Chapter 2

I let Wendy stew in her frustration for a few days. I knew her well. The resentment would be building, the jealousy festering. She hated that I had outsmarted her so easily.

In my first life, I' d spent years listening to her sob stories. "Oh, Gabby, my rent is late again." "Can you cover dinner? I' m so broke until payday." "Your clothes are so nice, I wish I could afford things like that."

I always fell for it. I' d lend her money I never saw again, buy her things she "needed," and even got her the receptionist job at my firm, hoping it would help her get on her feet. I saw her as my childhood friend from our small town, someone I needed to protect in the big city.

I never saw the envy behind her sad eyes. I never understood that my success was a constant, bitter reminder of her own perceived failures.

I remembered one trip, years ago. We' d shared a hotel room for a weekend getaway. I paid for it, of course. She claimed she had a "dust allergy" and needed the bed by the window, the one with the better view. She then "accidentally" spilled a bottle of red wine on the other bed, leaving me to sleep on the lumpy, pull-out sofa.

"I' m so clumsy!" she had cried, tears welling up. "I' ll pay for the cleaning fee, I promise!"

She never did. I paid for it. And I comforted her.

The memory made my stomach turn. How had I been so blind?

The day before our trip, Wendy cornered me by the coffee machine, her eyes red-rimmed. She had clearly been practicing her crying.

"Gabby, I can' t do it," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I can' t sit in a coach seat for twelve hours. My motion sickness is just too bad. I' ll be throwing up the whole time."

Here it comes, I thought.

"I know you think I' m just being cheap," she continued, dabbing at her dry eyes with a tissue. "But it' s not that. I' m just... poor, Gabby. I really am. I only have like, fifty dollars to my name until next week."

She looked up at me, her expression a perfect blend of desperation and shame. It was a masterful performance.

In my first life, this is where I broke. I caved, bought the sleeper cabin, and set my own murder in motion.

This time, I just watched her. I let the silence hang in the air, enjoying the flicker of panic in her eyes as I failed to give her the expected response.

"I' m sorry to hear that, Wendy," I said finally, my tone neutral.

I didn' t offer money. I didn' t offer a solution. I just stood there, my face a mask of mild concern.

She was forced to continue. "So, I was thinking... maybe you could just... lend me the money for half the sleeper? I' ll pay you back, I swear! The first of the month!"

I just kept looking at her.

"Please, Gabby? I' ll do anything."

The desperation was real now. Her plan was falling apart.

I sighed, pretending to be deep in thought. "Well, I already bought my coach ticket. They' re non-refundable."

"You can upgrade!" she said, a little too quickly. "It' s easy!"

I shook my head slowly. "I don' t know, Wendy..."

I let her plead for another minute, watching her squirm. It was a small, bitter taste of revenge, but it was satisfying.

Finally, on the morning of our trip, I sent her a text.

"Good news! My parents were worried about me traveling in coach alone, so they surprised me and upgraded my ticket to a private sleeper! So I guess you can have your quiet ride after all. See you at the station!"

I imagined her reading it. The flash of triumph, thinking she had won. Thinking my soft-hearted parents had done her dirty work for her.

She wouldn' t even question it. She was too self-absorbed to consider any other possibility.

At my desk, I carefully brewed a cup of expensive, artisanal coffee. I took one sip, then placed it on the corner of my desk, right where I knew Wendy would pass on her way out. She was a notorious scavenger, always helping herself to any food or drink left unattended. She called it "being frugal." I called it being a mooch.

Into the coffee, I had stirred a small, white, tasteless powder. A powerful, delayed-action laxative. The box promised results in two to three hours.

Perfect timing.

I packed my bag, a cold, calm feeling settling over me. The game was about to begin.