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“Sir, I found your son beside the dumpster outside your mansion,” a soaking wet little girl said as she handed over a crying baby wrapped in a black trash bag. The billionaire, declared sterile twelve years earlier, didn’t panic. He stared into the child’s eyes and asked, “Who sent you here to play this sick game?” The little girl pointed a trembling finger at the top of the grand staircase, whispering, “The lady who told us to throw him away.”

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funds.

The blood roared in my ears. I knew that voice. It was the same voice that had just demanded I disavow my family. It was Marshall Ward.

And as the recording ended, the study doors swung open. Marshall stepped inside, a patronizing smile on his face, holding the legal documents designed to strip me of my guardianship.

“Ah, Spencer. I see we have continue reading …

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