“Family?” Sterling’s voice echoed through the cavernous room. “You sat in my study, drank my scotch, and looked me in the eye. You told me your eldest daughter died of a heroin overdose three years ago.

You told me it was a tragic stain you preferred to keep buried.”

The guests began to murmur violently. The socialites who’d been drinking Robert’s champagne minutes earlier now looked at him as though he were carrying plague.

“I — I—” Robert stammered, the color draining from his lips. “She was estranged! She shamed us! She chose the military over our legacy!”

“Your legacy?” I rasped, finally finding my voice. William helped me up into a sitting position against the wall. The bleeding had slowed. The room was still tilting.

I looked at the man who had sired me. “Your legacy is built on fraud, Robert.”