Chapter 2

2

After my rebirth, I sat in my Soho apartment in New York. Outside, it was 4:00 AM over Manhattan.

My phone was still vibrating.

I looked at the screen: Uncle, Silas Croft.

I answered.

"Audrey, you're awake? Listen, I need to talk to you," he said, his voice dripping with that calculated, oily warmth. "We've had a bumper crop this year. Twelve thousand pounds, maybe even more. Your company sells fresh produce, right? Just take the lot at an insider price, and I'll give you a twenty percent discount."

I didn't rush.

"Uncle," I said, "twelve thousand pounds. What's the standard of the product?"

"What do you mean, standard?" He laughed. "The usual. Organic, fresh, the kind you sell that people can eat right out of the box."

"And the organic certification?"

"Of course, of course," he insisted. "When have I ever let you down?"

I stayed silent for two seconds.

Then I said, "Twelve thousand pounds. I'll take them. But I'm sending my team to inspect the goods, box by box, before they hit the warehouse. Anything that doesn't meet my standard stays behind."

The line went quiet for about three seconds.

Then he laughed again. It was that laugh―the one I'd heard countless times in my past life.

"Audrey, you talk as if I'd ever cheat you. We're family, for God's sake. What are you doing?"

"It's not about cheating, Uncle," I replied. "It's about company protocol. In this business, if one box goes bad, the whole brand's reputation is finished."

I added, "Besides, Uncle, everyone in town is watching how you run your business."

That was a calculated jab.

I knew him too well. The thing he cared about most was his reputation―he needed to see "Silas Croft is a stand-up guy" in everyone's eyes.

So, the more I acted like I was labeling him an "honest farmer," the more impossible it would be for him to drop the act.

And it worked.

"Fine!" he thundered, acting affronted. "Send your people! I'll open up the whole farm for you! If you can't find a single fault, then you owe me an explanation―why don't you trust your own uncle?"

"Fine," I said. "I'll send them over."

I hung up and sat on my bed, motionless for about five minutes.

Every memory of my past life flashed before my eyes like a fast-forwarded reel.

My uncle hadn't just decided to torch the house on a whim during the Blueberry Festival.

He'd been planning it for at least two months.

If my team had inspected the goods during the day, they wouldn't have found a thing―because he'd staged the best blueberries for them weeks in advance. The actual shipment? That was the rotten, two-month-old trash he'd pulled from the bottom of his cold storage.

My company's customer service line exploded with over three hundred complaints.

I demanded a refund and compensation.

He refused.

And then, he posted his first TikTok: "Billionaire Niece Refuses to Pay Local Farmer Fair Price."

That video went viral with over four million shares.

#BoycottFreshLeaf trended nationally.

My company's stock dropped eighteen percent in two days.

And that night, he arrived.

With a jerrycan of gasoline and a box of matches.