I turned down an offer to be a professor at MIT, choosing instead to work for my parents’ company. But on the day the company went public, my parents pushed a girl onto the stage who bore a striking resemblance to them. “Harper, the nurse made a mistake when you were born. Serena is our biological daughter.” “You need to move out tomorrow. And don’t forget to pay back all the expenses we incurred raising you.” “But jobs are tough to find these days. For old times’ sake, we can let you stay on as a cleaner at the company.” Serena chimed in, a smirk playing on her lips: “Sister, thank you for every project you developed over the past five years. All your patents are now registered in my name.” “But I don’t like having outsiders in the family. You should leave as soon as possible.” Amidst the sympathetic glances of the guests, I let out a low laugh. A bunch of fools. If I could get you to go public, I can certainly make you go bankrupt! I calmly walked through the crowd and exited the opulent doors of the stock exchange. I flagged down a taxi and gave the address of the mansion I’d lived in for over two decades. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. He probably recognized me, the ceremony had been broadcast live everywhere. He didn’t say a word, just quietly turned off the financial news radio. I leaned against the window, watching the neon lights blur past outside. My phone kept vibrating. I didn’t need to look to know it was the media, eager for a scoop. I just switched it off. The car pulled up to the entrance of the gated community. From a distance, I could already see two large suitcases and a cardboard box, standing forlornly outside the front door. I sneered. Looks like they were pretty efficient, afraid I might stay an extra second if I came back. I dragged my bags to the door, instinctively placing my finger on the fingerprint lock. “Beep—Permission denied. Please contact administrator.” A cold electronic voice. The mockery in my eyes deepened. This entire security system, from hardware to software, was designed and deployed by me. The so-called highest administrator privileges had always been mine. I never thought I’d be locked out by the very system I created. Fine by me. It saves me from having to act out some disgusting charade with them inside. I sat on the ground and pulled out my laptop. I skillfully logged into the internal server backend. I wanted to see just how thoroughly they’d stolen my work. I entered the superuser account and password I’d used for five years. But instead of the familiar admin panel, a bright red window popped up, stating that the user did not exist. They truly went all out. Just as I was wondering what to do next, the phone I had switched off in my pocket suddenly lit up. It was a number I thought I’d never contact again.
The encrypted call request flashed for less than three seconds before disconnecting. It felt like a hallucination. The screen went dark, returning to the black screen it had been before I switched it off. I tried to power it on again, but the phone was completely unresponsive. I gave a bitter laugh. My top priority right now was finding a place to stay. I hailed another taxi and went to a decent-looking budget hotel nearby. “One room, please.” I handed over my driver’s license. “Certainly. That’ll be three hundred and sixty-eight for the room, plus a five hundred dollar security deposit. How will you be paying?” “By card.” I pulled out the bank card I’d used for years. This was a secondary card Victor Hayes had set up for me. All my salary and project bonuses were deposited into it. But when the front desk clerk inserted the card into the reader, “Beep, beep, beep—” The machine let out a series of urgent beeps. The young woman looked bewildered, tried again, and got the same sound. She looked at me apologetically. “Miss, I’m sorry, there seems to be an issue with your card. It’s not going through.” My heart sank. “Try another one.” I said, pulling out my personal savings card from my wallet. I’d opened this account in college, it held all my scholarship money and the pocket money I’d earned from projects. It wasn’t a lot, but it should definitely cover a few nights at a hotel. The result was the same. “This one isn’t working either…” The front desk clerk’s voice grew even softer. I had no choice but to ask the clerk to help me charge my phone. Once it powered on, a text message from the bank immediately popped up. “Dear Ms. Harper Reed, pursuant to an application submitted by Mr. Victor Hayes, all bank accounts registered under your name have been frozen due to ‘claims for past expenses,’ totaling…” I laughed. Victor missed his calling as a financial wizard. Looks like a hotel was out of the question. I dragged my suitcases and headed back to the street. The night wind blew, a bit chilly. I opened my phone and found Michael Stone’s number. He was my lead developer, someone I had mentored, and he’d always been grateful to me. I dialed. It rang for a long time. “Hello? Michael, it’s Harper.” The other end was dead silent, save for a faint sound of breathing. “I need your help with something. I need you to get the original development logs from the system…” “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.” He cut me off directly, then hung up. I stubbornly dialed another core team member’s number, but it showed as disconnected. Those partners who had fought alongside me, pulled all-nighters eating instant noodles, and shared the joy of every problem solved. They either hung up, switched off their phones, or their numbers were no longer in service. This move was truly ruthless. I stood at the crossroads, watching the constant flow of traffic, feeling a hint of bewilderment for the first time. My money was gone, my home was gone, even my former comrades had turned into enemies. He truly wanted to break me.
