I Was Just A Passerby Carrying His Twin Heirs Chapter 08

I Was Just A Passerby Carrying His Twin Heirs Chapter 08

“No way,” I cut him off instantly.

“It has to go. I can’t afford to raise them.”

My words choked the rest of his sentence back into his throat.

Mrs. Vance’s eyes widened.

Logan’s hand froze halfway through pushing up his glasses again.

I kept going.

“Mr. Vance, I’m being entirely honest here. I currently have a hundred bucks in my checking account. My rent

is thirteen hundred a month, and I just got laid off last month. I can’t even afford to raise one kid, let alone

twins, according to the ultrasound scan.”

“I’m not here to blackmail you. I just think you had a fifty percent part in this, so splitting the cost fifty-fifty is

totally fair. Give me my twenty-eight hundred dollars, and we’re even. We go our separate ways.”

I finished my speech.

Utterly sincere.

Utterly straightforward.

Utterly broke.

Mrs. Vance’s expression shifted rapidly, cycling through a spectrum of emotions like a malfunctioning

monitor.

She had lived for over fifty years and had seen people ask for tens of millions, estates, luxury cars, or

political connections-

She had never seen someone ask for just twenty-eight hundred dollars.

This wasn’t an extortion attempt anymore.

This was practically begging for spare change.

Grant remained silent for a long time.

Then he turned to Logan and uttered just three words.

“Get a paternity test.”

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

He turned his gaze to me.

“Until it’s confirmed, I won’t pay a single dime. But if it is confirmed-”

He paused.

“You’ll get your twenty-eight hundred dollars.”

I thought about it for a second and nodded.

“Fair enough. Run the test. When?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll have someone arrange the clinic.”

“Sounds good.”

I stood up and dusted off my jeans.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

Mrs. Vance sat on the couch, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately no sound

came out.

The way she looked at me had completely shifted from “a gold-digging scammer” to “what kind of alien

species is this.”

Reaching the door, a thought suddenly struck me, and I turned back.

“By the way, I’m taking a cab to the appointment tomorrow. Are you reimbursing my fare?”

Logan: “…Yes.”

“Great, thanks.”

I left.

Behind me, the office door clicked shut.

I couldn’t hear the conversation inside, but the floating text filled me in anyway.

Mrs. Vance: Is there something fundamentally wrong with that woman’s brain?

Grant Vance: …

Logan’s inner monologue: So, Sir, what on earth did you see in her back then… Oh right, you were drunk, you didn’t see anything.

I let out a soft laugh inside the elevator.

After laughing, I let out a quiet sigh.

When you’re poor, what kind of hidden motives could you possibly have?