My Family Played Poor While Spoiling My Sister? Sorry, I’m the Real Heiress! Chapter 07

My Family Played Poor While Spoiling My Sister? Sorry, I’m the Real Heiress! Chapter 07

Once we arrived in Washington D.C., Chase arranged for me to move into the historic Finch family estate under my official identity, Lillian Finch.

After eighteen years living a life that was never mine to claim, I had stumbled straight into one of D.C.’s most powerful elite dynasties.

It finally hit me how absurdly deprived my first eighteen years with the Myers family had been.

On my first night at the estate, Chase sent the butler over with a tablet. The screen displayed my weekly agenda: image consulting, a comprehensive medical evaluation, and intensive language

immersion.

I stared blankly at the schedule for a long while.

Living with the Myers, I always feated spending money. A single dental filling cost eight hundred dollars, so I endured the pain until half my molar rotted away.

When my eyeglass frame snapped, I wrapped it with packing tape and wore it that way for six

months.

Every summer, Harper attended luxury camps-English immersion courses, sailing retreats. Meanwhile, I scrubbed restaurant dishes for three straight years, solely to scrape together tuition

for my freshman year of college.

“The public currently accepts your identity, but a pretense remains a pretense. If you don’t want the truth exposed, you must truly become Lillian Finch.”

After saying this, Chase transferred five million dollars into a bank account under my name. “You’re eighteen now. It’s time you learn how to make money work for you.”

“Make money work for me? I always thought you save money to get ahead.”

He laughed, then sat beside me. We spent the entire afternoon going over candlestick charts, identifying market cycles, and studying Warren Buffett’s core principle: “Be greedy when others are fearful.”

He made me repeat it until the words stopped sounding like a quote and started feeling like instinct.

“Saving only sets your minimum baseline. Generating new income determines your ceiling.”

Under Chase’s direct supervision, I executed my first short-term trade that week. The profit was

modest by his standards-$17,000-but it shattered every financial belief I’d ever held.

As the butler logged the transaction for year-end reporting, I stared at the figure in stunned

silence.

Not long ago, I stood for hours until my feet swelled, earning eighteen dollars an hour washing kitchenware. Now, a few taps on my phone earned enough to feed the entire Myers household for an

entire year.

The education gap was even more staggering.

My SAT scores had only earned me at a mid-tier state school. But Chase’s team compiled my self-taught coding portfolio and community college transcripts into a special application packet. Seven days later, I held an official acceptance letter from one of D.C.’s top three universities, / complete with an honor scholar enrollment badge.

“The university launched a new interdisciplinary AI research center. They need a special research assistant. You can join the lab as a freshman, work directly under lead professors, and pursue a dual bachelor’s degree in artificial intelligence and computer science simultaneously.”

I stared at the acceptance letter for ages, lost for words.

For the first time, I understood: elite doors didn’t open solely for merit. They opened for those who knew which key to use-and who had someone willing to hand it over.

I spent the entire summer break remaking myself.

I thought the name Lorelei Myers would fade entirely from my life. Yet on the eve of freshman orientation, a trending hashtag blew up across Facebook: #FakeFinch Heiress.

An anonymous account posted a carousel of documents laying bare every fragment of my eighteen years living with the Myers family.

Birth records, vaccine logs, elementary through high school transcripts, a blurry infant photograph, alongside the disputed DNA test documents from the hospital.

Harper had weaponized every scrap of our shared past in’a desperate bid to drag me down with her.

In the slides, she sobbed wildly, accusing me of stealing her identity and taking her place within the Finch household. “I never imagined my own older sister would betray me like this!”

Footage of her tearful breakdown accompanied the documents. With seemingly ironclad evidence circulating online, public opinion turned overwhelmingly against me.

“A thief who stole another person’s life, playing the innocent victim. Mr. Finch needs to launch a full investigation!”

“I’ve never seen someone so obsessed with climbing the social ladder. Don’t let this imposter fool

you, Mr. Finch!”

The hashtag climbed viral rankings at breakneck speed. Half an hour later, a live stream from my supposed birth parents exploded online as well.