I was born a walking polygraph. Whenever someone lies in front of me, they hiccup involuntarily. Lies that could fool the entire world are completely transparent to me. But because I knew too much of the truth, I ended up with zero friends. Then, Victoria Harrison, the matriarch of the ultra-wealthy Harrison family, tracked me down. She wanted me to marry her son, Ethan Harrison. Gripping my hands tightly, she pleaded: “Chloe, someone among the partners at Harrison Group is cooking the books. We’ve audited for two years and found nothing. Only you can pinpoint the liar with a single glance.” “If Ethan ever lets you down, you can divorce him anytime. The Harrison family will pay you $100,000 a month.” I figured since no one would ever truly open up to me anyway, I might as well put my curse to good use and get paid for it. So, I nodded. During our three years of marriage, I helped Ethan expose five high-level executives who were embezzling funds, recovering over $180 million in losses. The Harrison Group went from being plagued by internal crises to becoming an impenetrable fortress. I also moved from my modest suburban apartment into the sprawling Harrison Estate, where the hallways were so long you could ride a bicycle down them. On this particular day, I was cruising down the hallway on my bike when I overheard Ethan speaking with his partner inside the study. “Ethan, now that the bad debts are cleared, isn’t it time to get rid of that freak wife of yours?” “Give her eighty thousand dollars,” Ethan’s voice was cold. “Tell her the company is pivoting to overseas markets, and we no longer need her services domestically.” “What if she refuses to leave?” “She’s a girl with literally zero friends. Who would ever stand up for her?” Hearing this, I slammed on my brakes, walked up, and knocked on the study door. “Then let’s get divorced right now!” The arch-rival of the Harrison family was currently being pushed to the brink of bankruptcy by their own crooked partners and was desperately searching the world for a top-tier auditor. My services as a human polygraph would be way cheaper—and far more effective—than hiring the Big Four! 0
“Chloe, how long have you been standing out there?” Ethan’s voice held no surprise, only the annoyance of having his plans disrupted. Julian Beck—his dear partner—remained perfectly calm, lounging on the leather sofa with his legs crossed. “Well, you’re just in time, Chloe. Saves Ethan the trouble of bringing it up.” “No need to bring it up.” I leaned my bicycle against the doorframe. “Do you have the divorce papers ready? If not, I can wait for you to print them.” Ethan clearly hadn’t expected this reaction from me. He probably thought I would cry, demand answers, or even beg to stay. After all, in his own words—who else would take in a girl with zero friends? “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” He walked over to his desk, sliding his hands into his pockets. Three years of marriage taught me exactly what that gesture meant: his decision was final, and the rest was just legal formality. “More than sure. But I do have one question—the eighty thousand, is that pre-tax or post-tax?” Julian let out a sharp chuckle. Ethan didn’t laugh. His gaze swept over my face as if he were cataloging a piece of office equipment about to be decommissioned. “Chloe, my lawyer will send you the agreement later today. But let’s be clear about one thing: you signed an NDA. You are not allowed to utter a single word about Harrison Group’s business secrets, including the audits you performed.” “Does that include who was cooking the books?” “It includes everything.” Wow. He was completely shutting my mouth. Just as I was about to reply, Julian stood up and adjusted his silver cufflinks. I had watched him make that gesture for three years—he always did it right before saying something venomous, like firing a starting pistol for himself. “Don’t feel too bad, Chloe. Last week, the company officially hired Dr. Valerie Stone. She has a Ph.D. in Criminal Psychology from Columbia University and specializes in micro-expression analysis. Actual science.” He put heavy emphasis on the word “science.” “From now on, Harrison Group’s risk assessment won’t have to rely on…” He paused. “…alternative medicine.” Alternative medicine. Three years ago, Ethan’s mother had practically knelt in my tiny rented room, crying and begging me to be the savior of the Harrison family. Three years later, I was dismissed as mere “alternative medicine.” As he uttered that word, Julian let out a hiccup. It was very faint, bubbling up from the depths of his throat. He didn’t even notice it. But I heard it. That hiccup meant he didn’t actually believe I was just “alternative medicine.” He knew my abilities were real. But he chose to drag me through the mud anyway. “Fine.” I picked up the pen from the desk, spent two minutes flipping to the last page of the NDA, and signed my name. As Ethan took the document, my phone buzzed. He had wired me eighty thousand dollars. The memo read: *Thank you for your hard work over the past three years.