"Maya, please. You have to do this for me." I stared at my best friend Iris across the coffee shop table, watching her twist a napkin into shreds. Her hands were shaking. "Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You just found out you're the long-lost daughter of some wealthy family, and instead of claiming your inheritance, you want me to... reject them for you?" "Yes." Iris's eyes were desperate. "I can't face them, Maya. I just can't. My life is finally stable. I have my bookshop, my apartment, my routine. These people—the Harringtons—they're strangers. Rich strangers who want to parade me around like some prize they've recovered." I took a sip of my latte, studying her. Iris had been my roommate in college, back when I was scraping by on scholarships and she was working three jobs. We'd built each other up from nothing. Now she ran a cozy independent bookstore in the arts district, and I... well, I'd done considerably better for myself. "The Harringtons," I repeated, the name tickling something in my memory. "That's the family name?" "Yes. Richard and Patricia Harrington. Apparently, I was kidnapped as a baby or something. There was a DNA test. It's all legitimate." She grabbed my hand. "But I don't want their money or their world. I just want them to leave me alone. If you go there and tell them I'm not interested, maybe they'll finally stop." That's when it clicked. The Harringtons. Richard Harrington had been blowing up my assistant's phone for the past two weeks, begging for a meeting. His company was hemorrhaging money, and he needed the contract with my firm—Meridian Solutions—to stay afloat. I'd been ignoring him because his initial pitch had been arrogant and presumptuous, assuming I'd be thrilled to work with "old money." I'd built Meridian from the ground up in five years. We specialized in turning around failing companies, and we were very, very good at it. Good enough that desperate CEOs like Richard Harrington came crawling when their empires started crumbling. A slow smile spread across my face. "What?" Iris asked nervously. "Why are you smiling like that?" "Nothing. Just thinking." I squeezed her hand. "Of course I'll help you. What are best friends for?" The relief that washed over her face almost made me feel guilty about what I was planning. Almost. --- The Harrington estate was exactly what I expected—sprawling, ostentatious, and trying way too hard. The driveway alone was longer than some city blocks, lined with manicured hedges that probably cost more to maintain than most people's mortgages. I'd dressed carefully for this. Nothing too flashy, but expensive enough that anyone with an eye for quality would notice. A simple black dress, Louboutin heels, and the Cartier watch I'd bought myself when Meridian landed its first major client. I rang the doorbell and waited. A stern-faced butler answered. "May I help you?" "I'm here about Iris Chen," I said. "The Harringtons are expecting someone regarding their daughter." That was technically true. His expression shifted slightly—surprise, maybe relief. "Of course. Please, come in." The interior was even more ridiculous than the exterior. Marble everywhere, crystal chandeliers, artwork that was probably worth more than small countries. Old money loved to display exactly how old their money was. "If you'll wait here in the foyer, I'll announce you to the family," the butler said. The moment he disappeared, I heard voices from the next room. "—absolutely certain the girl is coming today?" A woman's voice, sharp and imperious. "Patricia, the investigator confirmed it. Our daughter is finally coming home." That had to be Richard. His voice was deeper, but strained. "After all these years. My baby girl." Patricia again, but softer now. I almost felt bad. Then I heard another voice, younger and syrupy sweet. "Mother, Father, you won't forget about me when she arrives, will you? I know I'm not your real daughter, but these past two years living here as your replacement daughter have meant everything to me." I raised an eyebrow. Replacement daughter? This was getting interesting. "Of course not, Vanessa dear," Patricia said. "You'll always be part of this family." The butler returned. "The family will see you in the drawing room." I followed him, my heels clicking on the marble. When I entered, I took in the scene quickly: Richard Harrington, fifties, graying hair, expensive suit that couldn't hide the stress in his shoulders. Patricia Harrington, perfectly coiffed, dripping with jewelry, the kind of woman who'd never worked a day in her life. And Vanessa—early twenties, pretty in a calculated way, wearing a designer dress that screamed "trying too hard to fit in." "You're here," Patricia breathed, standing up. "You're really—" She stopped, her expression shifting from joy to confusion. "Who are you?" Richard demanded. Before I could answer, Vanessa let out a small gasp. Then she threw herself backward onto the floor. The sound of her body hitting the Persian rug was dramatic enough to make me wonder if she'd practiced it. "She pushed me!" Vanessa shrieked from the ground, pointing up at me with a trembling finger. "She attacked me!" I hadn't moved. I was still standing a good six feet away from where she'd performed her little stunt. Patricia rushed to Vanessa's side. "How dare you! Coming into our home and assaulting our daughter!" "Your replacement daughter, you mean," I said calmly. Richard's face turned purple. "I don't know who you are or what game you're playing, but you need to leave. Now." I smiled.