It was a quiet Thursday afternoon in the wealthiest district of the city. Birds chirped, fountains trickled, and the air smelled of trimmed hedges and imported roses.
A navy-blue car pulled into the long private driveway. Stepping out of the vehicle was Elliot Harrington—33 years old, sharp jawline, clean-shaven, wealthy beyond imagination. Dressed in a tailored blue suit, he walked toward his mansion’s front door with the weight of confidence only money could buy. In one hand, he carried a sleek leather briefcase. His mind was already occupied—merger deals, client dinners, and the next billion-dollar move.
But just as he raised his hand to unlock the door, a scream split through the air.
“Stop! Don’t open it!”
He spun around. Charging toward him barefoot was a small Black boy, no older than seven. His khaki shirt was stained with sweat and dirt, white trousers tattered, and in his hand, a crumpled yellow hat. His feet slapped the pavement as he ran, eyes wide in…..Read Full Story Here……………………….
