CHAPTER 088
JULIAN’S POV
“You… bought an orphanage?” she repeated slowly like the words didn’t quite register
in her brain.
“Yes,” I confirmed, firm but calm. “And I need you to send me the funds before the end of today.”
Yup, you heard right. I was buying an orphanage for one million dollars. Obviously, I didn’t have that kind of cash just lying around in my bank account–I’m wealthy, not stupid rich. But fortunately, I knew someone who was.
“So that was why you called…” she said, her tone suddenly laced with suspicion. “I knew something was up when I saw your name on the screen. You never call unless you want something.”
“Come on, Mom. It’s not like that, I tried to explain, keeping my voice as nonchalant as possible. “I’m just… in a bit of a tight spot, that’s all. I’m doing this to help someone. A friend.”
I could already tell where this conversation was going, and I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. But with my mom, that was almost impossible to avoid. She had a talent for flipping the script and making me feel like the villain–no matter the situation.
“You’re always trying to help others,” she shot back, clearly not buying my explanation. “Why don’t you ever try helping your family?”
I sighed and rubbed my temples. I should’ve seen that coming.
“You guys don’t need help,” I said. “You have everything. That’s why I’m the one calling you for help–not the other way around.”
“There’s more to help than just money, Julian. Not all help is financial. There’s emotional support, physical presence, and moral responsibility. You’ve been missing from this family, and you know it.”
And just like that, I was back in high school again–getting lectured for being late to dinner.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a lot of time right now,” I cut in, gently but firmly. “This is important.”
There was a pause on the line. A long, tense silence. I held my breath, wondering if I had just blown it–if she was about to hang up and throw Plan B out the window.
Finally, she spoke again, her voice lower and more serious. “And how much are we talking about here?”
“One million,” I said.
“Jesus Christ, Julian.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, clearly trying to keep my dad
CHARTER DES
from overhearing. “One million? For an orphanage? Have you lost your mind?”
Here we go.
“I told you…”
“No,” she cut me off sharply. “Don’t say anything. Don’t give me some romanticized excuse. There is no reason anyone should spend that kind of money on a building full of children I’m not trying to sound cruel, but be realistic–there’s no business in an orphanage.”
“I didn’t buy it as a business, Mom,” I said, my voice a bit more forceful now. “I bought it for someone who matters. I’m doing it for her.”
Silence again. Then, a long, slow sigh echoed through the line.
“I just hope…” she started, and then her voice shifted–quieter, firmer. “I just hope this person is worth it.”
Her words struck something in me–because deep down, I was wondering the same
thing.
Was Olivia really worth everything I was risking?
And somehow, without needing to say it out loud, I already knew the answer.
At last, I managed to convince her to send the money. But of course, nothing ever came that easily with my mother–she added a condition. A condition she refused to tell me over the phone. That was the scary part.
It was unlike her to stay quiet about anything, let alone something tied to one million dollars. Whatever it was, it didn’t bode well, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on it right now. I had more pressing matters.
After the payment was initiated, I immediately informed the former director. She confirmed it faster than I expected. The funds had hit her account, and the orphanage was officially mine.
Without wasting a single second, I called in my private investigators–the same team that helped me track down two of Adrian’s hidden assets within hours. I might have stretched the truth a little when I told Olivia this would take time. But the truth? These guys were the best in the game. If anyone could uncover the mystery of her past, it was them.
I wanted to do this right. I wanted to surprise her with answers, real ones, not false hope. When she walked in tomorrow morning, she wouldn’t be left guessing anymore. She’d finally start getting closure.
Within minutes, two black SUVs rolled into the orphanage compound. The team filed out in a seamless wave of efficiency–no time wasted, no questions asked. I greeted them briefly and led them inside.
Only one person remained for me to track down to fully release Olivia from Adrian’s
CHAPTER 058
manipulative grip, but that mission would have to wait. For now, all focus was on uncovering her past.
They began setting up their equipment in what was now my office–the former director’s old space. She hadn’t even had time to clear it out. Her mug still sat on the edge of the desk, a pen holder overflowing with forgotten pens beside it. But this was my space now, and it was the nerve center of this operation.
I explained everything to the team–the gaps in Olivia’s memories, the orphanage’s shady recordkeeping, and the desperation to uncover her biological roots. Once I laid it all out, I stepped back and let them work their magic.
“We’ve got the video footage,” one of the agents said, calling me over.
I moved toward him, eyes locked on the screen as he pulled up the old security. recording. It flickered slightly before stabilizing, and the footage began to play.
In the video, a woman stepped through the orphanage gates, holding the hand of al tiny girl. I knew immediately–it had to be Olivia.
The video was frustratingly blurry, the footage so grainy I could barely make out details. of what little Olivia was wearing. Her face was a vague blur of motion, but something about her posture–unsure, screamed Olivia.
But what really caught my attention wasn’t the image. It was the date at the corner of the screen.
July 3rd.
My chest tightened. That date… it wasn’t just familiar. It was buried in my memory.
That was the exact day my sister went missing.
I blinked at the screen, stunned. A weird chill swept over me, what a coincidence that she was brought in the exact same day
I shook it off, but the thought refused to leave. I refocused on the video.
“Are there any other camera angles?” I asked, my voice lower, rougher now.
The agent nodded. “We’re working on accessing the front gate angle and traffic camera footage. If we’re lucky, we can trace where they came from before arriving here.”
“Do it,” I said sharply, my hands curling into fists behind my back.
3/3
