Chapter 1

My blood was boiling when I found out my daughter got bullied in kindergarten.

I was in the middle of delegating tasks to company executives when the kindergarten teacher suddenly tagged me in the parent group chat: "Sir, your daughter has been expelled. Come pick her up immediately."

Confused, I replied: "On what grounds?"

Some guy named "Mr. Fins, Jonathan's Dad" shot back with arrogant nonsense: "She didn't address my son as 'Young Monsieur.' What's the issue with expelling her?"

Then he dropped this gem: "My wife is Tamara Walsh—sister to the richest man in this city. You got a problem with that?"

Before I could respond, the teacher immediately backtracked, groveling to Mr. Fins: "My deepest apologies, Mr. Fins! When Jonathan first hit Geraldine, I wrongly blamed him. This was entirely my mistake. Tomorrow, we'll give Jonathan an award and publicly praise him!"

Other parents in the group jumped on the bootlicking bandwagon, gushing about how "low-key yet powerful" his family was.

Then some idiot had the nerve to post photos of my daughter—bruised, clothes torn—and tagged me with: "Getting beaten by Shawn Walsh's nephew is a privilege. Show some gratitude."

I was equal parts shocked and furious.

Tamara Walsh was my sister—but she'd been dead for ten years.

On my way to the kindergarten, I fired off two messages to legal:

"Find out who the hell is impersonating my sister."

"My daughter was assaulted at school. Mobilize the team—I want them crushed."

When I pulled up, a pack of sycophantic parents had gathered at the gate, fawning over Scott Fins like he was royalty.

"Mr. Fins, you're too humble! We'd never have guessed your connections!"

"No wonder Jonathan carries himself like nobility—it's in the blood!"

"Our kids should be honored to serve him! Mine's already pledged loyalty!"

My daughter's teacher was practically bowing at Scott's feet: "Geraldine got what she deserved. Jonathan was just asserting himself! We'll make him the class role model. Oh, and please send his favorite foods—we'll redesign the entire menu around his preferences."

Scott preened under the attention like a damn peacock.

My sister had been kind, humble—the polar opposite of this circus. We'd built the Walsh Group together through sheer grit. After she passed, I honored her memory by pushing us to the top.

And now? Some con artist was using her name to terrorize my child while these leeches cheered it on.

The second I stepped out of my car, their adoring smiles twisted into disgust—like I was something filthy they'd scraped off their shoes.