ADRIAN
Luca handed me a folder, and I opened it, my eyes scanning the damning evidence it contained photographs, financial records, correspondence. It detailed who my father had met, what he had expected in return.
But what stopped me cold was the face in one of the photographs.
Ella’s f*****g grandparents.
Didn’t they say she had worked as a maid? My father wouldn’t have spared a glance at someone beneath his station. He had no regard for the poor—he made that clear every damn day. None of this made any f*****g sense.
The room felt suffocating. My lungs tightened. I reached for a cigarette and lit it, dragging the smoke deep into my chest. It curled around the low light like a storm cloud creeping in.
Had the old couple played me?
“Did you manage to verify the information Ella’s g
