Chapter 3Spend It All Or Die Tonight

Beatrice Whitmore.

We had been neighbors growing up, the kind of best friends who shared every secret and a blood-oath of sisterhood. But after my parents’ business collapsed and they committed suicide, I was shuffled off to distant relatives in another state. We hadn't spoken since middle school.

I’d recently seen her name in the business section. She’d made a fortune in European tech and had started investing back in the States last year. Out of everyone I knew, she was the only one with the resources to pull this off.

But why?

If she wanted to help me, why the doubling game? Why did I die in my first life? Was my death the goal?

If this was a conspiracy, what could she possibly want from a girl who had nothing but a pile of medical debt and a haunted past?

I couldn't find an answer, but she was my only lead. I tried her office number—blocked. I went to her corporate headquarters, but the receptionist told me Ms. Whitmore was "unavailable" to see me.

That meant one of two things: either she’d forgotten I existed, or she was terrified of looking me in the eye.

I played it cool. I used the doubling money—now in the hundreds of thousands—to buy a sleek, nondescript SUV and spent my days staked out across from her office.

Finally, I saw her.

I followed her car to a private bank—the same one I had visited in my first life. I watched through the window as the manager practically bowed to her.

That was the confirmation I needed. The bank wasn't a glitch; it was an accomplice. They were erasing the trail for her.

As she walked out toward her car, I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward, blocking her path.

"Beatrice! Why are you doing this?" I screamed, grabbing her by the lapels of her designer coat. I searched her face for a flicker of guilt, for the girl I used to know.

She looked startled, then annoyed. "Cassie? Cassie Lane?"

She pulled back, smoothing her coat. "You’ve lost your mind. What on earth are you talking about?"

"The money! The deposits! Why are you messing with my head?"

I pointed at the bank manager who had rushed out to assist her. "How much did you pay them to lie to me? To tell me my balance is zero while you pump millions into my account?"

The manager didn't even let Beatrice answer. He grabbed my arm, shoving me back with enough force to make me stumble.

"You're delusional," the manager spat. "Ms. Whitmore is here on high-level corporate business. You? You're a girl who couldn't even afford her own antibiotics a month ago. You think a woman like her has time to play games with a charity case like you?"

Beatrice sighed, reaching into her Birkin bag. She pulled out a roll of hundred-dollar bills and tossed them at my feet.

"Look, Cassie. I get it. You heard I was back in town and you're desperate. You want to cash in on a friendship that ended fifteen years ago? Fine. Take the cash and get lost. That’s all our 'history' is worth to me."

She turned and climbed into her town car without a backward glance.

I stood there, fists clenched, watching the red glow of her taillights. I was more certain now than ever. Beatrice was the one.

Because the manager had said something he shouldn't have known.

"A girl who couldn't even afford her own antibiotics a month ago."

In this life, I hadn't been to this bank. I hadn't told anyone about my illness here. How did he know I was sick?

There was only one way. They had been watching me.