Blurb：
A starving seventeen-year-old girl forges a DNA test to claim she's billionaire Warren Salinger's missing daughter. But can she fool the powerful Salinger family, including his wife Annelise, and survive the dangerous world of wealth and secrets? Her desperate gamble with a twenty-dollar lie could either grant her a lifetime of security or land her in prison for fraud. Discover a story of deception, identity, and the shocking truth about Felicity Salinger.Content：
§PROLOGUETwenty dollars.
It was the price of a lie.
The crumpled bill in my hand was damp with sweat, a flimsy shield against the gnawing hunger that had been my constant companion for three days.
It could buy a greasy burger from the diner across the street, a moment of warmth, a temporary silence in my screaming stomach.
Or it could buy a single piece of paper from the slightly shady print-and-ship store in the strip mall.
A paper that could either get me arrested for fraud or grant me a lifetime of meals.
I stared at the reflection in the store’s grimy window.
A seventeen-year-old girl, thin as a stray cat, with eyes that had seen too much and eaten too little.
My gaze drifted past my own hollow face to the TV mounted inside the store.
A news segment was playing, showcasing the philanthropic work of billionaire Warren Salinger.
I knew that face.
Everyone knew that face.
But it was the woman beside him, his wife Annelise, who held my attention.
Then the news anchor mentioned their daughter, Felicity Salinger, a prodigy who was currently overseas, winning a gold medal at the International Mathematical Olympiad.
A picture of her flashed on the screen.
She didn't look like them.
Not at all.
A memory sparked, a cruel taunt from a classmate years ago.
"My mom used to clean for rich folks," she'd sneered. "She said your mom, Brenna, was a maid in one of those big houses before she ran back to the sticks with you in her belly."
"You don't even look like her. Maybe you're some rich family's dirty little secret."
I had always dismissed it.
My mother, Debra, was my mother.
Even when she called me a "worthless mouth to feed."
Even when her fists and the broom handle and the leather belt were the only forms of touch I knew.
But two weeks ago, she'd tried to sell me.
Fifty thousand dollars, a "bride price" she called it, to a fifty-something-year-old creep from the next town over, all so my brother could get seed money for his failing startup.
If I was truly her daughter, how could she do that?
The smell of grilling onions from the diner wafted over, a siren's call to my empty gut.
My stomach cramped violently.
One meal, or a lifetime of them.
I knew how to choose.
Winning meant I would never be hungry again.
Losing meant… well, I was already losing.
I smoothed the twenty-dollar bill, walked into the print-and-ship store, and slapped the money on the counter.
The owner looked up from his sandwich.
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The End