Chapter 2: Calculating the Debt

I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

I lay in bed next to Marcus, listening to the heavy, uneven sound of his breathing. In the dark, his face looked completely ordinary. Innocent, almost. It was hard to reconcile this man with the monster who had shoved me into the cold jaw of a beast while my sister watched.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the blood on the snow. So, I kept them open, watching the red digital numbers on the nightstand clock tick away.

Day 89.

Eighty-nine days left until the world went to hell.

As daylight came through the blinds, I quietly got out of bed, careful not to wake him.

I put on a pair of comfortable jeans, a plain dark sweater, and tied my hair into a tight ponytail.

The naive woman who used to spend three hours getting ready just to impress her mother-in-law was gone.

I walked into the kitchen, my eyes sweeping over the marble countertops, the double-door refrigerator, and the high-end appliances. In my last life, this house was stripped bare within three weeks of the fall. Marcus’s family had traded my priceless antiques for a few cans of expired beans.

Not this time.

I placed my hand against the side of our double-door refrigerator.

Store.

A low hum vibrated in my head, and the massive stainless-steel appliance—along with every ounce of fresh produce, milk, and frozen meat inside—vanished into thin air.

I checked the spatial warehouse in my mind. The refrigerator sat neatly in the corner of the void, suspended in static blue light. The system interface flickered in my vision:

[Organic Material Preserved. Temperature Control: Absolute Zero Decay.]

A cold smile touched my lips. Absolute zero decay. That meant whatever I put in there would stay as fresh as the second I stored it. Hot soup would stay piping hot. Fresh meat would never rot.I pushed the refrigerator back into its place and slid it into the space.

It made a loud thud when it hit the floor, breaking the silence in the kitchen.

Everything looked normal again.

I could empty the whole house in five minutes if I wanted to. But I had to be careful.

If I took everything today, Marcus would call the police.

I needed time.

And I needed to take every penny I could get from this family.

At seven in the morning, my phone buzzed on the counter. The caller ID read: Beatrice (Mother-in-Law).

I let it ring three times before picking up, matching my voice to the soft, eager tone I used to use.

"Good morning, Beatrice," I said smoothly.

"Evelyn! Finally!" Her sharp, l voice cut through the speaker like broken glass. "Marcus told me about the accident with the tea yesterday. Honestly, Evelyn, how could you be so clumsy? That contract took weeks to draft! My real estate agent is waiting for the deed."

"I know, Beatrice. I'm so sorry," I replied, forcing a fake tremble into my voice. "My hands have just been shaking so badly lately. I think I've been working too hard. But don't worry—I'm heading into the office early today to get the original property deeds from my safe. I'll have my lawyer look them over, and we can sign the transfer by Friday."

There was a short pause on the line. Beatrice sniffed loudly. "Your lawyer? Why does your lawyer need to see it? It's family, Evelyn. Marcus is your husband. You shouldn't be wasting money on legal fees when my retirement villa needs a down payment."

"It's just standard procedure, Beatrice," I said sweetly. "To make sure the tax burden doesn't hit Marcus too hard. We want to protect him, don't we?"

That caught her off guard. "Well... yes. Of course. Just make sure it's done by Friday. Oh, and I sent you an invoice for my weekly spa treatment and Chloe's shopping trip. Make sure you transfer the ten thousand to my account before noon."

Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars of my hard-earned money for her massage and my husband's mistress to buy designer handbags.

"I'll take care of it personally," I promised, and hung up.

I stared at the screen for a moment, then dialed a different number—one I had memorized from my previous life. It belonged to a high-end financial firm that specialized in fast, high-interest collateral loans for wealthy clients who needed cash under the table.

"Goldstein Financial," a smooth voice answered.

"Hello," I said, my voice turning completely flat. "I'm calling on behalf of Beatrice Vance. She would like to leverage her power-of-attorney rights to secure a short-term cash loan of five hundred thousand dollars. High interest, quick approval."

Three months ago, Marcus had tricked me into signing a power-of-attorney document for his mother's minor estate management. He thought he was slick, keeping the option open to manage her debts if she ever got sued. But he had made one fatal mistake: he had cross-linked the signatures to his own personal banking profile to avoid paying taxes on her small investments.

