Page 7 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

I nod, even though she can't see me.

"I've watched reporters become so dazzled by access that they stop asking difficult questions. Then I've watched others become so determined to prove they couldn't be bought that they walk into interviews looking for villains instead of people."

"I don't intend to do either."

"I know."

Her voice softens.

"Just be curious."

Those two words settle over me far more heavily than any speech about journalistic integrity ever could. Curiosity. That's always been the difference. The best interviews I've ever conducted happened because I genuinely wanted to understand someone, not because I wanted to catch them in a contradiction. People can sense the difference almost immediately. They know when they're sitting across from someone who's listening for the next headline instead of the next truth.

"I'll call you after the meeting."

"I'll be waiting."

The call ends, leaving my apartment quiet once again. I stand in the middle of the living room for a moment, my phone still in my hand, letting everything sink in; forty years. One of the largest technology companies in the world. Unlimited access. The opportunity to spend time with the people who've built one of the most powerful business empires in the country. It's exactly the kind of assignment every long-form journalist dreams about. It's also exactly the kind of assignment that can define a career—for better or worse. I set my phone on the coffee table and take a slow breath before heading toward my bedroom.

By 8:20 AM, my suitcase is packed. Not that I need much. A week's worth of professional clothes. My laptop. Chargers. Camera equipment. Three reporter's notebooks. Digital recorder. Two fountain pens that write smoother than any ballpoint I've ever owned. I've learned over the years that organization calms me. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I make lists. I pack bags. I arrange notebooks in neat stacks. There's something comforting about controlling the small things before stepping into situations where almost everything else will be unpredictable.

I zip the suitcase closed and glance around the apartment one last time. The bed is made. The coffee mug is sitting in the sink. A novel I'd been reading the night before rests upside down on the arm of the couch, a habit I know would horrify librarians everywhere.

Everything is exactly as I left it. Except me. My reflection catches my eye as I pass the hallway mirror. The woman staring back at me looks composed. My hair falls in soft waves just past my shoulders, tucked neatly behind one ear. I rarely spend much time thinking about my appearance beyond looking professional. Years ago, I realized people were more likely to underestimate me when I wasn't trying to command attention. Oddly enough, that's often when they revealed the most.

I smooth an imaginary wrinkle from my blazer and shake my head.

"You've interviewed senators," I mutter to myself.

"You can handle two businessmen."

The words earn a small laugh. Confidence, I've discovered, isn't the absence of nerves. It's deciding they don't get to take over.

Chapter Two

Sophie

The drive into Manhattan gives me far too much time to think. Morning traffic creeps along the interstate before finally opening as we cross into the city. Towering buildings gradually replace neighborhoods, their mirrored glass reflecting the late-morning sun like enormous shards of light. New York has always impressed me—not because it's loud or glamorous, but because it moves with complete certainty. Every block feels as though it has somewhere important to be.

I glance down at the folder resting on my lap.

Blackwell Technologies.

Richard Blackwell.

Adrian Blackwell.

Julian Blackwell.

The company's public timeline is remarkably straightforward. Two brothers inherit a struggling technology firm from their father and they transform it into a multinational powerhouse.

Innovation.

Expansion.

Strategic acquisitions.

Year after year, the numbers grow larger. The family, however, remains something of a mystery. Richard rarely grants interviews, and his wife, Katherine, is equally protective of their family’s privacy. Although the Blackwells are frequently photographed at philanthropic events and formal functions, they have always maintained strict control over what the public is permitted to know about their private lives.