Chapter 2

A few hours later, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from my credit monitoring service.

Alert: A new collections account has been reported.

I opened the app. A $50 co-pay from a campus health visit last year. In my first life, I was horrified. I' d paid it instantly, wanting to clear the tiny black mark from my otherwise perfect record. Liam had been with me, sighing about how irresponsible it was to let things like that slide. He used it as another reason I needed to be more "aware," more like him.

This time, I smiled.

This was the key.

I remembered the chaos of my previous life. The frantic calls from banks. The fraud alerts I couldn't clear because Chloe had my Social Security Number and answers to my security questions. She' d used my SSN to open five high-limit credit cards and a personal loan for $50,000. It all went through because my credit was pristine.

But not this time.

A recent delinquency, even a small one, followed by a sudden, massive burst of credit applications from different banks? It was the biggest red flag in the financial world. It screamed "identity theft."

I put my phone down. I didn't call the collection agency. I didn't pay the bill. I let the small debt fester, a tiny poison pill for Chloe' s grand scheme.

The next day at practice, the atmosphere was frigid. The team practiced in silence, but their glares were loud. During a break, Jessica "accidentally" spilled her water bottle all over my gym bag.

"Oops," she said, not sounding sorry at all. Chloe rushed over with a towel, dabbing at my bag with a concerned look.

"Oh, Ava, I'm so sorry this happened. Are you okay?"

It was a performance for the coach. I just looked at her. "I'm fine."

Later, I overheard them talking in the locker room.

"I can't believe she's still being like this," Jessica whispered. "Chloe is taking us to Rodeo Drive, and Ava's acting like a total bitch."

"I know, right?" another voice chimed in. "And did you see her face when Liam tried to talk to her? So cold. He's a saint for putting up with her."

A saint. I almost laughed. The saint who stole my wallet, photographed my Social Security card, and handed my entire financial identity over to a sociopath.

The day of the trip arrived. I didn't go with them. I told the coach I was feeling unwell. She looked at me with concern, noting the tension that had fractured her team.

I stayed in my dorm and waited.

Around noon, my phone started lighting up with fraud alerts.

American Express: We have detected unusual activity on a new account. Your card has been frozen.

Chase: A recent application is under review. Please contact our security department.

Citi: Your new personal loan has been flagged and is currently suspended.

One after another, they rolled in. The banks' security systems had worked perfectly. Chloe' s new toys were useless.

I picked up my phone and made a call.

"Hi, this is Ava Ashford. I'd like to speak to the General Manager of the Rodeo Drive property, please. Tell him his grandfather is calling."

There was a confused silence on the other end, then a flurry of activity. A moment later, a smooth, professional voice came on the line. "Miss Ashford? This is Robert Sterling. How can I help you?"

My grandfather, Arthur Ashford, was a reclusive real estate tycoon. He owned a portfolio of iconic commercial properties on the East Coast, but his crown jewel, a secret indulgence, was this one. The most famous luxury shopping district in Beverly Hills. He'd put it in my name as a trust, a legacy I was never supposed to know about until I was thirty.

But in my first life, after I died, my grieving parents found the documents.

"Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice calm and clear. "I'm going to be visiting one of your tenants this afternoon. A designer boutique. I won't be buying anything. I'm just there to watch a show. I'd appreciate it if you made sure your staff doesn't interfere."

"Of course, Miss Ashford. Consider it done."

I hung up, a cold smile playing on my lips. The trap was set. Now, it was time to watch the animals walk into it.