Page 4 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

"To us?"

"To you."

Silence settles between us.

Not awkward.

Just... unexpected.

I've spent years writing investigative profiles, interviewing public officials, nonprofit leaders, entrepreneurs, and executives who all claimed they believed in transparency right up until I asked the question they didn't want to answer. Companies don't voluntarily surrender control over their image. Families with billions of dollars certainly don't.

"There has to be a catch."

"I've been looking for one."

"And?"

"I haven't found it."

I rise from my chair and wander toward the living room, more out of habit than intention. The apartment isn't particularly large, but every inch of it reflects the life I've built for myself. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall, packed with biographies, investigative journalism, and novels I've promised myself I'll reread one day.

A camera rests on the console table near the window beside a notebook overflowing with handwritten observations from my last assignment. My furniture doesn't match particularly well, and I've been telling myself for nearly a year that I should replace the coffee table with something less scratched, but somehow another plane ticket or another camera lens always seems more important. I've never needed perfection. I've only ever needed enough space to think.

"You still there?" Grace asks.

"I'm trying to decide if someone at Blackwell's public relations office accidentally dialed the wrong number."

"They didn't."

"So why us?"

"They asked for credibility."

I stop walking.

"They used that word?"

"They did."

I lean one shoulder against the wall, folding my arms.

"That's... interesting."

"It is."

"Did they ask for editorial approval?"

"No."

"Fact-checking?"

"Yes."

"Final review?"

"No."

"No restrictions?"