Adrian Caldwell hurried down the long marble hallway of his mansion, pulling open drawers and closets in search of the oldest clothes he could find. The house was enormous, spotless, and painfully quiet—too quiet since his wife had passed away three years earlier.
Eight-year-old Lucas appeared in the doorway, holding up a faded, torn T-shirt.
“Dad, is this bad enough?”
Adrian turned, studying it, then nodded. “Perfect.”
Lucas hesitated. “Is this really going to work?”
Adrian crouched in front of him and placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “It will. Today we’re going to find out who really has a good heart.”
“But why can’t we just go dressed normal?”
“Because when people see money, they treat you differently. They smile wider. They speak softer. I don’t want someone who’s kind to our house. I want someone who’s kind to us.”
Lucas thought about that quietly.
Adrian stepped outside, grabbed a handful of dirt from the garden, and rubbed it onto his shirt and jeans. Lucas giggled as his father messed up his neatly combed hair, then did the same to his own.
“Okay,” Adrian said, exhaling. “Now no one will recognize us.”