Imposter’s Blues

On her first day at work, a new colleague uploaded a 500-million-dollar property purchase agreement to the company group chat. The message was accompanied by the caption: “Thanks for the gift for my first day at work, Dad!”

She quickly deleted it, following up with, “Sorry, wrong chat!”

I frowned, recognizing the contract immediately. It was the same property my father gifted me for my birthday a month ago.

Some sharp-eyed colleagues noticed the contract number and chimed in.

“I have a relative in real estate. I remember this property. Our chairman bought it recently!”

“So, the heiress has joined us to experience life. Forgive your humble servant for not recognizing you!”

The chat was soon filled with flattering remarks.

Even my stingy and miserly husband joined in.

I felt a coldness in my heart and couldn’t help but respond in the group chat, “I recall the president always opposing ostentatious displays of wealth and advocating humility. This heiress seems to veer away from his usual philosophy.”

Instead of support, I faced attacks from my husband and others.

“Look at you being so poor and petty. How could you ever compare to Grace? Why did I ever marry someone so shortsighted?”

“As if you know the president that well! I think you’re just jealous that Grace was born with a silver spoon!”

I sneered coldly and, without hesitation, dialed the president’s number right in front of everyone.

“Dad, I heard we’re not that close, hmm?”

There was a new employee in the company. On her first day, she posted a photo in the group chat. It was a purchase contract for a mansion worth 500 million.

The group exploded in an instant. “Oh my God! A 500-million-dollar contract? Am I seeing this right?”

Grace Wayland quickly deleted the photo and apologized, “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and sent it to the wrong group by mistake.”

Afterward, she sent out several emojis to indicate how sorry she was. “I’ll make sure to be more careful next time.”

She concluded with a pitiful meme. From that moment, everyone in the company knew who Grace was.

“Is that the villa by Lake Philips?”

“My goodness! So this is what a 500-million-dollar contract looks like.”

“Rumor has it that President Mayford bought his daughter a house today—right by Lake Philips.”

“Could Grace be President Mayford’s daughter?”

“There aren’t many rich families in Heronville. It can’t just be a coincidence.”

“Five hundred million! That’s enough to work like a dog for three lifetimes.”

The chat exploded with hundreds of messages.

Sitting at the desk opposite mine, Grace looked at the messages with a triumphant expression.

Much later, she responded in the group, “I can’t reveal my identity yet, but I can say one thing—I took my mother’s surname. Please don’t spread this around. If my dad finds out my identity is exposed, he won’t be happy.”

By not outright denying it, she practically confirmed it in everyone’s eyes.

I had no intention of involving myself