* No “thank you” in person. No “I’m sorry.” He didn’t even bother with the polite “overseas restructuring” excuse anymore. Stepping out of the study, the hallway felt just as long as ever. Halfway down, I saw two maids carrying cardboard boxes out of the side door, their movements practiced and swift. My things. They had started packing before I even knew. This wasn’t a sudden decision; it was a rehearsed play. They had probably practiced when to tell me and what expressions to use in front of a mirror. I had just caught them early. “Mrs. Harrison, your things are all here.” Two boxes. I had moved in with two boxes three years ago, and I was leaving with the exact same two. I carried the boxes out through the wrought-iron gates. The June evening breeze blew through the maple trees, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass. The gate clicked shut behind me. The sound of the latch sliding into place was soft, like a “goodbye” that was never meant to be spoken aloud. Sitting on the curb, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Only three names: Victoria Harrison, the butler, and the food delivery guy I’d used for three years. When Ethan said “she’s a girl with zero friends, who would ever stand up for her,” he hadn’t hiccuped. It was the absolute truth—and that was why it cut straight to the bone. Taking a deep breath, I pulled up a number I had kept in my favorites folder for a month: the direct line to the Sterling Group. On the document wall in Ethan’s study, there was a competitor analysis report labeled “Top Secret.” I had glanced at it while organizing the files. The Sterling Group was currently being bled dry by internal fraud and was on the verge of collapse. I dialed. It rang four times. “Hello, office of the CEO of Sterling Group.” “Transfer me to Asher Sterling. Tell him Ethan Harrison’s ex-wife is calling.” Five seconds later, the call went through. A man’s voice came over the line—deep, slightly gravelly, carrying the exhaustion of someone who hadn’t slept in days. “Chloe Vance?” He knew who I was. “Mr. Sterling, I heard you’re looking for someone to audit your books.” “You signed an NDA.” “I won’t be auditing the Harrison Group,” I said, holding the cardboard box tight against my knees. “I’ll be auditing yours.” Silence stretched over the line for two seconds. When Asher spoke again, his tone completely changed, like a match being struck in a pitch-black room. “Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM, 32nd floor. Don’t be late.” 0
“So, you’re the walking polygraph?” Asher Sterling leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, studying me. He was younger than I expected, probably twenty-eight or nine, with a sharp brow and a clean jawline. However, the dark circles under his eyes were so heavy that even concealer couldn’t fully hide them. His office was massive, but half of the three-wall bookshelves were empty, leaving only dust outlines where books used to be. Sold off. The Sterling Group was in even worse shape than I had imagined. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. I remained standing. “Test me first.” He raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have called me if you weren’t desperate, but you still don’t trust me. That’s fine; nobody does at first. Say a few truths, then a few lies. See for yourself.” Asher stared at me for three seconds before slowly uncrossing his arms. “Fine. I had steak for dinner last night.” Silence. No hiccup. “Truth,” I said. He continued, “Sterling Group’s current financial health is perfectly fine. There are no fraudulent accounts.” *Hiccup.* A muffled sound escaped from deep within his throat. His composure cracked slightly, and his hand instinctively went to his throat. “That’s impossible. I never hiccup.” “You do in front of me.” He tried again. “Meeting you today was a last-minute decision.” No hiccup. “Truth,” I said, finally sitting down across from him. “Mr. Sterling, you can test me a hundred times. In my presence, there are only two options: truth or lie.” A long silence followed. His fingers tapped against the edge of the desk, as if he were weighing the odds. “Assuming I believe you. How do you plan to help me?” “How many partners do you have?” “Seven.” “Get them all into one room. I’ll ask them questions one by one. Whoever lies will hiccup. They’ll expose themselves on the spot.” “It’s that simple?” “It’s that simple.” He picked up the desk phone. “Toby, notify the seven partners. Financial review in the main conference room at 10:00 AM.” He hung up, then looked at me, hesitating slightly. “What’s your price?” “Let’s see the results first. You can make an offer when you’re satisfied.” At exactly 10:00 AM, the seven partners filed into the conference room. Once seated, some looked at me with curiosity, others with disdain or suspicion. A bald man sitting on the far left stared at me for a few seconds before turning to Asher. “Asher, who is this?” “Our external risk-control consultant, Chloe Vance.” The bald man scoffed. I opened the financial summary and flipped to the first page. “Everyone, I only have a few simple questions. Please answer honestly. First: Over the past twelve months, has anyone in this room authorized off-book expenditures?” The room went dead silent for a beat. A tall man spoke first. “No.” No hiccup. A woman with glasses followed. “No.” No hiccup. Then it was the bald man’s turn. “No.” *Hiccup.* It was a dull, heavy sound, like a fist hitting a drum. The entire room fell into an uncomfortable silence. The bald man rubbed his throat. “Sorry, swallowed some spit the wrong way.” I ignored him. “Second question: Have you shared Sterling Group’s financial data with any external parties?” “Of course not.” *Hiccup.