chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Contract and the Snake

​By noon, I was sitting in the executive conference room of my family's firm. The air was cool, smelling of expensive leather and fresh coffee. Across the glass table sat Mr. Vance, my father’s long-time lawyer, looking at me over his spectacles with deep concern.

​"Evelyn, are you entirely sure about this?" Mr. Vance asked, tapping a thick stack of financial documents. "Liquidating your investment portfolio and pulling the family trust cash will give you roughly twelve million dollars. But selling these assets so quickly means taking a slight penalty."

​"I don't care about penalties," I said, keeping my tone plain and grounded. "I want the full twelve million transferred into a private account by tomorrow morning. I also need the legal deeds to my grandfather’s property in the northern valley secured. Lock it down so no one else can touch it."

​"And Julian?" Mr. Vance leaned forward. "He has been calling my office every twenty minutes. He claims you had a verbal agreement to hand over the mountain land for his commercial project."

​"Julian has no signature on paper," I replied flatly. "If he calls again, tell him to take it up with me directly."

​Before Mr. Vance could answer, the conference room doors swung open with a bang.

​Julian walked in, looking immaculate in a tailored blue suit. His dark hair was combed back perfectly, and he carried that smooth, confident smile that used to make my heart flutter. Seeing him walk toward me made my skin crawl. I could still feel his knife sinking into my thigh. I could still hear his laugh while the monsters tore through my flesh.

​"Evelyn, baby, what is going on?" Julian said, making a show of looking hurt as he walked toward my side of the table. "Mr. Vance's assistant told me you were canceling our property transfer. I thought we were building our future together."

​He reached out to put a hand on my shoulder.

​I leaned away before his fingers could touch me, keeping my expression entirely blank. "Don't touch me, Julian."

​Julian froze, his hand hanging in the air. For a split second, a flash of annoyance crossed his face, but he quickly covered it with a fake, warm smile.

​"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, taking the chair right beside mine. "If this is about us rushing the paperwork, we can slow down. I just wanted to get the land cleared so we could start building our dream home."

​"Our dream home?" I looked him dead in the eye. "Or the underground bunker my father built under that land?"

​Julian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle shift that only someone who had been killed by him would ever catch.

​"I don't know what you mean, sweetie," he said, laughing it off. "It’s just empty land."

​"The deal is off," I said plain and clear. "I am not transferring the land. I am not giving you access to my family’s money. And we are finished."

​Julian stared at me, his charming front finally cracking. "Evelyn, don't be ridiculous. You're upset about something. Is this about that mechanic ex-boyfriend of yours? Did you go see him today?"

​"Leave Derrick out of this," I said, leaning forward. "If you try to go near him, or if you try to interfere with my family's business, I will publish every illegal tax shortcut your father’s company used last year. I know about the offshore accounts in the Caymans, Julian. I know about the fake construction permits."

​Julian turned pale. The smooth, wealthy playboy was gone, replaced by a desperate, bitter coward. In my past life, he had boasted about his family's illegal financial games while we drank wine in his mansion. I hadn't cared back then because I was blind. Now, those secrets were my biggest weapon.

​"You wouldn't," he hissed, his voice dropping an octave. "You need me, Evelyn. Your family’s name is tied to mine."

​"Try me," I said. I stood up, smoothing down my skirt. "Mr. Vance, finalize the cash withdrawal today. I have a contractor to meet."

​Without looking back at Julian, I walked out of the conference room. I could hear him swearing under his breath behind me, but I didn't care. I had just cut off his primary target. Now he was dangerous, but he was broke compared to what he expected to steal from me.

​I took the elevator down to the underground parking garage and got into my car. My phone buzzed on the dashboard. It was a text notification from an anonymous security account I had set up an hour ago.

​Alert: Camera feed active outside Southside Automotive Repair.

​I opened the live video on my phone screen.

​The camera showed the outside of Derrick's garage. Derrick was out front, carrying a heavy truck tire on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. His forehead was slick with sweat, and his dark shirt clung to his back.

​My heart hurt just looking at him. He hated my guts, and he thought I was crazy. But seeing him alive, breathing, and working was worth every bit of pain in my chest.

​I pulled up a contact for a top-tier private defense contractor—a firm that specialized in building high-security subterranean shelters for rich preppers.

​"Hello, Vanguard Solutions," a voice answered on the line.

​"I need an emergency construction team sent to the northern valley property," I said, driving out of the parking garage into the bright afternoon sun. "I want a fully self-sustained underground bunker built. Reinforced steel walls, air filtration systems, hydro-farms, and solar power arrays. I need it completed in seventy days."

​"Ma'am, a project of that scale usually takes a year and costs millions," the manager said, sounding skeptical.

​"I'll pay double your standard rate in cash," I replied. "Six million up front, six million upon completion. But you start tomorrow morning."

​There was a short silence on the line before the man answered, "We'll have our bulldozers on site by 7:00 AM."

​I hung up the phone and looked out at the busy city streets. Step one was complete. I had the money, and the fortress was under construction.

​Step two was buying weapons, non-perishable food, and medical gear without triggering government red flags.

​Step three was Derrick.

​I tapped my steering wheel, looking at the video feed on my phone screen. Derrick was putting away his tools as the sun began to set. He was strong and smart, but when the virus hit, a garage with thin sheet-metal doors would be a death trap.

​He wouldn't accept my money, and he wouldn't listen to my warnings. So, I was going to have to protect him without his permission.

​I picked up my phone and made one more call—this time to a commercial real estate agent.

​"I want to buy the entire commercial block on South 5th Street," I told the agent. "Including the repair shop at the corner."

​If Derrick wouldn't leave his shop, I would simply buy the land around him and turn his entire block into an impenetrable fortress before he even realized what was happening.