28 août 2026

My father-in-law slammed a $120 million check onto the table between us.

Identical. Perfect. Four pairs of gray eyes—his eyes—set in faces so similar it was almost unsettling. They moved in sync, small hands folded, expressions solemn but curious.

A murmur rippled through the room.

Arthur Sterling finally looked up.

His champagne flute slipped from his fingers.

It shattered on the floor.

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