Chapter 2

2.

"Lucas is bidding on that development plot along the Brooklyn waterfront next week. His maximum offer is three hundred million dollars."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Is your source reliable?"

"He'll win the bid," I continued. "But three months later, a federal agency will intervene. The deep soil of that land will be found to be a massive burial site for Class A carcinogenic toxic waste. At the same time, it's also the site of an ancient, sacred burial ground for the Mohawk people. According to the federal Superfund Act and the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, the project will be halted indefinitely. His three hundred million will be completely tied up, and he'll be on the hook for hundreds of millions more in environmental cleanup costs."

I went on.

"And all you have to do before that happens is short the weakest link in his capital chain―'Velocity Logistics.'"

He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Interesting."

He pulled a black card from a drawer and pushed it across the table to me. As he handed it over, his fingertips brushed against my palm―maybe it was an accident, but the jolt of electricity it sent through me made my fingers curl instinctively.

"This card has a half-million-dollar credit line. Consider it your startup capital."

"But don't think you can just take the money and run. You're my risk hedge asset now. If you fuck this up, I'll make sure you can't survive in New York."

This was my chance, but it was also a test.

I took the card and stood up to leave. "Pleasure doing business with you, Damian."

Walking out of the Vance Capital building, the Manhattan sun was blinding, but I couldn't feel its warmth. The road to revenge was just beginning.

I used the money Damian gave me to rent a small, inconspicuous apartment in Chelsea. I intentionally used a new MacBook to operate, planting some fake intel to "feed" Lucas's surveillance systems.

I knew that in one week, Velocity Logistics would be hit with a scandal involving illegal cargo, and its stock would plummet.

This was the informational advantage my rebirth gave me, and it was the second offering I was bringing to Damian.

Everything was going according to plan.

I was practically counting down the seconds, and a minute before the scandal broke, I put all my funds into a short position.

However, the stock price didn't collapse as I expected. Instead, a mysterious wave of overseas capital swooped in and propped it up. It was actually rising.

I stared at the screen, my eyes wide. I knew it!

Lucas, you're even more cunning than I thought!

My phone rang. It was Lucas's private number.

I took a deep breath and answered.

"Vivian, did you really think you could play with the big boys on Wall Street just because you left me?"

His voice was dripping with mockery.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice your little moves? I knew something was off with you a week before the divorce. Did you think that new laptop you secretly bought could hide from the keylogger I had someone install?"

"Every key you pressed, every stock ticker you searched, was sent to my server in real-time."

"I laid out the bait on purpose, and you actually took it."

A cold chill ran down my spine, but I kept my voice steady. "I see."

"Do you think Damian Vance is some kind of saint?" he sneered. "He's just using you, treating you like some rabid dog to bite me. When he gets tired of you, what do you think will happen to you?"

I didn't say another word. I just hung up.

The apartment was silent. I looked at the bright red loss figures on my screen, but my mind was perfectly clear.

Lucas, you think you're in control of everything. But you have no idea that letting you think I fell for your trap was exactly part of my plan.

Just then, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was an automated alert from my bank.

"Dear Ms. Wells, your primary credit card has been temporarily frozen due to risk control measures. To unfreeze your account, please contact..."

My heart sank. Then a second text, and a third―my secondary card, my debit card, even my personal checking account at Chase, were all frozen for "suspicious transactional activity."

I immediately called the bank's customer service. Their explanation was slick and corporate. "Ms. Wells, according to our risk management system, your accounts have recently been linked to entities on a financial regulatory watch list..."

I understood. Lucas had used his connections in the financial world to put me on some kind of unofficial credit blacklist. It wasn't a legal proceeding; it was one of Wall Street's dirty little secrets. One phone call, one internal memo, and a person could be completely shut out of the city's financial system.

Without a credit card, I couldn't pay for a hotel. Without a bank account, I couldn't even pay my rent.

The next day, my landlady called, her tone cold.

"Ms. Wells, I'm very sorry, but we've been notified that you've been placed on a tenant risk list. According to the credit guarantee clause in your lease, we have the right to terminate the agreement. You have seventy-two hours to vacate the premises."

My hands and feet went cold. He was trying to push me to the brink, to leave me homeless on the streets of New York.

I had to make the one call I never wanted to make.

"Lucas, my personal belongings are still at the house on Long Island. I need to go back and get them."

"Sure," he laughed on the other end of the line. "Come back and beg me."

Half an hour later, I was standing at the gate of what was once my home on the Gold Coast of Long Island.