Reborn in Apocalypse

The Legal Trap and the Auction Frenzy

​The slick glass facade of the Vanguard Legal Group building reflected the morning sun, shining brightly over the city’s financial district. Inside the 18th-floor conference room, the atmosphere was thick with tension.

​Chloe sat at the head of the polished oak table, wearing a dark navy blazer and oversized sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes. Beside her was Ryan, his nose heavily bandaged with white medical tape, breathing through his mouth with a painful wheeze. On Chloe’s right sat Ethan Cross, lounging casually in a leather armchair, tapping his expensive fountain pen against a tablet. Across from them stood Mr. Sterling, a ruthless corporate attorney known for destroying small-time defendants.

​When the heavy wooden door opened at exactly 10:00 AM, Lucas walked in alone. He was wearing a plain dark hoodie and simple jeans, carrying nothing except his hands in his pockets.

​Seeing Lucas’s casual demeanor, Ryan’s eyes flared with pure hatred. "You arrogant bastard... You think you can just walk in here after breaking my face?!"

​"Quiet, Ryan," Mr. Sterling cautioned smoothly, gesturing for Lucas to take a seat across the table.

​Lucas pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning back comfortably. He looked at the four people across from him with a look of quiet amusement, as if he were watching a group of actors performing a tragicomedy.

​"Mr. Vance," Mr. Sterling began, sliding a thick legal folder across the glass table. "My clients have filed two formal actions against you. First, a criminal complaint for aggravated assault resulting in severe bodily harm to Ryan Miller. Second, a civil lawsuit demanding the immediate freeze and division of your pre-marital assets, specifically the residential villa inherited from your late parents."

​Lucas didn't even touch the folder. "Go on."

​"Given the severity of the criminal charges, you are looking at three to five years in a state penitentiary," Mr. Sterling continued, his voice dripping with practiced authority. "However, my clients are willing to show leniency. If you sign over the full ownership deed of the villa to Ryan Miller as financial compensation for his medical trauma and drop all claims regarding your previous marital property, Mrs. Chloe Miller will drop all criminal charges immediately."

​Chloe leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her voice cold and smug. "Lucas, this is your last chance. Ethan’s family has deep connections with the district prosecutor's office. If this goes to trial, you will be in handcuffs by tonight. Just sign the house over, and we’ll let you walk away."

​Ethan sneered, taking Chloe's hand in his. "Consider it a lesson in real-world power, Lucas. A jobless loser like you doesn't deserve a property worth millions anyway. Sign it, or enjoy eating prison food for the next five years."

​Lucas looked at Ethan, then at Chloe, and finally at Ryan's bandaged nose. Suddenly, he burst into a low, clear laugh.

​The sound caught everyone off guard. Mr. Sterling frowned, while Chloe’s face turned bright red with embarrassment.

​"What's so funny?!" Ryan slammed his fist on the table, wincing in pain as the movement jolted his nose.

​"I’m laughing at how completely out of touch you all are," Lucas said, his laugh fading into a razor-sharp gaze. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "First of all, Mr. Sterling, the dining room where the incident occurred had a high-definition security camera installed in the corner. The footage clearly shows Ryan lunging across the table to attack me first. My action was purely legal self-defense against an aggressor."

​Ryan’s face instantly drained of color. He had completely forgotten about the living room camera!

​"Second," Lucas continued, turning his gaze toward Chloe, "the divorce papers were stamped and finalized yesterday morning. The villa was inherited by me before our marriage and was registered solely under my father's name. Under state law, it is classified as non-marital property. You have zero legal right to claim a single square inch of it."

​Mr. Sterling’s professional smirk faltered slightly. He shifted in his seat, glancing nervously at Chloe. He had assumed Lucas was an uneducated pushover who wouldn't know basic property law.

​"And third," Lucas smiled, stand up slowly from his chair, "you talk about prison sentences as if the court system will even matter in eighty-six days."

​Chloe scoffed, adjusting her collar. "What nonsense are you babbling about now? What happens in eighty-six days?"

​"Nothing you need to worry about," Lucas said, pulling his leather gloves on. "File your lawsuits. Call the police. Hire every lawyer in the city. I won't be attending a single court hearing. Have a wonderful day, everyone."

​Without waiting for a response, Lucas turned on his heel and walked straight out of the conference room.

​"Lucas! Get back here!" Chloe screamed, her voice echoing down the hallway. "You’ll regret this! You’ll be begging on the streets! Do you hear me?!"

​Lucas didn't even pause. As the elevator doors closed behind him, separating him from their screeching voices, his smile vanished into pure, icy calculation.

