Mr. Drakard: I trusted my sister-in-law with the hospital discharge papers... she told me he didn't survive birth.
Girl: She lied so she could control the family board votes and the real estate inheritance.
Mr. Drakard: How do you know so much about what happens inside this house, young lady?
Girl: Because my mother used to work in your kitchen before Victoria fired her for asking questions.
Rapid footsteps slapped against the interior marble floor as an African American maid in a classic black-and-white uniform rushed out the front doorway.
She looked completely alarmed, covering her mouth in absolute shock as she took in the scene on the snowy steps.
Maid: Mr. Drakard! What is happening out here? Who is this child?
Mr. Drakard: Look inside this box, Martha. It's my son. Victoria tried to throw him away like garbage.
Maid: (Gasping) Oh, sweet Jesus... the poor little angel must have froze to death if she stayed out here another hour!
Girl: I kept him warm inside my coat all night, ma'am. I wouldn't let anything happen to him.
Maid: You saved his life, child. Come inside right this second before you catch pneumonia.
The man knelt down quickly on the snow-covered ground, gently reaching out to touch the cardboard box with trembling fingers.
He looked at the children with intense concern, his billionaire armor completely shattered by raw paternal grief.
Mr. Drakard: Mr. Drakard, please bring them inside!
Maid: I'll get the fireplace in the grand parlor roaring immediately, sir.
Mr. Drakard: No, prepare the master suite. And lock all the doors to the east wing.
Maid: Should I call the police regarding Madam Victoria?
Mr. Drakard: Call federal marshals. We are bypassing local law enforcement entirely.
What explosive confrontation awaits Victoria inside the grand mansion as the truth comes to light?