Proving Kinship: Who's the Billionaire's Real Son?

The four of us stared at the photocopy of the asset transfer agreement with a look of pure horror. Our ages matched that of the Ferguson family's long-lost son, and all four of us died after trying to claim that identity.

Since that was the case, did the family's biological son really grow up in our orphanage?

The conniving Simon Davis looked at Mr. Ferguson's secretary, Michael Burke, and asked tentatively, "Is it possible that you guys came to the wrong place? Maybe the real son never came to this orphanage."

"Mr. Ferguson made sure a proper investigation was conducted," Michael replied. "His biological son did grow up in Sunshine Children's Home. We just don't know which one of you he is, but there is no doubt that he is among you."

Pointing at the photocopy of the agreement, he added, "Mr. Ferguson has already prepared the asset transfer agreement. As long as you can prove your identity, you can sign it and immediately inherit the family fortune."

Luke Carter had always dreamed of living a life of luxury, but he swiftly backed away and vehemently shook his head. "It's definitely not me! I… I'm actually a lot older than my recorded age!"

Simon, who'd made it his lifelong mission to outdo me, lifted his shirt to reveal his lower back.

"You said the Fergusons' son has a birthmark on his lower back, right? Well, I don't have one, so it's definitely not me!"

Tom Egan, my archrival, also exposed his lower back and, just to cover all his bases, even started spouting a bunch of nonsense.

"I'm actually female by birth. I went for gender reassignment surgery to become a man. Since I was born a girl, there's no way I'm the long-lost son."

Once the three of them had all spoken, they exchanged a look between them and abruptly shoved me forward.

Michael looked me over from head to toe. "Then it must be you, Mr. Smith. After all, you do bear some resemblance to Mrs. Ferguson. I'll need you to come with me now."

A chill ran down my spine.

Was it too late to disfigure my face?

In my previous life, I'd felt pretty pleased with myself when I found out that Mrs. Ferguson and I looked alike. I thought that none of their desperate attempts to impersonate the Fergusons' son could compare to my trump card—my face.

Besides, I was indeed the Fergusons' biological son.

I had thought that I'd finally found my biological parents. I had thought that I was about to inherit a billion-dollar fortune and finally have the chance to crush all three of them beneath my feet.

But immediately after checking the DNA report, the Fergusons pushed me off the balcony. The impact turned my body into a bloody heap.

Their faces were twisted with rage as they scowled at me.

"We'll never allow anyone to impersonate our precious son!"

I would never be able to forget the agony of having every bone in my body shatter at the same time. And no matter how hard I racked my brain, I couldn't figure out why this had happened.

There was no denying that I was their real son. The DNA report hadn't been tampered with either, so why did they still say I was a phony?

Snapping out of my thoughts, I tried to deny being the Fergusons' son, but Michael didn't try to force me into going with him. He thoughtfully said, "I know you might be upset with Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson for taking this long to find you, but they had only recently learned the truth."