The market reacted exactly as predicted.
By 9:15 a.m., news of the "hit-and-run involving newly appointed Aurelius executive" was circulating through financial media.
By 10:00 a.m., Aurelius released a calm but firm statement:
"We trust authorities will investigate thoroughly. Executive security is a matter we take seriously."
No accusations.
No blame.
But the subtext was clear.
And investors understood subtext better than words.
Her former company's stock dipped 3% before noon.
Not catastrophic.
But noticeable.
Pressure.
At 2:17 p.m., she received a call she hadn't expected.
Not from him.
From her ex.
She stared at the name on her screen.
In her past life, she would have hesitated out of pain.
Now she hesitated out of calculation.
She answered.
"You shouldn't be driving alone," he said immediately.
No greeting.
No manipulation.
Just urgency.
"That's interesting," she replied calmly. "You sound concerned."
"I am."
Silence stretched.
Then he said it.
"Do you remember the acquisition deal two years ago? The overseas partner?"
Her fingers stilled on the desk.
"Yes."
"Do you remember why you advised against it?"
"Because their financial trail was inconsistent."
"And because you said someone inside was pushing it too aggressively."
Her chest tightened—not with fear.
With recognition.
"You overruled me," she said.
"Yes."
Another silence.
"I shouldn't have."
There it was.
Not an apology.
But admission.
"What does that have to do with last night?" she asked.
He lowered his voice.
"The overseas partner didn't just invest. They placed someone."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Placed where?"
"In the company."
A slow chill spread through her.
"Who?"
He hesitated.
And when he finally said the name—
It was someone she trusted.
Someone who had stood beside her the night she died.
Someone who had called the ambulance.
Someone who had cried.
The world didn't tilt.
She didn't gasp.
But something inside her went very, very still.
"That's not possible," she said evenly.
"I checked the call logs," he replied. "The number connected to the man who hit you traces back to that department."
She stood and walked toward the window.
The city below looked exactly the same.
But it wasn't.
It never had been.
"You think they tried to kill me?" she asked.
"No," he said. "Not yet."
"Then what?"
"To isolate you."
Her grip tightened on the phone.
"Why?"
"Because you're the only one who noticed the financial discrepancy in that acquisition."
The memory returned like a blade sliding under skin.
Late nights.
Balance sheets that didn't align.
Numbers shifted subtly across quarters.
She had flagged it.
And then—
She had died.
At Aurelius headquarters, the rival CEO watched market analytics update in real time.
When she walked in without knocking, he knew something had changed.
"You spoke to him," he said.
"Yes."
"And?"
She placed a printed name on his desk.
He read it.
Then read it again.
"Are you certain?"
"No."
"But I'm going to be."
He leaned back slowly.
"If this connects to foreign capital infiltration, this isn't corporate rivalry anymore."
"I know."
"It becomes federal."
"I know."
He studied her carefully.
"You're not surprised."
"I died once," she said quietly. "Surprises don't impress me."
That made him pause.
"Explain that," he said softly.
She met his gaze.
And for the first time—
She almost told him.
Almost.
But not yet.
Instead she said, "I need access to the acquisition audit from two years ago. Quietly."
He didn't ask why.
He didn't question her sanity.
He simply nodded.
"Done."
That night, she opened a storage box she hadn't touched since resigning.
Inside—
A USB drive.
Backup files.
Not just company documents.
Personal research.
Notes.
Screenshots.
She had made them a week before her first death.
She had never understood why she felt compelled to gather them then.
Now she did.
As she plugged the drive into her laptop, the screen flickered.
Folders opened.
Financial projections.
Offshore transfers.
Shell companies.
And one file labeled:
"If something happens."
Her breath slowed.
She clicked it.
Inside was a draft email she had written but never sent.
Addressed to no one.
Detailing everything she suspected.
The irregularities.
The names.
The timeline.
The risk.
And at the bottom—
One sentence.
If I disappear, look at the acquisition.
She leaned back in her chair.
So even in her first life—
She had known.
She just hadn't moved fast enough.
But this time?
She had seven extra days.
Seven days that changed everything.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
A new message.
"You should have stayed quiet."
She stared at it.
Then replied.
"You should have killed me properly."
And this time—
She sent it.