Chapter 3

Dustin looked like I had hit him with a bolt from out of the blue. I could see he was itching to make a deal, but he played it cool, asking me what had gotten under my skin to come to him so suddenly.

If I went around talking about being reborn after the apocalypse, people would think I was insane. Even if he did buy into my story, I would not spill the beans to him.

After all, it was his dirty tricks that had sent my dad to an early grave, choking on his own rage when his project went south.

With the clock ticking, I played the innocent card. "Mr. Hill, my friend has this investment lined up that will triple our money! However, you know the drill. When my old man kicked the bucket, he made sure I was set for life, turning most of my inheritance into real estate. That left me pretty strapped for cash. And the only guy I know who can cough up that kind of dough so fast is you, Mr. Hill. So..."

Dustin's eyes danced with a wicked glee as he agreed to my pitch.

However, the guy was a shark, only willing to fork over 70 percent of what my properties were worth on the market.

We were talking about a cool 45 million dollars in assets, which meant I only got 31.5 million out of him.

I clenched my jaw and took the deal.

Dustin was all smiles, practically tripping over himself to get me to sign on the dotted line, promising to wire the cash in a month.

I put the brakes on that. "Mr. Hill, my friend says this deal's got only ten days left on the clock, so I need that money this week."

Dustin scowled, and I let out a weary sigh. "If that's too much to ask, then let's just forget the whole thing."

Like a hawk on a mouse, Dustin pounced, saying, "A week it is!"

We inked the deal, and Dustin handed over a cool 15 million dollars upfront, agreeing to settle the rest within the week.

I caught Dustin's smug grin and could not help but scoff to myself. 'When the apocalypse comes, you'll see. All this will be nothing but trash.'

After leaving Dustin's place, I made a beeline for Zephyr City's grandest funeral home. The ambiance was serene, with soft lighting and the mingling fragrances of lilies and candles. A somber-suited funeral manager approached me, his voice deep and courteous as he said, "Good afternoon. Whose funeral is it?"

I cut to the chase. "I need a funeral. The most lavish one you can pull off. Don't worry about the cost."

The manager blinked, taken aback. Then, he asked, "Forgive me, but whose funeral are we planning?"

I pressed my lips together. "Mine."

He looked at me, a mix of concern and curiosity in his eyes, and asked gently, "Are you sick, or in some kind of trouble?"

I offered a wry smile. "You could say that. If I don't get this funeral sorted, I may not last much longer."

His eyes lit up with a mix of intrigue and understanding. "Did you get some kind of omen or advice from a sage to do this?"

I picked up where the manager left off. "Sounds about right. I want you to put together the most extravagant funeral you can imagine. Let's start with a budget of 30 million dollars. If we need more, I'll let you know. And schedule it for the 21st."

In my previous life, the apocalypse hit on the 22nd. If I got the funeral out of the way by the 21st, I could kick back at home and watch the world crumble.

The manager looked like he had seen a ghost. He sputtered, "Your budget is... What? Thirty million dollars? You're pulling my leg, right?"