My Second Life Has A Body Count

POV: Corinne Dorsey

"Sign here, Miss Dorsey," the voice came, pushing a thick stack of papers across the glass table. "Once you put your signature on this transfer, Mr. Hayes will have full power of attorney over the foundation funds." 

My eyes snapped open.

I was sitting in a plush leather armchair. The air inside the room was quiet, cooled by silent air conditioning, but my whole body was shaking. My chest heaved as if I had just run five miles without stopping. I swallowed hard, trying to clear the dry, dusty taste from my mouth, but there was no dust here. No falling rocks. No screaming crowds. No blood on my clothes.

I lifted my hands and looked at my fingers. They were whole. They were clean. There was no crushed bone, no black bruises from digging through piles of broken concrete.

I looked down at the paper. The black ink felt cold against the white page. On my wrist, the face of my watch read 11:45 PM. September 11 

Sixty days.

In sixty days, sky-high cracks would tear through the earth. Ash would choke the sun, and the world as we knew it would collapse into an apocalyptic wasteland. In my past life. 

Tonight was the night I sat in this very chair, wiping tears from my face, completely blind to the truth. I had signed away my grandfather’s entire fifty-million-dollar fund to save my fiancé, Bennett Hayes. And two years later, when the world turned into a nightmare of ruins and starvation, that same man pushed me under a collapsing concrete wall so he could run away with the last bag of money.

I died in the dark, buried under stone, listening to his footsteps fade away.

"Miss Dorsey?"

A quiet, extremely polite voice broke through my thoughts.

I took a deep breath. The scent of air conditioning and cheap leather hit my nose, but I didn't feel afraid. My chest didn't hurt. The panicked girl who begged for love was dead.

I set the pen down on the glass table with a quiet click.

"Miss Dorsey?" the banker asked, frowning. "Is there a problem? The deadline for Mr. Hayes's stock account is midnight. If the fifty million isn't transferred in fifteen minutes, his firm faces complete liquidation."

Before I could answer, my phone on the table lit up and began to vibrate continuously.

The screen displayed one word: Bennett.

I picked up the phone and swiped the screen to answer. I put it on speaker so every single word would ring clearly inside the quiet room.

"Corinne!" Bennett's voice blasted out of the speaker, shrill and fast. "Why hasn't the banker confirmed the deposit yet? What are you doing over there? I told you to sign it five minutes ago!"

"I'm sitting right here, Bennett," I said softly.

"Then sign it!" he yelled, his tone completely sharp. "Do you have any idea how much money I'm losing every second you waste? The market closes in fifteen minutes! My brokers are screaming at me! Just sign the paper and let the bank release the fifty million!"

I looked across the table at the executive banker. He winced slightly at the loud noise coming from the speaker, holding his pen ready.

"Bennett," I said, keeping my voice steady and slow. "Why do you need fifty million dollars from my grandfather's trust fund?"

"I already told you!" he barked back through the receiver. "It's a temporary margin call! A bad trade! I'm going to make it all back by next week. Why are you asking stupid questions right now? Just sign the damn papers!"

"It's not a bad trade, is it?" I asked. My voice was calm, almost peaceful. "You bought illegal short options on top-tier energy stocks because someone told you a rumor. And you put your own company assets up as collateral."

There was a sudden pause on the other end of the line. The heavy breathing on the speaker slowed down.

"How do you know that?" Bennett demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter who told me," I said. "What matters is that you spent your own money, and now you want to burn mine."

"Corinne, listen to me very carefully," Bennett said, trying to force his tone back into something soft, though the panic beneath it was clear. "We are married. My money is your money. My safety is your safety. If my firm goes under tonight, my reputation is ruined. Do you want to live with a broke man? Do you want people laughing at us?"

That's none of my concern," I said.

The banker's head snapped up. His eyes widened as he stared at me across the desk.

On the phone, Bennett let out a bitter, nervous laugh. "What did you just say? Are you insane? Stop playing around, Corinne! This isn't funny! Sign the transfer right now!"

"No," I said.

"What do you mean, no?!" he screamed. "Corinne! If you don't transfer that fifty million in twelve minutes, I am ruined! Do you hear me? Ruined!"

"I hear you," I said. I looked directly at the executive banker. "Mr. Steve—"

"My name is Mr. Frank, ma'am," the banker corrected quickly, looking confused.

"Mr. Frank," I said clearly. "I am revoking Bennett Hayes's access to all my family accounts immediately. I want his name stripped from every joint credit card, every trust account, and every emergency line of credit associated with the Dorsey family."

