His hands gripped the armrests. His knuckles turned white. He heard the cold emptiness in his daughter’s voice. He burned the name “Walton” into his memory. He would destroy them later.

Dakota lowered her cup. Her eyes drifted across the luxurious sitting room and stopped on the massive stone fireplace.

A black wooden carving of a monkey sat on the mantle. Intricately detailed, its surface gleamed with a strange, oily sheen.

Dakota’s nose twitched. She inhaled slowly. Beneath the smell of tea and Francine’s perfume, she caught a faint, cloying scent. Like rotting flowers mixed with sharp metal.

Her medical knowledge flared. That specific scent belonged to the sap of a highly toxic, rare plant.

Dakota set her teacup down with a sharp clink. She stood up and walked straight toward the fireplace.

Ingram Ruiz stepped out from the corner of the room. He glided forward, a practiced smile on his face, gently positioning himself near the mantle.

“Eighth Miss, a word of caution,” he said smoothly. “The master is quite particular about that piece. Perhaps I could assist you?”

Dakota ignored him. She stepped around the butler and leaned close to the wooden monkey. She stared at the oily residue trapped in the carved grooves.

She turned her head and looked directly at Algot.

“How long has this been sitting here?” she asked. Her voice was hard.

Algot blinked. “About two weeks. A business partner sent it as a gift. Why?”

“This wood has been soaked in a slow-acting poison,” Dakota said. “It evaporates into the air. Breathing it in causes chronic nerve failure.”

The room went dead silent. Ingram’s face twitched. A flash of panic crossed his eyes before he smoothed his expression.

Francine gasped and slapped both hands over her mouth. Her eyes went wide with terror.

Algot frowned deeply. He loved his daughter, but this was an insane accusation.

Dakota didn’t wait for him to argue. She walked to the coffee table and picked up a silver fruit knife. She walked back to the mantle and scraped the blade hard against the bottom of the monkey.

A pile of dark wood shavings fell onto a white paper napkin she held in her other hand. She picked up her teacup and poured a splash of hot tea over the shavings.

The liquid hissed. The wood shavings instantly turned a violent, unnatural purple-black.

Algot stared at the black stain. The blood drained from his face. It was replaced instantly by a violent, murderous red. The veins in his neck bulged.

He slammed his fist onto the coffee table. The teacups rattled.

“Guards,” he roared.

Four massive men in suits sprinted into the room.

“Bag that carving,” Algot ordered, pointing a shaking finger at the mantle. “Burn it in the incinerator. Lock down the estate. No one speaks of this.”

The guards pulled thick gloves from their pockets. They carefully shoved the monkey into a plastic evidence bag and ran out.

Francine threw her arms around Dakota and sobbed into her shoulder.

“You saved us,” she cried. “You saved our lives.”

Algot looked at his daughter. The shock in his eyes morphed into intense pride. His little girl was brilliant.

He looked at Dakota’s faded jacket again. A sharp pain stabbed his chest. His daughter had saved his life, and she was wearing rags. He needed to fix this immediately.

Algot pulled out his phone and dialed his chief assistant’s encrypted line.

“Call every top-tier luxury brand in the world,” he barked into the phone. “I want their entire current season collections brought to the estate. Clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry. Everything.”

He paced across the rug.

“And get me the limited edition pieces from Snake Bone,” he demanded. “I don’t care what it costs. Buy out their entire inventory.”

Dakota stood perfectly still. When she heard the name “Snake Bone,” her thoughts momentarily froze. Algot wanted to buy out her own inventory. The irony was staggering. She kept her expression neutral and took a slow sip of her tea.

Ingram Ruiz and the maids stared at Algot in absolute shock. They finally realized the terrifying truth. This girl in the cheap jacket held the entire Su empire in the palm of her hand.