I HOARDED TRILLIONS BEFORE THE GREAT FREEZE

Chapter 2: Rejecting The Parasites

The shrill blast of Clara's voice bounced off the polished glass walls of the private office, carrying the frantic, entitled fury of a woman whose meal ticket had just grown a spine. Director Miller shrank back into his ergonomic chair, staring at my smartphone like it was a live grenade.

I didn't flinch. In my past life, that voice had been my leash, jerking me around with guilt, tears, and calculated manipulation until I handed over my dignity, my savings, and eventually my life. Now, listening to her screeching through the speaker, I felt only a profound, freezing emptiness. The foster home trauma and the desperate need to prove my worth that she had exploited for years evaporated into ash.

"Ethan, are you even listening to me?" Clara shrieked, her tone shifting from demanding to venomous. "Garrett is having a panic attack! If those men break his legs, I swear to God I will never speak to you again. You signed a commitment to my family when we got engaged! Transfer the money right now or consider yourself single!"

I reached out slowly, my thumb hovering over the screen. For a fleeting second, the old instincts whispered warnings of conflict, of social fallout, of the looming wedding date we had booked for next month. But then my mind flashed to the cold apartment, the biting frost, and the wet, tearing sounds of my own flesh being carved away while Clara watched with dead eyes.

"The wedding is off, Clara," I said. My voice was quiet, deadpan, and absolute.

Silence swallowed the line for a fraction of a second. Even through the tiny speaker, I could hear her sharp intake of breath.

"What did you just say?" she whispered, the shrillness dropping into a dangerous, icy register.

"I said the wedding is canceled," I repeated, enunciating every single word with deliberate cruelty. "You and your brother are cut off. Every joint account is frozen. Every credit card linked to my business is locked. Do not call this number again, Clara. If you or Garrett come within five hundred feet of my offices or my home, I will have you arrested for trespassing and extortion."

"You arrogant piece of trash!" Clara exploded, her voice breaking past any pretense of sweetness or feminine charm. "You think you can dump me after everything I've given you? You are nothing without me! I will ruin you! I will make sure everyone in this city knows what kind of violent, abusive monster you really are!"

I didn't bother arguing. I didn't even let her finish her next sentence. I pressed the red end call button, severed the connection instantly, and tapped my screen to block her number. A second later, I navigated to the bank app interface still open on my secondary phone and executed a complete sweep, unlinking every shared account, draining the remaining personal safety reserves into a private holding account, and locking down all digital permissions.

Director Miller swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he pushed the final ten million dollar liquidation document across the mahogany desk.

"Mr... Mr. Vance," Miller stammered, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. "Your emergency credit line is fully approved and disbursed into your primary corporate reserves. The paperwork is finalized."

I picked up the heavy Montblanc pen, the exact one I had briefly tested in my spatial vault moments earlier, and signed my name with sharp, aggressive strokes. The ink bled cleanly into the paper, sealing my financial liberation.

"Good work, Director Miller," I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. "Keep all records of today's transaction strictly confidential. If anyone from the Miller family inquires about my accounts, you tell them nothing."

"Understood, sir! Absolutely confidential," Miller blurted out, standing at rigid attention as if facing a military commander.

I turned on my heel and walked out of the private office, my leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble floor of the bank lobby. The heavy glass doors swung open, welcoming me out into the blinding afternoon heat of August. The sun beat down fiercely on the pavement, radiating a heavy, humid wave that would feel oppressive to anyone else. But to me, knowing what was coming in exactly sixty days, the heat felt like a luxury. Every degree of warmth was a blessing I intended to hoard, store, and weaponize.

As I crossed the asphalt parking lot toward my black luxury SUV, a profound sense of lightness settled deep into my chest. The anchor that had dragged me down through years of emotional abuse and financial bleeding was finally cut. The parasite was off my back.

I pulled open the driver side door and slid into the cool leather seat, tossing my briefcase onto the passenger side. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and unlocked the screen to check the corporate transfer confirmations before throwing the vehicle into drive.

Suddenly, the screen lit up with a harsh, glaring push notification.

A high-profile local social media forum alert popped up, featuring a newly trending post tagged with my name and business handle. My jaw tightened as my eyes scanned the bold, inflammatory headline flashing across the display.

The public smear campaign had already begun. Clara wasn't wasting a single second.

The post branded me as a predatory, violent abuser who had trapped an innocent woman in a toxic relationship, complete with fabricated screenshots and sob stories written by Garrett. Comments were already pouring in by the dozens, full of outrage, condemnation, and digital pitchforks calling for the immediate boycott of Vance Global Logistics.

A dark, humorless smile touched the corners of my lips. She thought a petty internet smear campaign could destroy me. She had no idea that in sixty days, the internet, social media, society, and the entire monetary system would be completely wiped out by a wall of endless ice. While she wasted her final weeks playing games of character assassination, I was building an indestructible fortress.

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, ignoring the rising tide of notifications, and slammed my foot down on the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, shooting the vehicle out of the parking lot and straight toward the city's largest industrial warehouse district.