old gray coat. No entourage. No driver. Nothing to suggest that financial newspapers regularly printed his photograph beside words like founder, chairman, and billionaire investor.
Rowan knew exactly who Gideon Sterling was.
He simply didn’t know Gideon Sterling was my father.
When Rowan and I met, I had been using my late mother’s surname. I wanted one relationship untouched by Dad’s fortune. When Rowan mocked “trust-fund parasites,” I said nothing. When Selina referred to my father as “some absent retired salesman,” I let her believe it.
That night, Dad held
