At my divorce hearing, I was eight months pregnant when the judge ruled that I would walk away with nothing. My husband smirked, convinced he had won.

Six attorneys entered behind her security team, carrying heavy briefcases. The lead attorney placed a thick dossier on the judge’s bench.

Twenty-eight years earlier, he explained, Eleanor Sterling’s infant daughter had been taken from her during a corporate espionage attack connected to a hostile business takeover. Forged death certificates, corrupted adoption records, and paid intermediaries had convinced Eleanor her baby had died.

For nearly three decades, she had spent millions searching for the truth.

I gripped the table.

Not abandoned.

Stolen.

Not unwanted.

Mourned.

Three years earlier, Julian had discovered the truth during an illegal background investigation tied to a merger. A medical record had revealed that my genetic profile matched the Sterling family’s private records.