* This one was louder than the first. The other six partners began exchanging uneasy glances. I pressed on. “Are you familiar with an offshore shell company called Adler Holdings?” The bald man—I glanced at his name tag, Marcus Brody—jerked backward in his chair, his lips parting, but no words came out. He didn’t dare speak. Because he knew that if he denied it, his own body would betray him. Asher took over, his voice cold as ice. “Marcus, you don’t have to answer. But our legal team will be stepping in this afternoon.” Marcus scraped his chair back violently against the floor. He stormed out of the conference room, slamming the door so hard the vibration traveled up through the soles of my shoes. The remaining six partners stared at me in unison. The weight of their gaze had shifted—they were no longer looking at an “external consultant.” They were looking at some sort of terrifyingly precise machine. I had seen that look before at the Harrison estate. *Freak.* They didn’t say it aloud, but the word was plastered all over their faces. After the meeting adjourned, Asher kept me behind. “Two minutes to catch a parasite.” The way he looked at me had changed as well. Before, he was testing me; now, he was evaluating me like a general calculating the blast radius of a new weapon. “Chloe, Ethan Harrison used you for three years, yet he only cleared out five people. Why?” “Because some people are smart enough to stay silent. They never tell direct lies in front of me; they only state indisputable facts. They hide behind the truth, and I can’t touch them.” He frowned. “I caught five people in the Harrison Group, but the sixth one… never discussed finances in my presence during those three years.” “Who?” I didn’t answer. The ink on my NDA wasn’t even dry yet. He didn’t press me. Suddenly, a frantic knock sounded on the door. Toby, the assistant, rushed in, looking pale. “Mr. Sterling, people from the Harrison Group are here. Julian Beck came in person, and he brought…” “A behavioral analysis consultant,” I finished the sentence for him. Toby looked at me in surprise. I stood up and adjusted my collar. “Her name is Dr. Valerie Stone, Columbia Ph.D. in Criminal Psychology. She is the Harrison family’s replacement for me.” Asher leaned forward slightly. “How did you know she’d come here?” “Because the Harrison family wants to block every single path left for me,” I said, my voice flat as I looked toward the door. “She’s not here to collaborate. She’s here to cut me off.” The door pushed open. Julian Beck walked in first, followed by a woman in a sharp black blazer and skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a neat low ponytail, her face pale, with a picture-perfect smile. When she saw me, her eyes widened slightly. “Chloe? Oh, what a coincidence to see you here.” 0
“What a surprise to run into you here, Chloe.” Valerie’s voice was sweet enough to be drizzled over waffles. As she walked in, her eyes swept across the conference room—a rapid, scanning observation that missed absolutely nothing. A true professional. Behind her, Julian adjusted his silver cufflinks, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Mr. Sterling, let me introduce Dr. Valerie Stone, a top-tier expert in micro-expression analysis. Although the Harrison Group and the Sterling Group are competitors, we can still share resources when it comes to risk management.” Asher didn’t reply. He just glanced at me. I remained silent as well. Valerie, showing no stranger danger, stepped forward to shake Asher’s hand before turning her sweet smile toward me. “Chloe, I heard you just helped Mr. Sterling catch a bad apple. That’s so impressive.” As she said “so impressive,” she let out a tiny hiccup. It was incredibly soft, like a bubble popping at the surface of water. She didn’t seem to notice it. But I did. She didn’t find me impressive at all. “Julian,” Asher finally spoke, “you didn’t come all this way just to pitch a consultant, did you?” Julian smirked. “Not at all. It’s just that Dr. Stone is highly respected in the industry, and many of our peers rely on her services. We came today to offer Mr. Sterling a free demonstration.” He paused, his eyes shifting to me. “And, of course, to see how her methods compare to Chloe’s. We’ll let Mr. Sterling judge for himself which approach is more effective.” A comparison. A head-to-head test. He wanted to weigh me against Valerie right in front of Asher. Asher frowned. “That won’t be necessary—” “Mr. Sterling,” Valerie interrupted smoothly, her voice gentle yet firm, “I’ve been in this field for six years. My work relies on the peer-reviewed FACS coding system. It’s not…” She chose her next words carefully. “…based on unprovable personal instincts.” This statement didn’t cause her to hiccup. She genuinely believed it. She truly thought my ability was a scam. Asher looked at me. “Do you mind?” he asked. I shrugged. “Go ahead.” Valerie quickly set up the test. She had Toby arrange for three Sterling Group employees to sit in the observation room next door, separated from us by a one-way mirror. Valerie and I sat on our side, with a synchronized intercom system in front of us. “The rules are simple,” Valerie explained. “Each of the three employees will read a statement. One of them is lying. Chloe and I will separately determine who the liar is.” It seemed fair. Except for one crucial detail. The one-way mirror. They were in a completely different room. My ability only worked when people lied *directly in front of