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.
