The autumn sun was lowering over Manhattan when Edward Miller stepped out of his black town car and adjusted the cuff of his Italian shirt.

The word hung in the cold night air like a cloud of frost.

Aunt.

Edward stared at the tiny six-year-old girl wrapped in his wool overcoat. "Isabella is your aunt?"

Maya nodded slowly, wiping her wet nose with the sleeve of his coat. "She’s my mom’s sister. My mom’s name was Clara."

Marcus immediately pulled out his tablet, his fingers flying across the screen as he accessed public records, birth registries, and corporate histories connected to Monroe Financial.

"Boss," Marcus whispered, stepping closer to Edward and showing him the screen. "Clara Monroe. Isabella’s older sister. She was the original CEO of Monroe Logistics before she died four years ago in a private helicopter crash over the Hudson."

Edward’s mind raced. He remembered the crash. It had been ruled a tragic mechanical failure caused by severe weather, making headlines across the financial world. After Clara’s death, Isabella had stepped in to take control of the family estate and Monroe Financial.

"Maya," Edward asked softly, lifting her into his arms. Her tiny body felt impossibly light, like a bundle of dry leaves. "Where do you live? Who takes care of you?"

"A man named Gary," Maya murmured, leaning her head against Edward’s shoulder as if she hadn't slept in days. "He keeps me in the basement on Fifty-Fourth Street. He told me if I didn't go to the restaurant and watch the lady, he wouldn't give me dinner."

Edward felt a surge of cold rage that made his knuckles turn white. "Gary?"

"Gary Vance," Marcus cut in, reading off his tablet. "Isabella’s personal driver and former head of security. He’s the one who owned the black sedan that dropped Maya off near the restaurant."

"He told me to run after I knocked the fork down," Maya whimpered, her eyelids fluttering shut from sheer exhaustion. "He said if I told the police about the vial, he’d throw away my mom's picture."

Edward tightened his grip around the sleeping child, holding her close against his chest to protect her from the driving rain.

"Marcus," Edward said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal calm. "Call Dr. Evans. Tell her to prep the guest suite at my penthouse. I want a full pediatric medical team waiting when we arrive."

"And Gary Vance, sir?" Marcus asked.

"Find out where he is," Edward snapped, stepping into the back seat of his town car with Maya in his arms. "And buy the building on Fifty-Fourth Street by tomorrow morning. I want that bastard in handcuffs before sunrise."

Forty minutes later, the town car pulled into the underground garage of Edward’s secure building on Fifth Avenue. Edward carried Maya up in the private elevator directly into his penthouse.

Dr. Evans, a top pediatrician from Mount Sinai, was already waiting with two nurses. They gently took Maya into the master guest suite, where they bathed her, treated her minor cuts and frostbite, and set up an IV line to treat her severe malnutrition and dehydration.

Edward stood outside the room, watching through the cracked door as Maya slept peacefully beneath a heavy feather duvet, wrapped in clean silk pajamas.

Marcus walked up behind him, carrying a thick folder.

"We pulled the records on Clara Monroe’s estate, Boss," Marcus reported in a quiet whisper. "It turns out Clara didn't leave her money to Isabella. She put eighty percent of her fifty-million-dollar estate into an irrevocable trust for her daughter, Maya."

Edward turned his head slowly. "And who was named the sole trustee in the event of Clara’s death?"

"Isabella," Marcus replied grimly. "With one specific condition: if Maya died before reaching twenty-one, the entire fifty million would immediately transfer to Isabella outright."

Edward looked back through the cracked door at the sleeping child. The horrifying truth was finally fully revealed. Isabella hadn't just tried to murder Edward for his fortune; she had been slowly starving Clara’s daughter on the streets of Manhattan while embezzling her inheritance to cover her own gambling and business debts.