Rowan knew the name Ellsworth.

Of course he did; he worked three floors down from it.

He simply had no idea that Ellsworth was my father.

When Rowan and I first met, I had been going by my late mother’s maiden name — Hollis — and I had kept it all through our marriage, and I had let him believe it was all I was.

It was the one thing in my life I had wanted kept clean of my father’s money, untouched, mine.

So when Rowan sneered about trust-fund parasites, I said nothing.