Whatever. I'm Here to Destroy the Company

Of course, I knew Cathleen wouldn't let things end there. But I didn't expect her to move so fast—or play so dirty.

On my way back from the bank after wiring the funds, a plain white van with no license plates suddenly cut off my taxi. Several men in black ski masks piled out, yanked open the door without a word, and pressed an ether-soaked rag over my mouth and nose.

I held my breath and played along, pretending to pass out. I didn't mind playing the bait if it meant trapping the rats.

When I came to, I found myself in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.

The air stank of grease and mildew.

Rough hemp rope bound me to a rusty iron chair. Seven or eight burly men with clubs stood around me. And Cathleen loomed above, looking down like she'd already won.

"Abby. Look at you now."

She twirled a folding knife in her hand, every trace of fake kindness ripped from her face. Underneath was something ugly and vicious.

"What's the password? Transfer that 10 million back, and maybe I'll let you die quickly."

I shifted my bound wrists. Instead of panicking, I let out a soft laugh.

"Cathleen, you're not just stupid. You're rotten to the core. You think killing me will lock you into the Newark family heiress spot forever?"

"Shut up!"

My laugh sent her over the edge. She swung her hand toward my face.

I tilted my head slightly, dodging the slap, and my eyes went ice cold.

"I treated you like a sister. Wrote your code. Took the blame for you. And you want me dead. Cathleen, a stolen life always comes due."

"Due? Why should I pay anything back? I'm Mom and Dad's favorite daughter! Once you're dead, no one will ever know you wrote that code!"

Cathleen's voice rose to a hysterical shriek. She spun to the thugs and screamed, "Beat her! Break her hands! Let's see her type code then! Don't stop until she begs for mercy!"

The lead thug stepped forward with a grin. He raised a steel pipe as thick as a wrist, aimed at my knee, and swung down hard.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn't have pissed off the wrong people."

The pipe whistled through the air.

I flicked my wrist. The micro-blade hidden in my sleeve sliced through the rope like butter.

The next second, I exploded upward. My foot slammed into the thug's chest.

A two-hundred-pound man flew backward like a ragdoll and crashed into a stack of oil drums with a deafening clang.

Dead silence.

Cathleen's scream caught in her throat. Her eyes looked ready to pop out of her skull.

I rolled my wrists, cracked my neck, and swapped my calm expression for something cold and ruthless.

"Been a while since I stretched my legs."

I picked up the fallen steel pipe, hefted it in my hand, and curled my lips into a cruel smile.

"Hope you boys can take a hit. I hate being bored."

"Get her! All of you! Kill her!" Cathleen scrambled backward, shrieking orders.

The remaining six thugs charged at once. But against a gold-tier agent from the Quick Transmigration Bureau, these so-called tough guys were nothing but slow-motion punching bags.

I moved so fast I was barely a blur. Every strike came with the crack of breaking bones and a fresh scream of agony.

Three minutes. That was all it took. Every last thug lay writhing on the floor, clutching broken arms and legs. Not one of them could stand.

I dropped the now-bent pipe, stepped over the mess, and walked toward Cathleen, who had curled herself into the corner.

She'd already pissed herself in terror. The knife had fallen from her hand. She shook like a leaf in a hurricane, tears and snot smeared across her face.

"Wh-who are you… you're not Abby… Abby is a useless coward. She couldn't—she couldn't do this…"

I crouched down, reached out, and patted her bloodless cheek. My voice came out soft and sweet—and absolutely terrifying.

"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters, sister dearest, is this: the game has only just begun."