Forty-Seven Billion Lies

The tray slipped from my hands, plates crashed against the diner floor.

The sound cut through the lunch rush. Everyone turned. For one second, the whole restaurant went silent. Then came the shouting.

"Evelyn!"

I closed my eyes of course. Mr. Benson was already marching toward me with his face red as a tomato.

"What is wrong with you today?" he barked. "That's the third mistake you've made this week."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't pay for broken dishes." The customers nearby stared.

Heat crawled up my neck. I hated scenes. Especially when I was the one standing in the middle of them.

"I'll pay for them," I said quietly.

Mr. Benson threw his hands in the air. "With what money?"

That question hit harder than it should have. Because he was right. I had none, not after Mom's hospital bills, not after the rent, not after the endless stack of payments waiting for me at home.

I bent down and started picking up the broken pieces. My fingers shook.

Last night I had barely slept. Mom's doctor had called, her condition wasn't improving. The treatment she needed cost more money than I could even imagine. Money I didn't have, money I would probably never have.

"Evelyn." This time the voice was softer. I looked up. It was Mia, the only friend I had left. She crouched beside me. "I'll help." I forced a smile. "You don't have to."

"I know." She grabbed a few pieces anyway

 That was Mia, always helping. Even when she had her own problems.

Ten minutes later, I was back serving tables. The lunch crowd was growing. Orders kept coming; coffee, sandwiches, burgers, more coffee.

My feet hurt, my back hurt, everything hurt, but I kept moving. Because stopping wasn't an option.

Not when people depended on me. Not when Mom was waiting for me.

The bell above the diner's entrance suddenly rang. I glanced toward the door. Three men walked inside.

Every conversation in the room seemed to die down. Not because they looked dangerous, because they looked expensive, very expensive; black suits, polished shoes, perfect posture.

The kind of men who didn't belong in places like this.

I frowned. Maybe they were lost. The tallest one scanned the diner. Then his eyes landed on me.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach. He walked directly toward my table, his two companions followed. I straightened. "Can I help you?"

The man pulled out a photograph, my photograph. My smile disappeared.

"Are you Evelyn Sinclair?" My heart skipped. "Yes."

The three men exchanged looks. Why did that make me nervous? "Miss Sinclair," the man said, "we've been searching for you."

I laughed nervously. "Why?"

His face didn't change. "We represent Blackwood & Kane Law Firm."

The name meant nothing to me. I waited. The man continued. "We need you to come with us immediately."

I blinked. "What?"

"There's a matter regarding the estate of Mr. Damien Blackwood." The name sounded vaguely familiar.

Then it hit me. Damien Blackwood, Billionaire. One of the richest men in the country.

His face appeared on magazine covers all the time. What did he have to do with me? "I think you've got the wrong person." "We don't." "I've never met him." "That doesn't change the situation."

My stomach twisted. The entire diner was watching now. Even Mr. Benson had stopped pretending to work. "What situation?" I asked.

The lawyer hesitated. Almost like he didn't want to say it here. Then he finally spoke. "Mr. Blackwood passed away three days ago."

I nodded slowly. I remembered hearing something about it on the news.

A heart attack, I thought. At least that's what everyone said. "So?"

The lawyer took a breath. Then he dropped a bomb on my life. "You are named in his will."

The room spun. "What?" "You are required at the reading of the will."

"No." The word left my mouth before I could stop it. "No, that's impossible."

The lawyer simply stared at me. "I'm afraid it isn't."

People around us were whispering. I could hear them, feel them. The way they looked at me had changed. Like I was suddenly somebody else. I hated it.

"There must be a mistake." "There isn't." "I don't know him." "Nevertheless, you are listed."

My pulse hammered against my ribs. This couldn't be happening. Not to me, not to Evelyn Sinclair. The woman who worried about grocery prices. The woman counting every dollar. The woman who couldn't even afford proper treatment for her mother.

Why would a billionaire put my name in his will?

It made no sense. None. "I can't leave."

The lawyer looked confused. "My shift isn't over." For the first time, his serious expression cracked, just slightly.

"Miss Sinclair." "Yes?" "The reading of the will involves a forty-seven-billion-dollar estate."

The entire diner gasped. Forty-seven billion.

Billion. I couldn't even understand a number that big.

I swallowed, hard. "I still need permission from my boss."

Mia slapped a hand over her mouth. The lawyer stared at me for several seconds. Then he slowly turned toward Mr. Benson. My boss immediately nodded. "She can go." 

Traitor. Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black luxury car.

The city blurred outside the window. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I checked my phone.

Three missed calls from the hospital. Fear immediately replaced confusion.

I called back. A nurse answered. "Miss Sinclair."

My chest tightened. "Is my mom okay?" There was a pause, too long.

"We need you to come in as soon as possible." My heart dropped. "Why?"

"The doctor wants to discuss her latest test results."

I knew that tone. People only used it when the news was bad, very bad.

Tears burned behind my eyes. Not now, please. Not now.

The lawyer sitting across from me noticed my expression. "Is something wrong?"

"My mother is sick." His face softened.

"I'm sorry." I looked away.

The city lights reflected against the glass. Everything felt unreal.

Three hours ago I was serving coffee, now I was riding in a luxury vehicle toward a billionaire's will reading. It felt like someone else's life. Not mine.

The car finally stopped. I looked outside. My breath caught.

A massive building towered above us. Blackwood Tower.

The headquarters of one of the largest companies in the world. People in suits moved in and out of the entrance, reporters crowded the sidewalk, cameras flashed nonstop.

The lawyer opened the door. "We're here."

I stepped out. The moment my feet touched the ground, every camera turned toward me.

Every single one. Flashes exploded..Questions came from every direction. "Who is she?" "Is that Evelyn Sinclair?" "Why is she here?" "What was her relationship with Damien Blackwood?"

I froze. How did they know my name? Then the crowd suddenly parted. The noise died. A black car had just arrived, even the reporters seemed nervous.

The rear door opened. A man stepped out; tall, dark suit, cold eyes. The kind of face people remembered. The kind of face that belonged on magazine covers. Power rolled off him without effort.

He looked straight at me. No smile, no curiosity, only hatred, pure hatred.

The lawyer beside me suddenly went stiff. "Miss Sinclair..." I barely heard him.

Because the stranger was already walking toward me; Step, step, step.

Then he stopped directly in front of me. His gaze swept over me like I was something unpleasant. When he finally spoke, his voice was ice. "So you're Evelyn Sinclair."

A chill ran down my spine. "Yes." His jaw tightened.

For a moment, I thought he might actually laugh. Instead, he leaned closer and said the words that changed everything. "My father left you something that belongs to me."