Chapter 2

The food was brought out, but nobody had come to eat.

Tiffany didn't even pick up her fork. Instead, she reached into her Hermès Birkin, pulled out a thick stack of glossy folders, and grabbed an elegant remote.

She clicked a button. The ambient jazz drifting through the smart speakers cut off instantly.

A motorized panel behind the modern art wall slid upward, revealing a massive drop-down projector screen.

"Before we eat, everyone, I'd like to take a few minutes of your time," Tiffany announced.

She stood before the screen, leaning both hands on the table with the posture of a Fortune 500 CEO delivering an annual keynote.

"We've all been grinding in the corporate rat race. You must be exhausted."

"Living paycheck to paycheck, watching your life pass by with no way out... are you really satisfied with that?"

The moment the words left her mouth, our former class president, Brad, immediately spoke up.

"Tell me about it! I bust my ass every single day just to kiss my boss's ass, and my paycheck barely covers my mortgage!"

Several other classmates nodded frantically, their faces etched with frustration and bitterness.

Seeing the hook sink in, Tiffany’s gaze intensified.

She booted up the projector, and a sleek presentation lit up the screen.

"This is what I want to introduce to you today: The Federal Health and Wellness Strategic Innovation Grant."

"It's a high-yield capital initiative backed discreetly by elite institutional investors. All it takes is an initial buy-in of twenty thousand dollars. Through our proprietary matrix, that investment scales into a guaranteed payout of one million and forty thousand dollars."

She flipped through slides filled with flashy data charts, throwing around empty corporate jargon.

None of it made actual sense, but the massive, bold red text reading "$1,040,000" caught everyone's eye.

"Twenty grand turning into a million? Isn't that a little too good to be true? Sounds kind of scammy," one girl whispered nervously.

Tiffany immediately wore an expression of deep disappointment.

"How could this possibly be a scam? Do you know anything about macroeconomics?"

"The institutions keep this project quiet to protect the returns. Only people with actual vision get a seat at the table."

She gestured grandly at the grand estate around her.

"Look at me! I live in a multi-million-dollar villa and drive a brand-new Mercedes. What better proof do you need?"

She pointed to the Italian chandelier with absolute conviction.

"If this was fake, would I be standing here today?"

"The only reason I opened up such a low-tier buy-in to you guys is that I wanted to give my old classmates a real chance at generational wealth."

Listening to her textbook cult-like pitch, I couldn't help but furrow my brows.

There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world.

If turning twenty grand into a million was that easy, everyone would already be a millionaire.

The room fell into a brief, contemplative silence as people weighed the gamble.

Suddenly, Brad slapped his thigh and stood up.

"Tiffany, I'm in!"

"We've known each other for years. You wouldn't screw me over."

"I'm sending twenty grand right now. Put me down for a slot!"

He pulled out his phone, opened his app, and scanned the QR code Tiffany held up.

A crisp electronic chime echoed through the high-ceilinged room:

"PayPal notification: You have sent twenty thousand dollars."

Tiffany’s smile bloomed like a vulture spotting prey. She rushed over and grabbed Brad's hand with exaggerated warmth.

"Brad! I always knew you had real business instincts!"

"Stick with me. By the end of this year, you'll be driving a brand-new Porsche!"

With Brad taking the lead, the remaining hesitation in the room vanished completely.

"Tiffany, count me in too! Save a spot for me!"

"Me too! I'm transferring right now! This is our ticket out!"

"Risking twenty grand for a million? That's a no-brainer!"

Within seconds, the living room was filled with the sounds of notifications and breathless, euphoric chatter.

Basking in the adoration like a queen on her throne, Tiffany let a subtle, predatory gleam flash across her eyes.

She looked around the room, and her gaze finally locked onto me, quietly eating in the corner.