The Real Heiress Sees Every Lie

Summary

I was born a human polygraph machine.

No one, not even the most seasoned manipulator, could stand before me and successfully lie.

I was eight years old when the head of the group home—a man named Mr. Thompson—stood on stage, weeping into the microphone.

“Funding is tight, children,” he choked out, his voice thick with fake despair. “We all need to tighten our belts. We can only afford meat once every three months from now on.”

I immediately pointed a finger at his blotchy face.

“That’s a load of crap!” I yelled.