Chapter 1Your Debt Your Grave Now

Standing in that kitchen again, I could smell the over-roasted coffee and the metallic tang of my own blood.

In my previous life, this was the moment I shattered. Looking into my sister’s wide, innocent eyes, my heart had softened. I took on her predatory payday loans, tethering myself to a debt that wasn’t mine. From that day on, my mother branded me with the labels "vain" and "wasteful," broadcasted my supposed failures to anyone who would listen. Later, when a coveted position opened up at the local State Bureau, my mother moved heaven and earth to pave the way for my sister. But the "Golden Child" was rejected; her credit score was a graveyard of defaults and red flags.

My mother snapped. In her descent into madness, she pushed me from the thirtieth floor. I remember the wind screaming in my ears before the world went black.

Not this time. This time, the debt stays exactly where it belongs.

* * *

Smack.

The phone hit the bridge of my nose with a sickening thud. The screen was a spiderweb of cracks. Warm blood immediately began to leak into my mouth, tasting of salt and iron.

"Nancy! Look at what you've done!"

My mother, Beatrice, shrieked. The sound was a jagged blade against my eardrums, leaving my head ringing. I cupped my aching nose, my gaze falling to the phone on the linoleum floor. The screen was flooded with threatening texts.

MELANIE, your account ending in 8888 is 15 days past due. Balance: $35,600. Pay by 6 PM or we contact your emergency references!

My younger sister, Melanie, cowered behind Beatrice, clutching the hem of her cardigan. Her eyes were rimmed with red, tears spilling down her cheeks like perfectly timed props.

"Mom, she told me she just wanted a designer bag," Melanie sobbed. "She said she was afraid you’d be mad, so she used my ID to take out the loans. I didn't know she kept borrowing. Now these people call me every hour, screaming at me. I’m too scared to go to work."

It was a carbon copy of the past. The same trembling lip, the same practiced helplessness. In my last life, I had looked at that face and felt a misguided sense of sisterly duty. I thought family meant carrying each other's crosses.

I was wrong. I became the scapegoat, the pariah of the neighborhood, while Melanie wore her designer dresses and expensive makeup, funded by the very debt I was killing myself to pay. It wasn't until her background check for the government job came back "denied" that Beatrice’s facade of love turned into homicidal rage.

The ghost of that thirty-story fall still whistled in my ears.

I wiped the blood from my lip with the back of my hand and looked at them—really looked at them.

"Get on your knees!" Beatrice barked, her finger trembling as she pointed at the floor. "Your sister won't even buy a Starbucks latte to save money, and you’re out here stealing her identity for some overpriced leather? You will apologize to her right now, or so help me—"

I let out a sharp, dry laugh. "Why should I get on my knees?"

The room went silent. Beatrice blinked, stunned. I was usually the quiet one, the one who took the hits to keep the peace.

"Does this debt have even a cent to do with me?" I asked, my voice cold as a winter morning.

Melanie’s face twisted. Her crying spiked an octave. "Nancy! How can you say that? Do you think I did this? I don’t even know what those apps are called! You stole my social security card last month! You said it was for a gym membership!"

She buried her face in Beatrice’s shoulder, playing the victim with Oscar-winning precision. Beatrice’s face turned a violent shade of purple. She swung her hand, a wide, frantic arc aimed at my cheek.

"You ungrateful little bitch!"

I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink. I caught her wrist mid-air with a grip that surprised even me.

"What are you doing?" Beatrice gasped. "You’re going to hit your mother now?"

I shoved her hand away and reached for my own phone. I dialed 911 without a second of hesitation.

"Yes, I’d like to report a crime," I said clearly into the receiver. "Identity theft and large-scale financial fraud. Someone has taken out tens of thousands in predatory loans using a stolen ID."

Melanie went pale. She hadn't expected me to actually call the authorities. Usually, the mere threat of a scene was enough to make me fold. She scrambled toward me, trying to snatch the phone.

Beatrice stood frozen. "Nancy, have you lost your mind? You don't bring the police into family business! Think of the scandal!"

I turned to her, a predatory smile touching my lips. "If the money isn't mine, then we have nothing to fear from an investigation. Let the detectives track the digital trail. Let’s see exactly whose bank account that thirty thousand dollars landed in. Let’s see who spent it."

Melanie began to shake. She slumped against the sofa, her eyes darting around the room, the tears forgotten in the face of sheer, cold terror.