Chapter4

My bank statement doesn’t lie.

Over the past three months, I’d spent forty-seven thousand dollars on Lucky Star.

My drawers were stuffed with unopened “lucky gifts”—those cheap scarves and plastic cups piled up like a small mountain.

And the Professor’s Blessing card I wanted? Not even a shadow of it.

Even for me now, this wasn’t an amount that could be ignored.

Something was wrong.

I had a friend in college named Ryan, now a programmer.

Last week I bought him coffee and casually brought it up. “Tell me, for a card-drawing game, is it normal to spend almost fifty grand and still not get the top-tier card?”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Fifty grand? What kind of card is this divine? Let me see.”

I installed the app on his test phone. He fiddled with it for twenty minutes, fingers flying across the keyboard, his expression growing more serious.

“Mia,” he finally said, turning the screen toward me. It showed a string of code I couldn’t understand. “I did a simple packet analysis. See this parameter? It’s set to zero. Absolute, complete zero.”

I didn’t get it. “What does that mean?”

“It means you will never draw that card.” Ryan pointed to the line of code. “Impossible drop rate. This isn’t bad luck. It’s a scam.”

My ears suddenly started ringing. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. This app is a bottomless pit designed to hook people like you who keep paying and believing next time will be the one.” He shut the laptop and looked at me. “Who recommended this to you?”

“…A friend.” My voice was dry.

“What friend? Get away from them, fast.”

I sat in the coffee shop, cold all over.

Benjamin’s gentle smile, his expression when he said “rarity is precious,” that reassuring tone when he said “continued effort”—all of it twisted.

He’s a math professor. He knows the developers. How could he not know the probability was zero?

A scam.

I didn’t go straight home. I went to a nondescript private investigation agency in the west side of town, paid a hefty deposit in cash, and commissioned two things: First, uncover the actual controller of the Cayman Islands company behind Lucky Star. Second, conduct a week-long deep background investigation and tracking of Professor Benjamin Cole.

“I want to know who he meets with, especially anyone connected to this company.” I told the detective who met with me. He was a silent middle-aged man who just nodded.

During the days waiting for results, I pretended everything was normal.

Benjamin asked me to an art exhibition. I went.

He talked about geometric beauty in art, voice steady.

I looked at his eyes behind those glasses, for the first time trying to find traces of deception.

All I saw was a chilling calmness.

The detective’s first report was short and direct.

“Star Path Entertainment Limited”’s equity went through layers of shell companies, ultimately pointing to two names: one was an offshore holding vehicle your late Uncle Thomas had long used, and the other was Benjamin Cole, appearing as a technical consultant in related documents, with a contract date from long before you knew him.

The second report came with photos.

The detective had followed Benjamin to a private club.

The photo was taken from a distance with a telephoto lens, slightly blurry, but clear enough.

At a round table covered with a white cloth sat three men.

My Uncle Thomas, alive and well, raising a glass with a smile.

To his left was Daniel, my ex-boyfriend, wearing an expensive suit I’d never seen, looking relaxed.

To his right was Benjamin, my math professor, head slightly tilted, listening to Thomas speak, wearing that familiar gentle, attentive expression.

The timestamp in the bottom right corner clearly showed it was from forty-eight hours ago.