After My Death, I Exposed Her Perfect Crimes

After dance class, I headed straight to the empty computer lab, my mind racing with possibilities. The school was quieter now, most students gone for the day. Perfect for what I needed to do.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a contact I hadn't called in years—not in this lifetime, anyway.

"Nichols Investment Group, how may I direct your call?" The professional voice answered on the second ring.

"Edward Nichols, please. Tell him it's his granddaughter, Samantha."

A brief pause. "One moment, Miss Nichols."

My fingers drummed nervously against the desk as I waited. In my previous life, I'd been too proud, too determined to handle everything myself. That independence had cost me everything.

"Samantha?" My grandfather's deep voice came through the line, a note of surprise evident. "This is unexpected. Is everything alright?"

I took a deep breath. "Actually, no. I need your help, Grandpa. It's important."

"What's wrong?" The immediate concern in his voice nearly broke me.

"I have reason to believe someone at school is planning to steal my identity," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I need protection—credit monitoring, identity theft prevention, everything you can think of."

A beat of silence. "That's... specific. Has something happened?"

"Call it intuition," I replied. "But I'd rather be paranoid than sorry."

"I'll be there after school," he said without hesitation. "Text me the address. We'll take care of this today."

Relief flooded through me. "Thank you, Grandpa."

"Samantha," he said before hanging up, "whatever's going on, you're not alone. Remember that."

The words struck me like a physical blow. In my previous life, I had been so terribly alone at the end.

Not this time.

---

The next morning, I arrived at school early, a spare dance costume carefully folded in my bag. As I approached my locker, I spotted Riley and two of her friends huddled nearby, their voices dropping to whispers when they saw me.

I pretended not to notice, methodically spinning my combination lock. Yesterday's credit protection meeting with Grandpa had gone perfectly—he'd arrived with his company's security expert, and together they'd locked down my identity tighter than Fort Knox. The relief on my parents' faces when they realized what could have happened had been worth every awkward explanation.

"Morning, Sam!" Riley's voice, artificially bright, cut through my thoughts. She approached, a large coffee cup in hand, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"Riley," I acknowledged coolly, pulling out my dance bag.

"Getting ready for rehearsal? Ms. Hayes says your new piece is... interesting." The slight emphasis made her meaning clear—she'd already been trying to undermine me with our instructor.

I shrugged, turning to close my locker. As I did, Riley took a step forward, her coffee cup tilting just enough to send a stream of dark liquid cascading onto my dance bag—right where my costume would be.

"Oh my god!" she gasped, her free hand flying to her mouth in mock horror. "I'm so clumsy! Your costume!"

I met her gaze steadily, then slowly unzipped my bag. The coffee had soaked through, staining the outer fabric of the bag dark brown.

"Such a shame," Riley said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "And rehearsal starts in ten minutes..."

I reached into my locker and pulled out another bag, this one smaller and waterproof. Unzipping it, I revealed an identical, pristine costume.

"Fortunately," I said, my voice even, "dancers always have backups."

The flash of frustration in Riley's eyes was quickly masked, but I'd seen it. She hadn't expected me to be prepared.

"How... organized of you," she managed, her smile strained.

"I've learned to anticipate... accidents," I replied, closing my locker with a decisive click.

As I walked away, I heard one of Riley's friends whisper, "That was weird. It's like she knew..."

Indeed I did. And I was just getting started.

---

The school had emptied hours ago, but I remained, hidden in the shadows of the AV room. The security footage from the common areas played on the monitor before me—a favor from the tech club president after I'd helped him with his dance for the upcoming talent show.

My eyes burned from staring at the screen, but I refused to look away. Riley had to slip up eventually. Everyone did.

And then I saw it.

Riley, glancing furtively over her shoulder, approaching Bethany Williams' locker. Bethany—the scholarship student whose financial aid documents had mysteriously "disappeared" last year, forcing her to drop out. In my previous life, I'd never connected the dots.

I leaned closer, watching as Riley slipped something that looked like a master key into the lock, quickly opened the locker, and removed something before closing it again.

My heart raced as I fumbled for my phone, capturing a screenshot of the footage. Evidence. Real, tangible evidence of Riley's activities.

As I stared at the image on my phone, a chill ran down my spine. The hunt had begun—and this time, I wouldn't be the prey.