me*. In person. Not separated by a soundproof glass wall. My spine went stiff. Valerie had already pressed the intercom button. “Subject number one, please begin.” A voice came through the speaker. The first employee read a statement explaining the legitimacy of a certain expense report. I listened intently—no hiccup. But the problem was, I couldn’t tell if they were telling the truth, or if my ability was blocked by the glass. Subject two: no hiccup. Subject three: no hiccup. My hand gripped the pen tightly. In all my tests at the Harrison Group, no one had ever put a wall between me and my target. Never. Because everyone at the Harrison Group knew my rule: the interrogation must be face-to-face. Did Valerie not know this rule? No. I caught the faint glint of amusement in her eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing. “My assessment,” Valerie spoke first. “Subject two is lying. When describing the reimbursement amount, there was a 0.3-second micro-contraction in his right brow, and his lip corners pulled down by more than 40% compared to his baseline.” She sounded incredibly professional, her terminology flawless. Everyone turned their gaze to me. “Chloe, what’s your verdict?” I looked at the three people sitting in the adjacent room. They sat quietly behind the glass. “I need to see them face-to-face.” Valerie tilted her head slightly. “Face-to-face? What do you mean, Chloe? Didn’t you say you could spot a lie instantly?” “My ability requires close proximity—” “So it stops working the moment you’re not up close?” Julian’s voice cut in from behind, filled with barely suppressed laughter. “You see, Mr. Sterling? This is exactly what I meant by ‘unprovable personal instincts’.” Asher remained silent. But I noticed his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. He was doubting me. Valerie’s assessment was put to the test. Toby went next door to verify. The result: Subject two was indeed lying. He had been instructed to read a fabricated expense report. Valerie smiled. It was a soft, non-threatening smile, which only made it cut deeper. “Chloe, I mean no offense. It’s just that some methods require scientific validation, don’t you think?” As she said those words— *Hiccup.* Just one. Quick and quiet. She hiccuped on “mean no offense.” She absolutely meant offense. This entire test was a trap designed to humiliate me. But in that packed conference room, nobody cared about her hiccup. They only cared about the results: Valerie was right, and I had failed to answer. Julian stood up, slowly adjusting his cuffs. “Mr. Sterling, take your time to think about it. Harrison Group is ready to send Dr. Stone over whenever you’re ready to make the switch.” As he walked past me, he lowered his voice so only I could hear: “Your little hiccup trick is over, Chloe.” He didn’t hiccup on “is over.” He genuinely believed it. I stood alone in the emptying conference room as they filed out one by one. Asher didn’t leave immediately. He lingered by the door for a moment. “Chloe.” “Yeah.” “Why did you insist on a face-to-face meeting for that test?” “Because my ability is real,” I said, staring at the floor, my voice much quieter than I intended. “But it has rules. The person has to be right in front of me. Glass walls, video feeds, phone calls—none of it works.” Asher fell silent for a few seconds. “Then why didn’t you explain that from the very beginning?” “Because even if I did, no one would believe me.” I looked up at him. “Mr. Sterling, you’ve been searching for three years and found nothing. I caught a crook for you in two minutes. Wasn’t that enough?” His expression was unreadable. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but at least there was no disgust in his eyes. Before he could speak, Toby rushed back into the room, holding his phone, looking deeply concerned. “Mr. Sterling, Dr. Stone’s assistant just posted on Instagram.” Toby handed the phone over. It was Valerie’s verified Instagram account. Her profile picture was highly edited, and her bio read: *Behavioral Analyst / Criminal Psychologist.* Her latest post read: *“Did a risk-control demo at a major firm today. Ran into a lady who calls herself a ‘human polygraph.’ She claimed she could only detect lies face-to-face and completely failed behind a one-way mirror. Science respects all hypotheses, but repeatability and verification are the baselines of truth. I hope everyone remains rational regarding so-called ‘supernatural lie detection.’ ”* The comment section was already flooded with thousands of replies. *“Lmao, ‘human polygraph’? Just call yourself a fortune teller at this point.”* *“How does someone like this even get hired by a legit company?”* *“Ivy League micro-expression analysis vs. supernatural hiccups. You’d have to be brain-dead to believe the latter.”* I stared at the screen, tapping my fingers against the edge of my phone. Asher shifted his gaze from the screen back to my face. “Chloe, what do you want to do?” “Nothing,” I said, handing the phone back to Toby. “I’m just wondering who authorized her to post that.” “You think it was Julian?” “Valerie hiccuped when she said she ‘meant no offense’ earlier,” I said, looking into his eyes. “Mr. Sterling, aren’t you curious? Why is the Harrison family so desperate to make me disappear from this industry?”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “466444”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster
Leave a Reply