Not because I was an adult.
Not because he wanted me to become independent.
Because he needed me gone before the estate could find me.
I looked at Richard.
“What happens now?”
He smiled for the first time.
“Now you have thirty days.”
“To do what?”
“Survive.”
“And after thirty days?”
Richard closed his briefcase.
“You meet the board of Brooks Holdings.”
I blinked.
“The board?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“You decide whether you want the company.”
I stared at him.
“I thought I inherited everything.”
“You inherited the right to choose.”
He turned toward the alley entrance.
“But there’s one more thing you should know.”
I stood there silently.
Richard looked back at me.
“Your father doesn’t know we’ve found you.”
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
“Then who does?”
Richard gave me a thin smile.
“Everyone who matters.”
He walked away.
I remained beside my broken-down car, holding a flash drive worth more than anything I’d ever owned.
For the first time in nine days, I wasn’t thinking about food.
I wasn’t thinking about where I would sleep.
I wasn’t even thinking about my father.
I was thinking about thirty days.
Thirty days to survive.
Thirty days to uncover the truth.
And thirty days before my family discovered that the son they had thrown away was the heir they had been trying to hide from the world.
Thirty days passed.
Thirty days since I had slept in the backseat of my car.
Thirty days since Richard Hartwell found me behind a restaurant.
Thirty days since I learned that my father had lied to me for eighteen years.
And somehow, those thirty days changed everything.
I didn’t spend them living like a rich man’s heir.
I spent them working.
I kept going to school.
I kept my part-time job.
I slept in a small room at a youth shelter Richard had helped me find, but the bills were paid through a temporary trust that could only cover basic necessities.
No luxury.
No new clothes.
No expensive meals.
No access to the inheritance.
My grandfather had insisted on one thing above all else:
I needed to learn who I was without money.
And I did.
On the thirtieth morning, Richard arrived at the shelter in a black sedan.
He stepped out wearing the same tailored suit he’d worn when he found me behind the restaurant.
“You ready?”
I looked down at myself.
A clean white shirt.
Dark trousers.
The only decent pair of shoes I owned.
I nodded.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Richard smiled.
“Good.”
He opened the passenger door.
“The board is waiting.”
I got inside.
As we drove toward downtown, the skyline appeared through the windshield.
At the center of it stood the Brooks Holdings headquarters.
Thirty-two floors of glass and steel.
My grandfather’s company.
My company.
At least, that was what the documents said.
But I still couldn’t believe it.
“Richard?”
“Yes?”
“What if they don’t accept me?”
He glanced at me.
“They will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because your grandfather planned for everything.”
The elevator took us to the thirty-second floor.
When the doors opened, I stepped into a boardroom larger than my entire old house.
Seven people sat around a long black table.
Executives.
Lawyers.
Accountants.
Senior partners.
And at the far end sat the chairman.
An elderly woman named Margaret Ellis.
She stood as I entered.
“Nathan Brooks.”
I nodded.
“Ms. Ellis.”
She smiled.
“Your grandfather spoke very highly of you.”
I swallowed.
“He knew me?”
“Better than you think.”
Richard placed a folder on the table.
“Before we begin,” he said, “there is one issue we need to resolve.”
I looked around.
“What issue?”
Richard glanced at the door.
It opened.
And my father walked in.
Behind him were his wife and my stepbrother.
My blood ran cold.
My father stopped when he saw me.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
His face went pale.
Then his expression hardened.
“What is he doing here?”
Richard answered calmly.
“He was invited.”
My father’s eyes narrowed.
“You have no right.”
Margaret Ellis stood.
“Actually, Daniel, we do.”
My father looked around the room.
Then back at me.
“You.”
I said nothing.
He took a step toward me.
“You’ve been looking for me?”
“No.”
His expression shifted.
“Then how—”
“I didn’t find you,” I said quietly.
“You found me.”
He stared at me.
My stepmother stepped forward.
“Nathan, this is ridiculous. Your father has been worried sick about you.”
I almost laughed.
“Worried?”
She gave me a pleading look.
“You were eighteen. You needed to learn responsibility.”
I nodded.
“You’re right.”
My father looked surprised.
I continued.
“So let’s talk about responsibility.”
Richard placed a folder on the table.
My father immediately recognized it.
His face changed.
“What is that?”
“Evidence,” Richard said.
My stepbrother shifted nervously.
“What evidence?”
Richard opened the folder.
“Evidence of intercepted correspondence.”
He placed the photographs on the table.
One by one.
My father standing at the mailbox.
My father taking envelopes.
My father shredding letters.
My father’s hand holding a birthday card addressed to me.
My stepmother stared at the photographs.
“What is this?”
My father said nothing.
I looked at him.
“You knew.”
He finally spoke.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“Nathan—”
“You knew Grandpa was alive.”
Silence.
My father looked away.
My stepbrother stared at him.
“You told me Grandpa died before I was born.”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
My father had no answer.
I turned to the board.
“My grandfather sent thirty-two letters.”
Richard nodded.
“Thirty-two documented pieces of correspondence.”
“None of which Nathan received,” Margaret said.
She looked directly at my father.
“Why?”
My father clenched his jaw.
“I didn’t think James had good intentions.”
Margaret’s voice became colder.
“That doesn’t explain why you destroyed the correspondence.”
My father looked at me.
“You were a child.”
“I was sixteen when the first letter arrived.”
He froze.
“You knew?”
I asked.
“You knew I was waiting for answers.”
My father’s expression cracked.
“I was trying to protect this family.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I pointed toward the documents.
“You were protecting yourself.”
My stepbrother suddenly stood.
“Dad?”
Everyone looked at him.
He swallowed.
“Did you really take Nathan’s money?”
My father didn’t answer.
My stepbrother looked horrified.
“The three thousand dollars?”
My father finally said, “It was family money.”
“No,” I said.
“It was mine.”
Richard placed the bank records on the table.
“Three thousand two hundred fourteen dollars and sixty-three cents.”
My father looked at the statement.
“That money was used for legal fees.”
“Your legal fees,” I said.
My stepmother looked at him.
“You told me it was for Ethan’s college applications.”
My stepbrother’s face went white.
“You lied to me too?”
My father slammed his palm against the table.
“Enough!”
The room went silent.
He pointed at me.
“You think because some dead man left you a company, you’re suddenly better than us?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
I paused.
“I think I’m exactly the same person I was thirty days ago.”
His anger faltered.
“But now,” I continued, “I know the truth.”
