I’d been Hawthorne-adjacent long enough to know that billionaire Tobias Hawthorne’s real legacy hadn’t been the fortune he’d left me. It was the marks he’d left on each of his grandsons. Invisible. Enduring. This was Jameson’s: Jameson Winchester Hawthorne was hungry. He wanted everything and needed something, and because he was a Hawthorne, that elusive something could never be ordinary. He couldn’t be ordinary.
