Chapter 12: The Richest Woman in Jork

"I actually considered giving you the entire Willard Villa business district, but I worried the news and your sudden relocation would be too much for you. Now, go to the manor and ask your sister to arrange the handover."

Trevor was stunned by his father's words. He finally realized his family was wealthy, far wealthier than he'd ever imagined. The Willard Villa business district was Jork's most luxurious area, a collection of high-end hotels and clubs where land was as valuable as gold. His father had just casually revealed that all of it belonged to their family.

Trevor bit his tongue, trying to compose himself. Then, a thought struck him.

"Wait, Dad, isn't my sister working in another city?"

"Ha-ha! You silly boy! How do you think we could leave you to live in poverty alone in Jork? Remember the richest woman in Jork, the owner of Sanderson Profumeria—worth at least five hundred billion dollars? You used to joke about her being your sister. Well, you were right. She's your sister, and she's been in Jork this whole time, keeping an eye on you," his father chuckled. He then grew serious. "Trevor, we raised you in poverty not only to teach you about hardship but also to preserve your virtues. Anyway, I've said too much. Go to the manor now. Your sister is waiting."

"Okay, Dad."

Trevor hung up, took a deep breath, and gazed into the distance. He was grateful for his father's strict upbringing, regardless of their wealth. Calming down, he hailed a taxi to the Willard Villa.

He was curious about his destination; this was his first time seeing Jork's most prestigious location. Behind the tall, white arched entrance, a crystal-clear fountain flowed constantly. Lush trees swayed gracefully in the breeze, and houses of red brick and green tile were scattered amongst them, creating an elegant scene.

So captivated by the scenery, Trevor almost walked right in.

"Sir, please stop. This is private property."

The receptionist, in a revealing uniform, stopped him. She regarded him disdainfully, not bothering to ask his reason for being there. The Willard Villa's clientele were dignitaries; their clothing was never shabby. Trevor's clothes, she estimated, were worth no more than a hundred dollars. She assumed he was there to admire the villa and post pictures online to boost his ego. If not for her supervisor's instructions, she wouldn't have spoken to him at all.

"I I'm here for Evie Sanderson," Trevor said slowly.

"I'm sorry, sir. You need an appointment to enter the manor," the receptionist replied coldly.

At that moment, a young man emerged from a Tesla nearby, approaching them with a bouquet. He glanced at Trevor and sneered. "Why is there a beggar here? Need help getting rid of him?"

The receptionist's eyes lit up at the sight of the man; her demeanor changed instantly.

"Mr. Cairon, it's so nice to see you. You don't need to bother with him. I'll call security."

Her attitude was warm, almost fawning.

"You're right."

Henson Cairon laughed smugly, then grabbed the receptionist's backside, eliciting a moan. He then arrogantly raised his eyebrows at Trevor, a blatant display of power. Turning back to the receptionist, he asked, "Is Miss Evie Sanderson in today? You must be wondering why I have a bouquet. I'm here to confess my feelings."