I turned eighteen on a Tuesday. No cake. No card. Not even a half-hearted “happy birthday.” Just my father sitting at the kitchen table, his wife stirring sugar into her mug, and my stepbrother leaning back in his chair with that look people get when they already know how the story ends.

And I did.

On the thirtieth morning, Richard arrived at the shelter in a black sedan.

He stepped out wearing the same tailored suit he’d worn when he found me behind the restaurant.

“You ready?”

I looked down at myself.

A clean white shirt.

Dark trousers.

The only decent pair of shoes I owned.

I nodded.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Richard smiled.

“Good.”

He opened the passenger door.

“The board is waiting.”

I got inside.

As we drove toward downtown, the skyline appeared through the windshield.

At the center of it stood the Brooks Holdings headquarters.

Thirty-two floors of glass and steel.

My grandfather’s company.

My company.

At least, that was what the documents said.

But I still couldn’t believe it.

“Richard?”

“Yes?”

“What if they don’t accept me?”