Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

The saleswoman’s jaw practically hit the polished marble floor. Her arms dropped to her sides, her snobbish attitude evaporating in an instant as she stared at the dense stack of hundreds resting in April’s hand.

​The two employees hurriedly grabbed the cash, their fingers trembling slightly as they ran the bills through their hands, counting out loud in breathless whispers.

​”Nine thousand dollars,” the first saleswoman muttered, her eyes darting from the money to April’s faded apron. ”This is... exactly nine thousand.”

​To these women, nine thousand dollars was a couple of months’ salary. To a housemaid, it was supposed to be years of back-breaking labor. The fact that this girl was casually standing here, dressed in rags, prepared to blow every single cent of her ’life savings’ on a single outfit was utterly insane.

​”Are you... are you absolutely sure about this, miss?” the second saleswoman asked, her voice suddenly dropping all of its sharpness, replaced by a sudden, anxious caution. ”Our boutique has a strict policy for high-value purchases. Once the tags are cut and you walk out that door, we do not issue refunds or exchanges. If this really is your entire life’s savings...”

​She trailed off, clearly thinking April had completely lost her mind.

​April let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

”You’re right, I’m not sure.” She said and reached into the stack, pulled one single hundred-dollar bill out of the pile, and slid it into her pocket.

She still needed to pay for a cab to the bank and a decent lunch later, after all.

​”Now I’m sure,” April said, her cold smirk widening as she tossed the remaining eighty-nine hundred dollars onto the glass counter. ”Get to work. I want the sharpest blazer dress you have, a clean blouse, and a pair of high-end sneakers. And you can throw this uniform in the trash when I’m done.”

​The saleswomen didn’t say another word. They scrambled into motion, bowing slightly as they rushed to the racks, completely singing a different tune now that the ’poor maid’ had proven she could buy and sell their entire inventory for the day.

​Within ten minutes, April was standing in the spacious, velvet-curtained changing room.

​She stripped out of the faded, scratchy Morgan uniform, letting it drop to the floor like a dead skin she was finally shedding.

She pulled on the new outfit: a structured, jet-black blazer dress that hugged her frame perfectly, giving her a sharp, commanding silhouette.

Underneath, the silk blouse felt like heaven against her skin, a stark contrast to the coarse cotton she had worn for a decade. Finally, she slid her feet into a pair of sleek, ultra-comfortable designer sneakers.

Afterwards, she got a comb, combed her hair down in the way the Morgan maids were never allowed to, letting her surprisingly healthy hair flow over her shoulder ​and then licked her thumb to brush over her eyebrows.

Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, April barely recognized the woman staring back.

With her brown hair falling over her shoulder, her sharp eyes and cold, confident posture in this new dress made her look entirely elite.

She looked like a wolf disguised in high fashion.

​She walked out of the changing room, leaving her old uniform crumpled on the floor. The saleswomen gasped softly, completely stunned by the transformation. April didn’t give them a second glance. She took her small shopping bag, stepped out of the boutique, and raised her hand to hail a cab.

​It was time to visit the bank and claim her ten million.

The cab pulled over and she got into the back seat.

”The Financial District,” she told the driver. ”Drop me right outside the Central Reserve Bank.”

​As the cab began to roll through the bustling morning traffic, April rested her chin on her hand, looking out at the glittering glass towers.

She was thinking.

​Ten million dollars. In this world, a check that large presented by a twenty-six-year-old would trigger immediate red flags, fraud departments, and endless questioning by bank managers.

​But April isn’t a normal citizen anymore, and she didn’t mind whoever they called because once they called Xavier Reed who wrote the check to confirm, he would tell them he was the one who wrote it.

Furthermore, he would use this opportunity to know her whereabouts and she would be getting her second commission. Her next money was rolling in. Yes, it was such an excellent calculation.

The cab pulled up to the curb right in front of the Central Reserve Bank—a monolithic structure of polished granite and towering glass pillars that practically screamed corporate authority.

Just as it was her first time going shopping for a dress, this was April’s first time going to the bank as well.

She stepped out, her designer sneakers hitting the pavement with a firm, grounded thud.

She had absolutely no ounce of hesitation as she walked, and it made the security guards at the revolving glass doors bow their heads respectfully as she passed.

​She walked straight to the premium transaction counters. The teller, a well-groomed man in a crisp suit, took one look at her aesthetic and offered a polished, professional smile.

”Good morning, ma’am. How can the Central Reserve assist you today?”

​April didn’t say a word. She simply reached into her pocket, withdrew the folded slip of paper she had ’extracted’ from her soul’s dimension just seconds before entering, and slid it across the marble counter.

​The teller picked it up but as soon as his eyes landed on the figures, his professional smile instantly froze.

His eyes darted from the staggering string of zeros—$10,000,000.00—to the elegant, razor-sharp signature of Xavier Reed at the bottom, and then up to April’s completely unbothered face.

A check that massive, drawn from the private corporate reserves of the city’s most ruthless tycoon by a twenty-six-year-old woman with no prior account history at this branch, was an immediate, code-red anomaly.

​”M-Ma’am,” the teller stammered, his voice dropping an octave as his hands shook slightly. ”A transaction of this... magnitude requires administrative override. Please follow me.”

”Okay,”

She knew this would happen.