"We can process that within three hours, ma'am," the lender said. "Where should the funds be wired?"

"To an offshore account I will provide via encrypted email," I said. "And the interest rate?"

"Fifteen percent monthly."

"Make it twenty," I said calmly. "Just make sure the approval notice is sent directly to Beatrice's home address by mail. Delivery expected in three days."

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Vance."

I ended the call. That half-million would be sitting in my secret offshore account before lunch. By the time the bill hit Beatrice’s mailbox, the interest would already be compounding, and the debt would be legally tied to Marcus's primary accounts. They wanted to steal my inheritance? I was going to ruin their credit for generations to come.

I grabbed my coat and car keys, driving straight to the city’s industrial shipping district.

Senna City was a coastal hub, filled with massive warehouses, cold-storage facilities, and shipping docks. In my past life, when the cataclysm hit, this district became the first bloodbath. Warlords fought over these warehouses for months.

I parked my SUV outside a massive distribution center called Northern Meat & Grain. The air smelled of salt and diesel fuel.

I walked into the main office, pulling out a sleek black corporate card—one connected to a business line of credit I had opened under my architecture firm last year.

A burly guy in a grease-stained apron looked up from his clipboard. "Can I help you, lady?"

"I want to buy," I said, leaning against the counter.

"We sell wholesale to restaurants and grocery chains. Minimum order is five tons."

"I'll take thirty tons of frozen beef, twenty tons of pork, and ten tons of poultry," I said without missing a beat. "Plus fifty commercial sacks of white rice, fifty sacks of flour, and every case of canned beans you have in stock."

The man stared at me, his jaw slacking. "Are you opening a restaurant chain?"

"Something like that," I smiled. "I need it delivered to Warehouse 4B down by the docks today. Cash on delivery for the transport f*e, card for the product."

"That’s... that’s over three hundred thousand dollars, lady."

"Does the card work?" I asked, sliding it across the counter.

He ran the card. The machine beeped, green light flashing: Approved.

"We'll have it loaded and at 4B in two hours," he said, suddenly sitting up straight and treating me like royalty.

I rented Warehouse 4B under a fake business name for twenty-four hours. By two in the afternoon, six massive semi-trucks pulled up, unloading crates upon crates of raw meat, grain, and non-perishable goods.

As soon as the last truck driver signed the delivery receipt and drove away, I locked the heavy steel doors of the warehouse from the inside.

The space was freezing, packed to the ceiling with wooden pallets and plastic wrapping.

I walked up to the first stack of frozen beef quarters. I stretched out both hands, closing my eyes, and tapped into the space inside my mind.

Store.

A massive invisible wave swept through the room. The air whistled as the vacuum created by the vanishing items collapsed. Pallet after pallet of meat vanished into thin air.

Store. Store. Store.

The blue screen in my vision went crazy, numbers scrolling past at a blinding speed.

[Storage Space Capacity: 12% Filled] [Items Acquired: 30 Tons Beef, 20 Tons Pork, 10 Tons Poultry, 100 Sacks Grain] [Organic Preservation Active.]

In less than ten minutes, the giant, echoing warehouse was completely empty. Not a single grain of rice was left on the concrete floor.

I stood in the silence, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. Power hummed in my veins. While the rest of the world would be eating leather shoes and mud in three months, I had enough food stored in my mind to feed a small army for ten years.

My phone rang. It was Marcus.

I answered, keeping my voice light. "Hey, babe."

"Evelyn, where the hell are you?" Marcus shouted over the phone. Background noise echoed around him—he was at a noisy restaurant. "Chloe and I are at the downtown bistro waiting for you. You were supposed to meet us for lunch to talk about her new apartment lease!"

Chloe and him. Together, enjoying a nice lunch on my dime.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Marcus," I said, putting on my best apologetic voice. "Work got completely crazy. Why don't you guys order whatever you want? Put it on my corporate tab."

"Well... fine," Marcus grumbled, instantly deligted by the mention of my credit card. "But make sure you're home early tonight. Mom is coming over for dinner, and she wants to talk about the villa again."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," I whispered.

I hung up, looking out at the gray ocean beyond the warehouse docks.

I wasn't just going to dinner tonight. I was going to set the fuse.