“My niece didn’t mean to bother you,” the woman said quickly. “Please don’t call the police.”
Her name was Elena.
She was a nurse. A widow. A woman struggling under enormous medical debt after her husband, Michael, died from leukemia. With nowhere else to go, she and Emma had been living under a highway overpass.
Daniel watched them walk away and felt something unfamiliar stir inside him.
Hope.
“Find them,” he quietly told one of his guards. “I have less than six months left. And I just realized I’ve never truly lived.”
When Daniel later offered Elena a job as his private nurse—with a salary of five hundred thousand dollars a month and a place to live—she didn’t trust him.
“I know how men like you think,” she said firmly with her arms folded.
Daniel surprised her.
“I’m dying,” he said simply. “I want a nurse. I want to spend the time I have left at home.”
Emma stepped forward.
“He’s sick, Aunt Ellie,” she said gently. “You help sick people.”
Elena eventually agreed—but only after researching Daniel thoroughly to make sure his intentions were honest.
Two days later, she and Emma moved into Daniel’s enormous mansion.