Chapter 1
When I just got out of prison, I was wearing the same old clothes from ten years ago, with only 60 dollars in my pocket that the guards gave me.
When my phone buzzed with a text saying 6 million dollars had landed in my bank account, I thought that it must be some scam.
That was until my boss's daughter pulled up in a Maserati, parking right outside my crappy 100-dollar-a-month apartment.
She threw a stack of asset transfer papers at me, her eyes full of disdain. She said, "Sign it. My dad's billions of fortune is yours now. And so am I."
I locked eyes with her. Ten years behind bars taught me one thing. There was no such thing as a free lunch, especially not a windfall that would hand me both the money and the girl.
*****
I got out of prison.
I was wearing the same clothes from ten years ago.
They were old and tacky.
There were only 60 bucks in my pocket.
The guards handed it to me, said it was for bus fare.
I was in prison for ten years.
The world outside felt like a whole new planet.
There were more skyscrapers.
There were weirder cars.
Everyone was glued to their glowing screens.
I found a place to crash.
It was a rundown apartment in the slums, 100 bucks a month.
After paying the security deposit and first month's rent, I had no money left.
I lay on the creaky wooden bed, staring at the cobwebs on the ceiling.
I was wondering where I'd even start looking for a job tomorrow.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was a text.
[Hey, Mr. Harding Clark, your account ending in 8848 got credited with 6 million dollars. Current balance: 6 million and 20 cents.]
I stared at all those zeros, double-checked three times.
6 million dollars.
I wondered if scam texts didn't even bother hiding anymore.
There was not even a tease these days.
I deleted the text and rolled over.
It was time to sleep.
Then, a harsh engine roar echoed from outside downstairs.
It sounded like some wild beast was letting loose.
The noise got closer and closer, finally stopping right outside my rundown building.
I couldn't help but frown.
I hardly ever see anyone around here at night.
Especially not a car that sounded expensive as hell.
Suddenly, there was an argument outside my window.
"Miss, this place is filthy. You really shouldn't go up there," a man warned.
"Get out of my way," she snapped, her voice cold and crisp.
Next, I heard the sharp clack of high heels on concrete.
The footsteps drew nearer.
The sound came to a halt right at my door.
A sharp knock echoed through the room.
I rose from the bed and headed to the door.
I didn't open the door.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Open the door," the woman outside ordered.
"I don't know you."
There was a few seconds of silence outside.
"Harding Clark, thirty-three years old. Ten years ago, you were convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to ten years. You got out today," she stated.
My heart skipped a beat.
I wondered how she knew that.
"I'll say it one more time. Open the door," she ordered.
I slowly unlocked the door.
A woman was standing outside my door.
She was tall and slender.
She wore a black skirt suit so flawless she almost didn't look real. I couldn't even tell what brand it was.
Two burly guys in black suits flanked her.
Her gaze swept over me, then over the dump I called home.
She looked at me with open disdain, not even trying to hide it.
"So you're Harding?" she said, her tone icy.
I stared back, saying nothing.
She pulled a document from her expensive purse and tossed it right at me.
"Sign it," she snapped.
I glanced down at the papers.
It was an asset transfer agreement.
In tiny print at the bottom read: [No strings attached.]
I didn't reach for it.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean?" I asked.
She crossed her arms, chin tilted up, full of attitude.
She said, "My dad's dead.
"He left behind 30 billion dollars.
"And now, it's all yours."
I looked at her like she was crazy.
She seemed to relish my stunned look, a mocking smirk curling at the corner of her mouth.
She said, "Also, I am included.
"I'm yours, too."
The air was so still that it felt like everything had stopped.
I could feel my heart thudding heavily inside my chest.
Ten years behind bars taught me plenty.
The most important thing was that there was no such thing as a free lunch.
Especially not a jackpot that came with both the cash and the girl.
I locked eyes with her.
"I'm not signing," I said.
Her smile froze on her face.
"What?" she snapped.
"I said, I'm not signing."
I said it again, not loud, but clear as day.
"Why?" she scoffed, like it was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.
I said flatly, "I don't even know your dad.
"And I don't know you either.
"And there's no way I will believe that 30 billion dollars can drop out of nowhere, plus a stunning woman as a bonus."
One of the bodyguards behind her looked like he was about to step forward.
But she raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks.