Chapter 3

I had just been to his office last month, enjoying some excellent coffee. At the time, he was complaining to me that too many people were counterfeiting their institution's official seal to scam people, severely damaging their reputation. Their legal department was about to team up with the police for a large-scale arrest.

Brenda, seeing me smile at the stamp, thought I was stunned into silence. She advanced triumphantly.

"What? What are you laughing at? Nothing to say, huh? Sophia, I advise you to pay up quickly. Otherwise, I'll post this in the residents' SnapChat group, and the school parents' group! I'll let everyone know what a cold-blooded, heartless person you are!"

I slowly folded the paper and calmly slipped it into my designer bag.

"Alright."

Brenda froze, seemingly unprepared for my reaction. "What did you say?"

I looked at her, every word clear and forceful. "I said, alright. Post it wherever you want, go viral if you wish. But Brenda, I'm making myself clear right here and right now. I won't give you a single cent, not a single dime of that fifteen thousand. Not only will I not pay, but I'll make you pay a price you can't afford for this worthless piece of paper."

With that, I turned, got back into my car, and slammed the door shut with a bang.

I started the engine, shifted into gear, and floored the accelerator.

The three-hundred-horsepower engine instantly let out a beastly roar, and the tires screeched against the epoxy floor of the underground garage.

David and Martha shrieked, their faces pale, scrambling to hide behind a nearby pillar.

Brenda, retreating too quickly in her high heels, twisted her ankle and fell hard on the ground, her perfectly made-up face instantly contorted in pain.

I rolled down my window, coldly tossing out a warning: "If you're not afraid to die, keep blocking my car with your body."

Then, I swerved the steering wheel, my car brushing past their clothes as I drove away.

In my rearview mirror, Brenda frantically picked herself up from the ground, pointing and cursing at my taillights like a complete banshee.

I activated my car's Bluetooth and called Mr. Jenkins, the property manager.

"Mr. Jenkins, underground garage, Zone B, spot 102. Someone was causing trouble and blocking my vehicle. Please immediately retrieve the last ten minutes of surveillance footage and preserve it exactly as is. If a single second is missing, I'll hold you accountable."

Hanging up, I took a deep breath of the cool air in the car.

The war had just begun.