​By 1:00 PM, Lucas arrived at the Apex High-End Underground Liquidation Auction, held in a private subterranean ballroom beneath a five-star hotel downtown.

​This auction wasn't for artwork or vintage wines. It was a private gathering where wealthy collectors, preppers, and private security firms traded specialized, high-tier equipment, rare materials, and military surplus stock behind closed doors.

​Lucas wore a dark designer suit and an anonymous VIP bidder badge numbered #88.

​He took a seat in the back row, opening his tablet to monitor his remaining liquid balance. After his previous purchases of food, medical gear, power systems, and real estate, he still had $1.8 million USD remaining. Today, he intended to spend every single cent.

​The auctioneer, an older man with a sharp gray beard, stood behind the podium, rapping his wooden gavel against the stand.

​"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Item #14 is a specialized consignment from a defunct deep-sea research contractor. We have fifty industrial-grade portable atmospheric water generators."

​The display screen showed heavy-duty stainless-steel units equipped with reverse-osmosis filtration, UV purifiers, and atmospheric moisture collectors capable of extracting pure drinking water even from freezing, dry air.

​"These units can produce 200 gallons of drinkable water per day, operating at temperatures down to -40°C," the auctioneer announced. "Starting bid for the entire lot: $100,000."

​In the apocalypse, clean water would become as precious as blood once municipal pipes froze and shattered underground.

​"120,000!" a buyer in the front row raised his paddle.

​"150,000!" another called out.

​Lucas quietly raised his paddle. "300,000."

​The room went quiet for a moment. Bumping the price by double was a aggressive tactic.

​"Bidder #88 at $300,000! Going once, going twice... Sold to Bidder #88!"

​Next came Item #19: A bulk shipment of high-density solar-charged thermal heating suits and arctic survival gear, manufactured for polar expedition crews. The lot contained 200 suits featuring built-in carbon-fiber heating elements capable of maintaining human body temperature at -70°C for up to 48 hours on a single charge.

​Starting bid: $80,000.

​Lucas raised his paddle immediately. "200,000."

​No one attempted to outbid him. Gavel down. Sold to Bidder #88.

​As the auction progressed, Lucas bid ruthlessly on every utility item that could enhance long-term survival:

​Item #22: 10 tons of industrial-grade vacuum-sealed freeze-dried meat and vegetable rations ($180,000).

​Item #27: 5 high-capacity satellite communication transceivers with military-grade encryption ($120,000).

​Item #31: A rare consignment of 100 units of military-grade thermal imaging binoculars equipped with night-vision capabilities ($350,000).

​By the time the final lot was called, Lucas had spent $1.15 million USD.

​At 6:00 PM, Lucas stood inside the private underground loading bay of the hotel, where the auction management was consolidating his wins into five massive shipping containers.

​"Mr. Vance, your items have been verified and loaded," the auction logistics director said, handing him the electronic manifest. "Where should we transport these containers?"

​"Deliver them to Warehouse 7 in the industrial district," Lucas instructed, handing over a stack of authorization documents. "My crew will be waiting there at 9:00 PM."

​Three hours later, inside the pitch-black warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the delivery trucks pulled away, leaving behind five massive steel containers packed to the brim with high-tech survival gear, water generators, thermal suits, and military optics.

​Lucas stood alone in the dim light of his flashlight. The cold wind howled outside the corrugated steel walls of the warehouse—a faint preview of the terrible storm that was coming in less than three months.

​He walked over to the first container, resting his bare hand against the cold steel surface.

​SWOOSH!

​A massive wave of spatial energy erupted from his palm, forming a visible dark vortex in the air.

​One by one, the five massive shipping containers—weighing dozens of tons—vanished into thin air, floating silently into the infinite, organized void of his Dimensional Sanctuary.

​Inside his mind, his inventory had grown into a terrifying war chest:

​100+ tons of grains, meats, and processed foods.

​Thousands of steaming-hot, fresh restaurant meals.

​$900,000 worth of trauma medicine and surgical supplies.

​20,000 gallons of arctic diesel fuel and heavy power banks.

​50 atmospheric water generators and industrial thermal suits.

​Military-grade armor, thermal optics, and tactical weapons.

​Lucas looked down at his phone. His bank account balance was down to a few thousand dollars, but his preparation was ninety percent complete.

​Tomorrow, the renovations at Aegis Tower would reach their final stage. His high-rise bunker would be fully sealed, fortified, and ready.

​He stepped out of the warehouse into the cool night, locking the gate behind him. Looking up at the starry sky, Lucas felt no fear, no doubt, and no regret.

​"Let the lawsuits come," Lucas whispered, a cold, dark smirk playing on his lips. "Let the cold come. I am ready."