I dragged my two suitcases, walking for so long on the late-night streets that my legs started to ache. Finally, I stopped in front of an alley entrance lit by a dubious neon sign. “Rooms for Rent, $300 Monthly” was scrawled in red paint on the wall. Alright, this would have to do. The landlady was a tough-looking woman, puffing on a cigarette. She gave my clothes a peculiar once-over, then eyed my two expensive-looking suitcases, before finally tossing me a greasy key. First month’s rent and a security deposit, cash only. I emptied my wallet of the few remaining bills, in exchange for this space of less than ten square meters. A bare cot, a chipped table, and a flickering light bulb with a bad connection. The walls were stained with marks left by previous tenants, and the air hung heavy with a mix of damp mildew and cheap perfume. I lay on the hard cot, fully dressed, staring at the stubbornly flickering light bulb, sleepless through the night. The next day, I was woken by a commotion. Footsteps shuffled chaotically in the hallway, mixed with women’s screams and men’s shouts. I ignored it until there was a knock on my door. “Bang, bang, bang!” The knocking was urgent, carrying an impatient certainty. I thought it was the landlady, so I got up to open the door. When I pulled it open, I froze. It was Serena Hayes. She was wearing full, elaborate makeup, looking like a princess who had wandered into a slum, stark against the drab, dilapidated background. Behind her, several reporters carried cameras, all pointed at me. Flashbulbs popped “click-click-click,” stinging my eyes. “Sister,” Serena’s eyes immediately welled up with tears, “How could you be living in a place like this? Don’t you know how worried Mom and Dad and I have been?” As she spoke, she reached out to take my hand, but I sidestepped, avoiding her. She didn’t seem embarrassed. She pulled out a thick envelope and, in front of all the cameras, tried to press it into my hand. “Sister, I know things are hard for you right now. Mom and Dad asked me to give you this. Take it, find a better place to stay, don’t let yourself suffer.” Her voice choked, acting with such sincerity. “Don’t worry, as long as you apologize to Mom and Dad and admit your mistakes, the door to our home will always be open for you.” I looked at her and suddenly found it somewhat amusing. “Serena Hayes,” I spoke, my voice a little hoarse from not having drunk water all night, “Do you really think everyone is as stupid as you are?” The expression on her face stiffened, and the tears in her eyes almost failed to hold. “Sister, how can you say that… I’m just trying to be kind…” “Cut the act,” I interrupted her, “Bringing reporters to visit me, are you afraid I won’t die miserably enough, so you came to twist the knife? Or is the ‘tech prodigy’ image crumbling too fast, and you need to step on my ‘corpse’ to climb higher?” Serena’s face went completely pale. She hadn’t expected me to talk to her like that, even in my current desperate state. She took a deep breath, dropped her pitiful demeanor, and leaned in, saying in a voice only we two could hear: “Harper Reed, don’t be foolish. You have nothing now. How can you fight me? Believe me, if I say the word, you won’t even be able to live in a dump like this.” She paused, a hint of cruel pleasure in the curve of her lips: “Be a good-for-nothing, admit that everything is mine, and maybe I can find you a job cleaning toilets. Otherwise, you can just starve on the streets.” After saying that, she reverted to her kind, innocent persona and sighed for the cameras: “Sister, just think about it.” With that, she and the swarm of media marched away. I closed the door, listening to the murmurs outside gradually fade. Starve on the streets? Cleaning toilets? I walked to the only mirror in the room. My hair was a mess, my eyes bloodshot, looking as disheveled as a lunatic. But those eyes, in the dim light, glowed with an unnerving intensity.
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