A boy was kicked out of a party for millionaires… until he handed a letter to the host, who then fell to his knees.
The Grand Wellington Hotel ballroom looked as if it were made of crystal and gold.
Enormous chandeliers illuminated tables adorned with white roses. Men in tuxedos chatted over glasses of champagne, while women in elegant gowns posed for photographers.
That night marked the sixtieth birthday of Richard Beaumont, founder of one of the city’s most powerful real estate companies.
Businessmen.
Politicians.
Bankers.
Everyone wanted to be there.
But among the hundreds of guests, someone appeared who clearly didn't belong in that world.
A boy.
He looked to be about nine years old.
His name was Oliver Dawson.
He was wearing beige trousers, a white shirt, and an old blue cardigan.
In one hand, he held a small, cream-colored envelope.
Oliver walked among the adults, studying their faces.
He seemed to be looking for someone.
Finally, he approached a woman wearing a spectacular emerald-green gown.
It was Victoria Beaumont, Richard’s younger sister.
"Ma'am..."
Victoria looked down.
"Yes?"
"I’m looking for Mr. Richard Beaumont."
Victoria’s expression changed.
"Who are you?"
"Oliver."
"Oliver who?"
"Oliver Dawson."
Victoria glanced around.
"Where are your parents?"
The boy tightened his grip on the envelope.
"My mom died three weeks ago."
Victoria fell silent for a brief moment.
"I’m sorry. But this is a private celebration."
"I need to speak with Mr. Beaumont."
"That’s not possible."
"My mom told me I had to give this to him."
He held out the envelope.
Victoria didn't even try to take it.
"Who was your mother?"
"Anna Dawson."
Victoria froze.
The name sounded familiar.
All too familiar.
But she quickly regained her composure.
"I don't know any Anna Dawson."
Oliver lowered his gaze.
"She said he would know her."
Victoria felt a shiver run down her spine. "Listen to me, kid. I don't know who let you in, but you have to leave."
Oliver didn't move.
"I promised to deliver the letter."
"And I'm telling you to leave."
Some guests began to watch them.
Victoria hated scenes.
She signaled to security.
But before the guards could arrive, a young hotel employee appeared.
Her name was Emily Carter.
"Is there a problem?"
Victoria pointed at the boy.
"This little one has snuck into a private party."
Emily looked at Oliver.
The boy was on the verge of tears.
"Are you alone?"
Oliver nodded.
"I just want to deliver a letter."
Victoria lost her patience.
"We aren't running a courier service."
Emily knelt down beside the boy.
"Who are you looking for?"
Oliver pointed toward the far end of the room.
There stood Richard Beaumont.
"Him."
Emily looked at the envelope.
Then she looked back at Oliver.
"Is it important?"
The boy pressed his lips together.
"It was the last thing my mom asked of me before she died."
Emily fell silent.
Victoria immediately intervened.
"You are not taking him to my brother."
Emily stood up.
"Mrs. Beaumont, perhaps we should let him decide."
Victoria glared at her.
"Do you know who you're talking to?"
"Yes."
Emily took a deep breath.
"But I also know we're talking about a boy who just lost his mother."
The music kept playing.
But more and more people around them were watching.
Then, a male voice interrupted the argument.
"What's going on here?"
Everyone turned.
Richard Beaumont was walking toward them.
Victoria went pale.
Oliver looked at the man.
Then he looked at the old photograph he had hidden in his pocket.
It was him.
There was no doubt.
"Mr. Beaumont..."
Richard looked at the boy. "Yes?"
Oliver held out the envelope.
"My mom asked me to give you this."
Richard frowned.
"Who was your mother?"
The boy replied:
May you like
"Anna Dawson."
The smile vanished from Richard's face.
