Chapter 2

A few days later, a poster went up on the campus bulletin board announcing a lecture by a distinguished alumnus. The name Warren Reeves was printed front and center in bold.

My head started buzzing, and I turned to leave, but Wes grabbed my arm and practically shrieked.

"Sawyer, look! It's Warren Reeves! An actual billionaire, in the flesh!"

"Oh my God, we're going to see him in person," another roommate chimed in, wide-eyed. "I heard he makes billions of dollars a year. My mom treats him like some kind of idol. She talks about him all the time."

They dragged me along whether I liked it or not, pushing and pulling me through the crowd until we were packed into the lecture hall.

Dad stood on the stage in a sharp, understated suit, speaking about business strategies and future market trends in a voice that was calm and measured. He was nothing like the cold, heartless man Mom always described. Something uneasy stirred in my chest.

When the lecture ended, university administrators swarmed him, crowding around him like he was the center of gravity. I kept my head down and tried to slip out.

"Sawyer Reeves."

The entire hall went silent, and hundreds of eyes turned toward me at once. There was nowhere to hide, so I stood frozen where I was.

He ignored everyone else and walked straight to me. "Come with me."

Dad took my arm and led me out of the hall. The whispers crashed over me like a wave.

"Oh my God, is he Warren Reeves' son?"

"No way. Look at what he's wearing. That's all bargain bin stuff."

"If he's really his son, how is he that broke?"

Every single word cut deeper than a knife. I clenched my fists and said nothing.

He took me to the dining hall. It was lunchtime, so I went through the line and picked up my usual—a plain side salad and a bread roll. The total came to just a couple of dollars.

Dad looked at the sad little pile on my tray and frowned. "I send you 50,000 dollars a month, and this is what you eat?"

50,000 dollars?

The number detonated inside my head.

"What... What do you mean 50,000 dollars?" My voice was shaking badly. All I ever received was 200 dollars.

Dad looked taken aback. "On the 15th of every month, I transfer 50,000 dollars to your bank account."

He turned his phone screen toward me. Line after line of transfer records filled the screen, every single one for 50,000 dollars, every single one with Mom's name attached to it.

My entire world fell apart. My hands went cold, and my mind went blank. Where did all that money go?

"Your mother didn't give it to you?" He looked at me, genuinely confused.

I forced myself to stay calm and plastered a stiff smile. "Mom told me about it. She got the money."

The moment the lie left my mouth, I watched the tension in his face ease. "Sawyer, I know I haven't been a good father. I've been too busy these past years. Money is the only way I know how to make it up to you."

He added, almost as an afterthought, "That sports car I got you for your 18th birthday, why don't you ever drive it? Your mom said you didn't want it, so I didn't push."

A car? That was yet another thing I'd never heard a single word about.

I squeezed my fists inside my pockets and fought to keep my head clear. "It's... kind of flashy to drive on campus. I didn't want the attention, and parking's a hassle anyway."

I threw out the excuse just to get out of there. After saying goodbye, I practically ran back to the dorm, slammed the door shut, pressed my back against it, and slid down to the floor.

My hands were shaking as I scrolled through my contacts to a number I'd never once called.

Dad picked up almost instantly. "Sawyer?"

I bit down hard on my lip and forced myself to speak. "Dad, I... Can I ask you for some money? It's kind of urgent."

There wasn't even a second of hesitation. "Of course. How much?"

"T-Ten thousand dollars." I simply said a number I never would have dared to imagine before.

"I'll send it right now."

"Dad, let me give you a new bank account number. Send it there."

"No problem."

Less than ten seconds after I hung up, my phone buzzed with a bank notification, informing me that 10,000 dollars had been deposited instantly.

The memo read, "If it's not enough, just tell me. Don't go without."

I stared at those words, and the tears came flooding out. This was the father I'd spent 18 years hating?

I wiped my eyes and, still shaking, opened a different text thread. I took a deep breath and typed out a message.

"Mom, I need money urgently. Can you ask Dad for me again?"

Her reply came as fast as it always did. "You know what your father's like. He's not going to give you anything, Sawyer. You need to learn to handle things on your own.

"If I go to him again, it'll only give him another reason to look down on us.

"Just let it go. There's nothing I can do."

I stared at the messages on my screen and felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. For 18 years, I'd been played like a fool, dancing to every string she pulled.

I took the money Dad just sent me and hired the most reputable private investigator I could find online. I only needed him to find one thing—every transaction on every bank account under Mom's name.