The donation notifications were coming in so fast that my backup phone nearly overheated.
#VivianReedMagicPenScam#
#MostSavageDeathbedSetupEver#

Both hashtags blazed across social media with bright "TRENDING" badges, dominating the top spots nationwide.
Early the next morning, Ethan and Ryan eagerly rushed out with their stack of "legal documents."
I bet they'd barely slept, too busy planning how to spend my money.
Unfortunately for them, the bank teller stared at those blank signature lines like they were showing her invisible ink drawings.
The County Recorder's Office staff didn't even hesitate before calling security.
Ryan completely lost it, screaming in the middle of the crowded bank lobby:

"It's fucking witchcraft! The signatures were right there! I watched her sign them myself!"
That meltdown, captured by dozens of cell phones, became instant viral gold.
To twist the knife a little deeper, I sent Nathan the signal.
He immediately called my mother, his voice grave yet tinged with manufactured amazement at the "medical miracle."

"Mrs. Reed! Something extraordinary has happened. After signing those papers, Vivian's will to live seems to have surged—her condition has stabilized dramatically!"
My mother swallowed it whole, of course.
She even took it as a sign that my "death" would bring good fortune—that I was preparing to bestow my "luck" upon the family.
To ensure my "good fortune" would properly transfer to them, they found some self-proclaimed spiritual master.
This charlatan waved his hands around and declared my funeral must be extravagant, unique—a celebration rather than a mourning.
This would supposedly channel my wealth and luck directly to my brother.
And so, my viewers witnessed the most absurd planning session imaginable.
My family huddled together, planning my funeral with the enthusiasm of a wedding committee.
"We need a bright red banner that says 'Joyous Passing'!"
"Find her happiest photo for the portrait—the more she's smiling, the better our luck!"
Ryan chimed in, practically salivating: "And we definitely need a champagne tower! The biggest one they offer!"
Meanwhile, I sat comfortably in Nathan's secure apartment, video conferencing with the country's top legal team.
Every recording had been triple-encrypted and backed up across multiple secure servers.
The evidence chain was airtight and unbreakable.
The stage was set.
I recorded my final "farewell" video and posted it to my now-viral channel.
In the video, I appeared deathly pale, my lips bloodless, my voice a fragile whisper.
"Thank you all for your support. Your kindness has brought warmth to my final days."
"As for my family… I forgive them. All of them."
"Please, when I'm gone, don't harass them. Let them be."
These calculated "last words" lowered my family's guard completely.
And simultaneously poured gasoline on the already blazing inferno of my viewers' outrage.
The fire was about to become an inferno.