"Wait! No! Stop!" Bennett's scream rattled the phone's small speaker. "Mr. Frank, don't listen to her! She doesn't mean that! She's hysterical!"

"I am completely sane," I said. "Mr. Frank, please open my primary liquid asset account right now."

Mr. Frank's fingers flew across his computer keyboard. "Yes, Miss Dorsey. I have your main asset profile open on my screen. How would you like to proceed?"

"Corinne, I swear if you do this, we are completely over!" Bennett threatened, his voice shaking with pure rage. "You will never find anyone else who will tolerate you! You think anyone else cares about you? You need me!"

"Transfer the entire balance of fifty million dollars," I told Mr. Frank, ignoring the phone entirely. "Move it out of First Capital Bank immediately."

"Where should I transfer it, Miss Dorsey?" Mr. Frank asked, his eyes wide as he typed.

"To my private offshore holding account in Switzerland," I said. "Account code double-zero, seven-nine, four, two."

"Corinne! Stop!" Bennett howled over the speaker. "That's my money! You promised me that money!"

"It was never your money, Bennett," I said. "It was my grandfather's. And he earned it so I could survive, not so you could play games on the stock market."

"I will come down there right now!" Bennett screamed. "I will tear that bank apart! You can't do this to me! I have ten minutes left! Ten minutes!"

"Mr. Frank," I said smoothly. "Has the transfer gone through?"

"Authorizing digital signatures now..." Mr. Frank said. He clicked his mouse once. A bright green checkmark popped up on his computer monitor. "Done. Fifty million dollars has been successfully moved out of the country. The remaining balance in your domestic account is now zero."

"Check Bennett's authority status," I added.

Mr. Frank clicked another tab. "Bennett Hayes has been removed from all authorization lists. His card access is officially revoked."

A high-pitched tone sounded on Bennett's end of the line—the distinct chime of a bank notification hitting his personal mobile app.

Silence hung on the call for three full seconds.

"My... my account access is blocked," Bennett whispered. His voice was no longer loud or angry. It was completely hollow, shattered by pure shock. "It says my access level is zero. My margin call... the clock has eight minutes left. They're going to liquidate everything I own."

"Good luck, Bennett," I said.

"Corinne, please!" he sobbed, his voice suddenly breaking into helpless tears. "Please don't do this! I'll kneel down! I'll apologize! I'll do whatever you want! Just send five million! Just give me five million to pay the interest so they don't bankrupt me tonight! Please, I'm begging you!"

"You always were good at begging when you lost," I said softly. "Too bad I'm not listening anymore."

"I will destroy you!" he shrieked, switching instantly from begging back to rage. "When I get my hands on you, Corinne, I swear to God—"

I pressed the red button on my screen and disconnected the call.

The VIP room became totally quiet. Only the low hum of the ceiling fan remained.

Mr. Frank swallowed hard, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Miss Dorsey... is there anything else I can help you with tonight?"

"No," I said, standing up from the chair. "That will be all."

I picked up my bag and walked out of the bank suite. As the glass doors slid open, the cool midnight air hit my face. Streets outside were quiet, filled with bright yellow streetlights and parked cars. People were walking by, laughing, completely unaware that in sixty days, every single building around them would turn into dust.

I stood on the sidewalk, reaching into my pocket for my car keys.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through my left hand.

It felt like someone had thrust a burning needle directly into my skin. I gasped, dropping my keys onto the cold pavement. I grabbed my left wrist with my right hand, trembling from the sudden, sharp heat.

I pulled back my sleeve.

Underneath the face of my watch, right on the inside of my wrist, a pitch-black mark was forming. It looked like a tiny, spiraling ring, glowing with a faint, dark light right beneath my skin.

My breath hitched in my throat.

The Stillroom.

In my past life, this spatial pocket didn't wake up until thirty days into the apocalypse—after I had already suffered through weeks of starvation, cold, and violence. It was a completely separate dimensional storage space, a place where time stood still, capable of holding endless tons of food, water, weapons, and supplies without ever spoiling.

Why was it here now?

Why had it awakened sixty days early?

The black mark flashed twice, sending a wave of warm energy through my arm. A silent void opened up inside my mind, vast and completely empty, waiting to be filled.

My heart hammered against my ribs. The timer on the end of the world hadn't changed, but the rules of the game just did.

I reached down, picked up my car keys from the ground, and looked up at the quiet city lights.

Sixty days left. And now, I had fifty million dollars and an empty space ready to swallow the world.