My chest goes tight, pressure building behind my ribs. All those years of struggle. The pro bono cases I took because I believed in justice over profit. The clients who reminded me of myself—cast out, cut off, fighting for dignity.
And all that time, they hid what they thought was a way to manipulate me. A fortune that could have changed everything.
“No.” I spit the word like iron. “Carter Corp should die with him. I don’t care how much money sits in that trust.”
“Warren—”
“I built my life without the Carter name or Carter money. I won’t use it now to clean up his mess.”
Her silence hums on the line.“You’re the only one who can.”
I end the call, the click final. Caustic fury burns in my gut.
Rich. Obscenely rich. The irony chokes me as I stare into the darkness of my modest condo, paid for with money I earned myself, dollar by painstaking dollar.
That money could’ve made things easier back then, maybe kept the lights on in those early years, maybe helped a few more people I couldn’t afford to take on. But that wasn’t the point. It never was.
One billion dollars.
My reflection stares back from the window, hollow-eyed, jaw tight. For a moment, I see him in me. I see my father staring back at me, and the thought makes me sick.
Then Beckett’s face flashes in my mind. His messy hair under the glow of a campfire. The way he looked at me on the trail, curious, trusting. My son.
One billion dollars. An empire in ashes. None of it matters.
Because the only legacy that matters is four miles away in Spider-Man pajamas, who doesn’t even know I’m his father.
NINETEEN
Janie
The clock on the wall ticks louder with every second I sit here. Ten minutes late for the outreach committee meeting. Warren will already be there, which makes walking into the hellscape of our personal-slash-professional mess that much harder. I always try to be first.
I haven’t even printed my notes. Fuck.
I shuffle papers into some semblance of order, trying to organize my thoughts at the same time. Since Warren discovered Beckett is his son, every interaction has been a minefield. We're professional in public, cold in private.
The memory of his warmth when he picked up and dropped off Beckett for the camping trip twists something inside me.
My phone vibrates, jarring me from my thoughts. The HR extension flashes on the screen. I don't have time to answer, but I know I have to.
"Janie Harrelson."
"Ms. Harrelson, it's Darcy from HR." Her voice wavers, pitched higher than normal.
"Good afternoon, Darcy. Everything okay?"
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but we have a situation. Melissa Torres. She's one of the medical techs in radiology. She's supposed to be working today, but she's in my office right now having a complete breakdown with her sick three-year-old. I don't know who to call."
I press my fingers against my temple. "What happened?"
"She just got served an eviction notice this morning. She's a single mom, two kids. The landlord is raising the rent by thirty percent with no notice. She can't—" Darcy lowers her voice. "She can't stop crying. I know this is outside of your wheelhouse, but I heard you talking to Caleb about a single-parent initiative as part of the outreach. Do we have anything we can offer her?"
My stomach drops. The words "single mom" hit like a physical blow. I can literally identify with her anxiety, wondering how the hell she is going to juggle it all while shielding and protecting her child.
"I see you have a meeting now, but is there anything?—"
"I'll be right there."