Chapter 3: The Trap and the Transfer

I spent the rest of the afternoon at a high-end financial agency downtown—a firm that specialized in asset management for ultra-wealthy clients.

"I need to liquidate my personal real estate portfolio immediately," I told the senior manager sitting across from me. "I want full cash value, and I want the proceeds routed into an offshore blind trust."

The manager looked over my documents, his eyes widening slightly at the sheer size of my late father’s estate. "Mrs. Vance, selling these commercial properties at short notice means you'll be taking a ten percent hit on total market value."

"I don't care," I said, my voice cold and firm. "Liquidate them. Use your institutional buyers. I want forty million dollars liquid cash sitting in my offshore account by tomorrow morning. If my husband’s name appears on a single document, I’ll take my business elsewhere."

"Understood, ma'am," he said quickly, pulling out a pen. "Absolute privacy is guaranteed."

By the time I finished signing the paperwork and drove home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in deep, bruised shades of purple and gray. A cold rain was beginning to splatter against my windshield.

I parked in the driveway and saw two familiar cars already there: Marcus's shiny black sports car and my sister Chloe's silver convertible.

I took a deep breath, adjusted the hidden button-camera attached to the collar of my shirt, and tapped the record switch. A tiny green light flickered twice before vanishing under the fabric.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

Laughter echoed from the dining room. The rich smell of roasted chicken and wine filled the air. My mother-in-law, Beatrice, was sitting at the head of the table, sipping wine from a crystal glass I had bought for her last Christmas. Chloe was sitting right next to Marcus, their chairs pulled uncomfortably close together.

"Evelyn! Finally, you're back," Beatrice said, setting her glass down with a heavy clink. "We were starting to think you forgot about us."

"Never, Beatrice," I said, putting my coat away and walking into the dining room with a polite smile. "Traffic was terrible."

Marcus didn't even look up from his phone. "Did you bring the signed property transfer? Mom's agent called three times today."

"I brought something much better," I said softly, taking a seat at the end of the long dining table.

Chloe looked up, her fake, sweet smile instantly appearing. "What is it, Evelyn? Did you get the lease approved for my new apartment, too?"

"In a way," I replied.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a sleek, ribbon-wrapped gift box. I set it down right in front of Marcus.

Marcus blinked, looking from the box to me. "What's this? My birthday isn't for four months."

"Think of it as an early anniversary present," I said. "Open it. All of you should see it."

Beatrice chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Evelyn, always playing games. Just hand over the real estate deeds so we can finish dinner."

Marcus tore off the silver ribbon and lifted the box lid. Inside sat a brand-new, high-definition tablet. The screen was glowing, showing a paused video file with a big play button in the middle.

"What is this?" Marcus grumbled, tapping the screen.

The video began to play. The audio burst through the quiet dining room, crisp and crystal clear.

“When the real estate transfers next week, you're finally dumping her, right? Our daughter keeps asking why Auntie Evelyn lives with us.”

Chloe’s voice echoed off the walls. On the screen, the video showed Marcus sitting on our master bed, pulling Chloe into his lap, kissing her deeply as they both laughed about how naive I was.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Beatrice froze, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth. Chloe’s face turned from pale white to a sickly shade of gray. Marcus stared at the tablet as if it had turned into a venomous snake.

"E-Evelyn..." Marcus stammered, his hands shaking so hard he dropped the tablet onto the tablecloth. "This... this is a misunderstanding. It's an AI edit! Someone modified the footage!"

"An AI edit?" I laughed softly, a cold, empty sound. "In our bedroom? With the red birthmark on your lower back clearly visible?"

Chloe scrambled out of her chair, her eyes wide with terror. "Evelyn, please! He lied to me! He told me you guys were getting a divorce months ago! He tricked me!"

"Shut up, Chloe!" Marcus roared, swinging around to glare at her before turning back to me. "Evelyn, listen to me! We can talk about this! You don't have to do anything crazy!"

Beatrice finally slammed her hands onto the table, her face twisted in rage. "Evelyn! How dare you spy on my son in his own home?! You brought this garbage to the dinner table?!"

"Your son?" I looked at Beatrice, my eyes narrowing. "Your son, who used my money to buy Chloe’s designer bags? Your son, who tried to steal my late father's commercial buildings to buy you a villa?"

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a second folder—thick, heavy, and bound in legal red tape. I slammed it onto the table right next to the chicken.

"That is a formal court summons for a contested divorce on the grounds of severe infidelity, fraud, and financial embezzlement," I said, every word dropping like a heavy iron weight. "I have frozen all joint accounts. I have revoked all access to my company's credit lines. And as of five minutes ago, the high-interest loan your mother took out using your co-signature has been flagged by the bank."

"What loan?!" Marcus screamed, his head snapping toward his mother. "Mom, what is she talking about?!"

Beatrice gasped, clutching her chest. "I... I didn't! She told me..."

"You have twenty-four hours to pack your clothes and get out of my house, Marcus," I said, standing up. "If you touch a single piece of furniture, I will have the police arrest you for destruction of property."

Marcus stood up, his face turning dark purple with rage. The polite, handsome husband was completely gone, replaced by the ugly brute I remembered from the icy alleyway.

"You stupid bitch!" he yelled, lunging across the table to grab my throat. "You think you can ruin my life over some stupid video?! I'll break your—"

Before his fingers could even touch my collar, I stepped forward. Thanks to the passive physical strength upgrade from my spatial realm, his movements looked slow—almost sluggish.

I grabbed his wrist mid-air, twisted my hips, and slammed his hand down onto the wooden table with a sickening CRACK.

Marcus shrieked in agony, dropping to his knees as his wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

I leaned down, whispering right into his ear so only he could hear me.

"In my last life, you threw me to the dogs," I whispered softly. "In this life, I'm going to make sure you bleed out slowly."

I let go of his arm. He collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and clutching his broken wrist. Beatrice was screaming for an ambulance, and Chloe was backing away toward the front door, crying hysterical tears.

I picked up my purse, stepped over Marcus, and walked out into the cold night rain.

The trap was sprung. And the real storm hadn't even started yet.