The journalist spat out, "Clearly, you're only after the money!"

Amy Sinclair held his stare. "If I were truly money-hungry, why would I donate every last cent? With that fortune, I could live lavishly for decades—perhaps even two lifetimes. Why give it all away instead of indulging myself?"

The reporter faltered, his argument crumbling.

It was a valid point—if Amy was so greedy, why relinquish her wealth? The contradiction was glaring.

The silence was brief before another entertainment reporter pounced, voice laced with accusation.

"Ms. Sinclair, records show you never completed high school. You're neither an heiress nor a business tycoon. So how exactly did you acquire such an astronomical sum? Can you guarantee it was obtained legally?"

Another voice slithered in, thick with implication. "Rumors suggest you recently impersonated Mrs. Blackwood. Are we to believe you didn't swindle some wealthy man out of this fortune?"

Amy didn't blink. She met the reporter's gaze head-on. "I'm curious—what kind of scam nets someone a billion dollars?"

The reporter smirked. "Tricking one man out of that much might be difficult, but stringing along several? Not impossible."

He paused, flashing a smug grin, as if daring her to counter him.

"Everyone knows love makes men foolish," he added, drawing uneasy chuckles. "And with your beauty and talent, Ms. Sinclair, extracting money from them would be effortless."

"So, unless you have a better explanation, where did that billion come from?"

His words detonated like a bomb—gasps rippled through the room, whispers erupting.

No diploma, no affluent background, yet a billion dollars? The implications were damning.

Amy's stare sharpened. "So your logic is—if a woman is young, beautiful, and rich, her wealth must be ill-gotten?"

The reporter stiffened, caught off guard. With the world watching, admitting to such a sexist standard would be career suicide.

He backpedaled hastily. "Of course not. I'm merely questioning the source of your funds, Ms. Sinclair. Don't the people deserve transparency? If your charity is built on dirty money, wouldn't that be a farce?"

He pressed on, emboldened, as if he'd struck gold. "Imagine—a philanthropist funded by theft. It’s laughable!"

"Ms. Sinclair, unless you can prove your fortune is clean, the police station is nearby. I suggest you confess now."

His smile turned icy. "Cooperate, and you might receive mercy. Resist, and it’ll only worsen. Admit your crimes, and perhaps the public will forgive you."

What no one knew—this reporter had received a text moments prior: Destroy her publicly, and five million is yours. For that sum, he’d gladly ruin her.

Other journalists joined the fray, scenting blood.

"Stop dodging, Ms. Sinclair. If you’re innocent, just reveal the money’s origin. Honesty is your only option."

"You expect us to believe a high school dropout earned a billion legitimately?"

"Answer us, or we’ll have no choice but to involve the authorities!"