Chapter 2

I opened the family group chat. The group was called "Our Warm Home," with just three members: me, Daniel, and his mother, Margaret.

I took a deep breath and sent in the screenshots and video link. No emoji, just one cold question: "Daniel, Margaret, I need an explanation. Immediately."

Send.

The next second, Margaret's voice message popped up.

"Elena! Oh my God!" Her voice burst through the speaker, shrill and dripping with theatrical shock and concern. "I just clicked on it! This is outrageous! Horrifying! This is absolutely fake! One hundred percent computer-generated! These online scammers are so sophisticated now—they must've gotten your asset information through some illegal channel. Oh, maybe there's a mole at the bank or the law firm! Sweetheart, you need to call the police immediately! This is serious financial fraud and identity theft!"

The urgency in her tone was practically spilling through the screen, as if desperately covering something up.

Right after, Daniel's message came through—text this time.

"Ella, calm down. I just got out of a meeting and saw this." His wording was formal, deliberately measured. "This is clearly an orchestrated defamation and fraud attempt. The video is a deepfake, and the asset documents are stolen information, photoshopped. The target is likely me, or our family's status. I've already had the company's legal team handle it urgently. They'll contact the platform, trace the poster's information, and prepare cease-and-desist letters. You don't need to worry. Leave everything to me. Don't let this cheap trick upset you, okay? I love you."

He even sent a hugging emoji.

I stared at those words—"I love you"—and felt my stomach turn.

His response was too quick. Too thorough. Too much like a rehearsed crisis PR script.

I typed back, fingers trembling slightly, but forcing my words to sound calm:

"Really? But the details are so similar, even the engraving of Leah's initials on the gold bars. I'm really scared."

"That's exactly what makes the forger so clever!" Margaret's voice message came again, faster this time. "They're exploiting your emotional vulnerability! Using what you care about most to frighten you! Listen to Daniel—he's your husband, he'll protect this family!"

Daniel replied: "I understand your fear, baby. But precisely because of Leah's details, it proves this is targeted, malicious forgery. How would strangers know these things? Trust me, I'll handle it. Get a good night's sleep tonight, and everything will be cleared up tomorrow."

They were tag-teaming, chalking up every suspicious detail to "external crime," framing their reassurances as "protection." Airtight.

If I really were just a frightened, naive housewife, I'd probably be throwing myself into my husband's arms for comfort right about now.

"Okay," I finally replied in the group. "If you both say so, I feel a bit better. Maybe I'm overthinking it. Got spooked. Sorry for bothering you."

"Don't you dare apologize, dear!" Margaret shot back instantly. "We're family! You should always tell us first if anything happens!"

"Get some rest," Daniel said last. "See you tomorrow."

The group chat went quiet.

I set down my phone. Everything looked calm and normal. Daniel said he was at the office handling an urgent project. But ten minutes ago, Bianca had just updated her social media with a photo of the afternoon cityscape from a high-rise office window. Caption: "Someone took time out of his busy day to see me. Mood: amazing."

Posted at nearly the exact time Daniel claimed he was "in a meeting."

Another coincidence?

They wanted me to believe it was high-tech forgery, information theft.

But what kind of forgery could precisely replicate the handmade engravings on those gold bars? What kind of theft could access property numbers I'd never disclosed publicly?

Arguing about authenticity was pointless. The most direct way to verify was to check whether the items were still where they were supposed to be.

I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I couldn't even wait until dinnertime.

I grabbed my purse and car keys. I didn't call Daniel. Didn't text him.

The private bank managing my family trust was located in the heart of the financial district. I handed my car to the valet and walked straight to the VIP entrance. A familiar account manager approached, dressed in an impeccable suit, his smile professional.

"Mrs. Anderson, good afternoon. How may I assist you?"

"I need access to my private vault to check my safety deposit box." I kept my tone casual, like it was just a routine inspection.

"Of course, right this way." He smoothly guided me through identity verification, checking my ID and dynamic password. "Are you depositing or withdrawing something specific today, or just reviewing?"

"Just reviewing," I said.

"Very well, please follow me."

He led me through a glass door requiring dual authorization, down a hallway carpeted in plush fabric, and into the inner vault area.

The heavy metal door opened, revealing walls lined with deposit boxes of various sizes.

I walked to the one with my assigned number. James stood waiting at the compliant distance, a few steps away.

I extended my finger to the biometric scanner, then entered the long password.

The electronic lock emitted a crisp beep. The green light turned on.

I gripped the cold metal handle, twisted it, and pulled open the heavy door.