Ninety-Two Days Before the Ice

The Price of Greed

“Lexi, I’m dropping your case.”

Lexi froze.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Rex Swanson’s voice was tight with anger. “How much have you been hiding from me? Chris isn’t Rhys’s biological son, is he?”

Silence.

Then Lexi exhaled. “No. But that has nothing to do with Rhys hiding marital assets.”

“His attorney disagrees. Rhys wants to reopen the property settlement over the paternity deception, and he’s seeking damages for emotional distress. You failed to tell me something that could change the entire case.”

“He can’t prove anything.”

“Apparently, he has evidence. And he hired Joshua Hearn.”

Lexi’s confidence wavered.

“One of Sydvale’s best divorce attorneys,” Rex continued. “He specializes in high-asset disputes. He almost never loses.”

“Almost never,” Lexi repeated coldly. “Then he can lose this one.”

“Not if you keep withholding information from your own lawyer. If you want me to continue, my f*e is going up.”

Of course. Money.

Rex named the new amount. Lexi’s jaw tightened, but twelve million dollars was worth fighting for.

“Fine. But I expect results.”

“And I expect honesty.”

The call ended.

Lexi stared at her phone. Rhys had once been easy to control. Now he was challenging her in court, threatening to expose her secrets, and making every step of her plan more expensive.

She would not let him win.

If he wanted a fight, she would give him one.

A little later, Michael called everyone downstairs for lunch. Lexi followed the family to the restaurant, hoping a change of scenery would calm her nerves.

Instead, she saw someone she never expected to see again.

Her blood ran cold.

By noon, Rhys had finally finished his apocalypse shopping list.

He had barely slept. Food, medicine, fuel, generators, tools, weapons—every item reminded him of something else he had forgotten in his previous life.

One overlooked supply could mean the difference between survival and death.

He saved the document and headed downstairs for food.

Two floors later, the elevator stopped.

“Oh, Rhys!”

Mrs. Dawson stepped inside, beaming.

“When are you going to meet my daughter? She’s pretty, sweet, has a good job, and she’s family-oriented. You two would be perfect together!”

Rhys nearly groaned.

Since his divorce, half the neighborhood seemed determined to find him a wife. Apparently, becoming wealthy had made him irresistible.

“Maybe another time, Mrs. Dawson.”

“You said that last time!”

The doors opened, and Rhys escaped before she could continue.

“Don’t forget her number!” she called.

“Of course!”

He had no intention of remembering it.

In three months, nobody would care about marriage proposals. They would care about food, water, warmth, and surviving another night.

His smile faded as he approached the neighborhood entrance.

The Stowes were coming toward him.

Chris spotted him first.

“Son of a bitch!” the boy shouted, pointing. “The son of a bitch is here!”

Rhys stopped.

Not long ago, that same child had called him Dad. Now Lexi didn't even correct him.

Interesting.

Rhys looked at her. She met his eyes without the slightest embarrassment.

That told him everything.

Michael stormed forward.

“You son of a bitch! Hiding twelve million dollars in marital assets is serious. You could go to prison!”

“Is that what your lawyer told you?”

Michael faltered. “What?”

Rhys took out his phone.

“Let’s find out.”

He called Joshua and briefly explained the accusation. After listening to the response, he thanked his attorney and ended the call.

“My lawyer says it isn’t that simple,” Rhys said. “A property dispute doesn’t automatically become a criminal case just because you shout loud enough.”

Michael’s face reddened.

“And he advised me to document any attempts to intimidate me over the proceedings. So, please, go ahead. I’m listening.”

For once, Michael had nothing to say.

The man who had spent years ordering Rhys around now stood before him, unable to force even a flicker of fear from his face.

“Don’t talk to my father like that!” Henry stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves.

Rhys turned toward him.

Henry stopped.

“Enough,” Lexi snapped, stepping between them.

Her smile was cold. “Enjoy your confidence while you can. Once the court determines that the money belongs to the marriage, you’ll have to surrender your share.”

Rhys almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

“You’re still thinking about my money?”

“It’s marital property!”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself?”

Lexi’s expression hardened. “The court will decide.”

“Then let it.”

His calmness unsettled her more than shouting ever could.

Rhys glanced at the four of them. They were furious, but beneath the anger lay something far more revealing.

Greed.

They wanted his house, his money, and whatever else they imagined he possessed.

“You’re all desperate to know how much I have, aren’t you?”

Nobody answered.

They didn't need to.

Michael’s eyes sharpened. Britt leaned forward. Even Henry forgot his anger.

Rhys smiled.

“You wish.”

The Stowes erupted.

Michael demanded answers. Britt began asking about his investments. Henry accused him of deliberately provoking them, while Lexi tried to silence everyone without taking her eyes off Rhys.

He let them argue.

Then his phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

UNKNOWN: Stop asking questions about the Great Freeze.

Rhys’s smile disappeared.

He read the message again.

The Great Freeze hadn't happened yet. As far as he knew, the countdown existed only in his memory and on the private list he had been compiling.

He had told nobody.

Slowly, Rhys raised his eyes toward the street beyond the Stowes.

A black vehicle was parked across the road.

Its engine was running.

Before he could get a clear look at the driver, the vehicle pulled away.

Rhys slipped his phone into his pocket.

The Stowes were still arguing about his fortune, oblivious to the sudden change in his expression.

They thought his money was the secret worth uncovering.

They were wrong.

Someone else knew the apocalypse was coming.