Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

April stepped out of Liora’s bedroom and closed the door with a quiet click. The moment she was back in the hallway, the polite, submissive maid facade vanished from her face.

​She needed to change out of this serving apron and get ready for the night, but first, she had a massive problem to solve.

Her apron pockets were practically bursting. Between the thick stack of hundreds she had stolen from Matilda and the crisp, ten-million-dollar check from Xavier, she was carrying a literal life-changing fortune on her person.

​She couldn’t keep walking around the mansion with it. If Madam Morgan caught her out of bounds and demanded a search, or if Chloe pointed fingers, she would lose everything before she could even step foot inside a bank tomorrow morning.

​But she couldn’t just leave it lying around her room either. The maids’ quarters were constantly subjected to random, unannounced inspections whenever the mistress misplaced a hair tie or a pair of earrings.

​April hurried up the narrow, creaking back stairs to her attic room and slipped inside, locking the door behind her.

​She didn’t waste time. She dragged the single, heavy wooden drawer across the floor, positioning it right under the corner of the ceiling where the plaster was peeling and warped from an old water leak.

She climbed onto the top of the drawer, balanced herself and reached up, pressing her palms against a loose rectangular panel of the drywall.

​With a familiar, hollow scrape, she lifted the panel and slid it to the side, revealing a dark, dusty crawlspace in the ceiling structure.

​This was her ultimate hiding spot. In her past life, she had discovered this gap during her second year in the house, and no one—not Matilda, not the guards, not even the thorough inspections—had ever found it.

​She reached deep into the dark space and pulled out a small, battered metal biscuit tin.

​April sat down on the edge of the drawer and pried open the rusted lid. She expected to see something useful, but inside, there was only one thing. A neatly folded piece of an old, faded West African wax print wrapper.

​She picked it up, staring at the colorful, weathered fabric under the dim light of her single bulb.

She was... confused. In her past life, she had guarded this specific piece of cloth with her life, hiding it away so carefully as if it were worth more than gold. But why?

No matter how hard she tried to dig into her memory, she couldn’t remember where it came from or why it had been so profoundly valuable to her. It was a blank spot in her mind.

​”Why did I keep this so dearly?” she muttered to herself, her brow furrowing.

​She stared at it for a few more seconds. The fabric felt soft and worn against her fingers. Whatever the reason was, past-her had deemed it irreplaceable, so she wasn’t about to toss it out now.

​April placed the heavy stack of Matilda’s stolen hundreds on the faded wrapper, and then carefully tucked Xavier’s ten-million-dollar check into the center. She folded the cloth back up, sealing the fortune tightly inside, and placed it back into the metal box.

​She popped the lid shut, slid the tin deep into the darkness of the ceiling crawlspace, and pulled the loose drywall panel back into place until it aligned perfectly with the rest of the ceiling.

​She climbed down from the drawer and pushed it back to its original spot against the wall, brushing the dust off her hands.

​The money was entirely safe. Nobody could touch it now.

After that, ​April sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes reflecting the cold moonlight filtering through her small window. Her pockets were empty, her mind was focused, and her hands were ready. It was time for the heist.

The mansion didn’t quiet down until long after midnight. Standing by her attic window, April watched the last of the luxury cars drive down the long driveway, their red taillights bleeding into the darkness. The heavy, classical music had finally stopped, replaced by the deep, oppressive silence of the estate.

​She changed out of her serving uniform, pulling on a pair of dark, tight-fitting trousers and a black long-sleeved shirt she usually wore for heavy winter cleaning. She left her shoes off; her thick cotton socks would give her better traction and ensure her footsteps were completely silent against the polished wood floors downstairs.

​April slipped out of her room, leaving the door unlocked so it would be easy to slip in if the situation called for it.

​The corridors of the servant wing were dark and smelled of stale floor wax. She moved like a ghost, her back pressed against the wall, pausing at every corner to listen for the heavy breathing of the sleeping maids. None of them moved. They were all exhausted from a grueling day of catering to the rich.

​When she reached the residential wing, the air changed. It became warmer, smelling of expensive lilies and wood polish.

The contrast between the two sections was to be expected. The maids didn’t exactly have the most cozy air to breathe in or a premium scented heater to keep them warm. Not even a normal heater. They made do with the worn out blankets that they had been using for years.

April had gotten used to it, but she was never content with it. She would get out of this wretched life soon and never look back.

​April slipped down the grand hallway until she stood before Liora’s bedroom door. She pressed her ear to the wood. Inside, everything was perfectly still. Slowly, April turned the heavy brass handle.

​Click.

​The sound was tiny, almost entirely swallowed by the ambient hum of the mansion’s air conditioning. She pushed the door inward just enough to slide her body through, then closed it behind her with the same agonizing slowness.

​The room was bathed in the pale, silvery glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains. Liora was fast asleep, buried under the heavy cream duvet, her long blonde hair fanned out across the pillows.

She looked peaceful, completely oblivious to the fact that her perfect world had exactly sixty days left before it shattered into bloody pieces.

​April’s eyes swept the room, immediately locking onto the dark velvet box sitting on top of the marble vanity mirror table.

​She glided across the plush rug, making absolutely no sound. Her fingers reached out and gently lifted the lid of the box.

​Empty.