I was only eight years old when I found a wallet containing enough money to save my mother and me from eviction. But when I tried to return it to a billionaire, a woman called security to throw me out—until he noticed the paper sticking from my backpack and ordered, “Lock every door. No one leaves.”

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in a massive, leather chair in Robert Sterling's private office on the seventy-second floor.

The walls were lined with dark wood and glass cases holding silver models of energy grids, but my focus was entirely on the silver tray of warm chocolate chip cookies and a glass of cold milk a secretary had brought in. My stomach rumbled loudly as I took a bite, the rich chocolate tasting like heaven.

Robert sat across from me, holding the crumpled pink eviction notice in his hands as if it were made of glass.

"Sophie," he said softly, watching me eat. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the man on the TV," I said, wiping a crumb from my chin. "The rich energy man."

"I am," he smiled sadly. "But a long time ago, I was just a father. I had a daughter named Clara. She was brilliant, stubborn, and had a heart too big for this corporate world. When she was twenty, we had a terrible argument. I wanted her to marry a man who would help my business, but she loved a simple mechanic from Ohio. She walked out of this tower and told me she would never take a single penny of my money again."

I stopped chewing. "My dad repaired farm equipment. He passed away when I was four."

Robert nodded, his eyes misting over. "I spent ten years searching for her, Sophie. But she had changed her name, hidden herself away. I thought I had lost her forever. And all this time, she was living just a few miles away, struggling to pay rent while I sat on billions."

The office door opened, and a sharp-suited man with a leather briefcase hurried in. It was Marcus, Robert’s chief legal counsel.

"Robert," Marcus said, breathing heavily. "I've reviewed the Rosewood property. It's owned by a shell company called Apex Holdings, run by a man named Donald Finch. He’s a notorious slumlord. He's been systematically raising rents to force families out so he can sell the land to a commercial developer."

Robert’s hand tightened around his silver cane. "Buy him out."

"Excuse me?" Marcus blinked.

"You heard me," Robert said, standing up, his presence suddenly filling the massive room with a dangerous, quiet authority. "Buy Apex Holdings. Offer him double the market value, but under one condition: the sale must close within the next two hours. The moment the ink is dry, fire him, wipe out every single tenant's debt, and transfer the deeds of those apartments to the families living in them."

Marcus’s jaw dropped. "Robert, that’s a forty-million-dollar acquisition for a block of run-down apartments—"

"I don't care if it costs a hundred million!" Robert roared, slamming his cane against the floor. "My daughter and granddaughter were almost thrown onto the street by a man who couldn't even maintain a proper fire escape. Do it now, Marcus. Or I'll find a lawyer who will."

"Yes, sir," Marcus stammered, turning on his heel and sprinting out of the office.