The Tycoon's Daughter: A Bitter Inheritance

reath was a faint, rattling sound, the only noise besides the quiet beep of the

g houses in wealthy neighborhoods, her hands always chapped and sore, all so I could have a future

the vibrant brown I kne

whispered, her

m." I squeezed

" Her words were a struggle. "They h

that scholarship letter like we' d won the

it out, Mom. I

. "No. There is... another way." She coughed, a dry, p

ghost, a story she refused to t

tter, Mom. It' s

, a flicker of her old strength in her

meant not

ts axis. Richard Thompson. The tech mogul. The man whose face was on magazine c

u' re con

... he would take care of you. His lawyer has the papers. Proof." She sagged back into the pillow, her energ

ast thing she

I walked out of the hospital into the cold night air, an orphan. In my pocket was a crumpled piece of paper w

my voice hollow and robotic. There was a long pause, then the click of being

It was deep, impatient, and laced with

my mother

f grief, but o

rning to collect you," he said, his tone f

e was no sympathy, no qu

up to my crumbling apartment building. A man in a suit, Mr. Davis, got out. He didn'

at ever

Ye

rawling estates. The gates to the Thompson property were massive, wrought iron behemoths that swung open silently. We drove for what felt like miles up a w

g into the perfectly manicured gravel, I felt like an

to get me here. And I had a feeling