The Girl Who Inherited A Secret Empire

Zoe Carter was supposed to be clocking in at 7:30am. Instead she was mopping floors at Lincoln High School, Chicago for $13 an hour. Summer job. Third week. "Zoe! Hurry up! The principal’s doing rounds!" Ms. Davis, the janitor supervisor, hissed. Zoe didn’t answer. She was staring at her phone. One new email. No sender name. Just a subject line: TO: MS. ZOE CARTER - READ IMMEDIATELY She clicked it. If you are reading this, I am dead. Come to 1847 Wicker Park Ave, Chicago. Ask for Attorney Marcus Reed. Come alone. Tell no one. - Grandfather Grandfather? Zoe’s mom died when she was 8. Her dad? Never met him. Grandparents? Mom said they were "gone a long time ago." She had no family except her aunt in Milwaukee who could barely pay her own rent. This had to be a scam. But then her paycheck bounced again. Her rent in her studio apartment was 2 weeks overdue. And she’d been living off ramen since Monday. She finished mopping at 2pm, changed in the staff bathroom, and caught the L train. 1847 Wicker Park Ave was not where broke college dropouts went. Big gates. Private security. Brownstones that cost more than her entire family tree. The guard looked at her thrifted hoodie and work sneakers and almost laughed. "Who you here to see?" "Attorney Marcus Reed." Her voice shook. The guard’s face changed. He spoke into his earpiece. "She’s here." The gate opened. Attorney Reed’s office smelled like leather and old money. The man was in his 60s. Tailored suit. Eyes that had seen things. "Ms. Carter." He gestured to a chair. "You came." "Who was he?" Zoe asked immediately. "My grandfather? I don’t have a grandfather.