Two weeks later, I met with my attorney—not the Hayes family firm, but my own independent counsel—to discuss a different approach to Mia's proposal than the one I'd taken in my previous life.

"Instead of a full partnership, I want to create a separate joint venture entity," I explained. "Reed & Chen Collaborative would handle specific projects while keeping our primary businesses separate."


My attorney nodded approval. "Much cleaner from a liability perspective. What parameters are you considering?"

"Limited scope—specifically art-world events where her connections add clear value. Separate banking and accounting from my main business. Project-by-project contracts rather than blanket authority. And most importantly, no access to Reed Events' existing client contracts or financial systems."

The structure I outlined would give the appearance of accepting Mia's proposal while actually creating significant barriers to the fraud scheme I knew she and Ethan were planning. In my previous life, our fully integrated partnership had given them access to everything—client relationships, banking authorities, contract approvals. This limited joint venture would provide the appearance of collaboration while maintaining critical separations.


When I presented this counterproposal to Mia, her disappointment was evident despite her attempts to appear supportive.

"That seems unnecessarily complicated," she objected. "The whole point is streamlining operations, not creating more administrative work."


"It's actually simpler from a business perspective," I countered. "It allows us to collaborate where it makes sense while maintaining our individual brands and specialties."

She pushed back with increasing frustration, her arguments revealing how essential full integration was to her actual purposes. When she finally realized I wouldn't budge, she reluctantly agreed to the joint venture model—salvaging what she could of their plan while clearly recognizing it would be more difficult to execute.

"We'll make it work," she said with forced enthusiasm. "Though I still think full partnership would be more efficient in the long run."

"We can always evolve the structure if this proves successful," I replied, offering hope for the future access she desired while having no intention of ever providing it.

The Tokyo conference proceeded exactly as it had in my previous life—Ethan absorbed in business meetings while encouraging me to explore the city with other executives' spouses, effectively separating me from any substantive participation. The key difference was that this time, I had prepared for my absence from New York by implementing additional security measures on all company systems and accounts, with alerts that would notify me of any unusual activities.

Sure enough, while I was in Tokyo, those alerts triggered—documenting attempts to access financial records beyond the scope of normal operations and unusual fund transfers that were quickly reversed when authorization challenges were encountered. Had I not been specifically monitoring for such activities, they would have appeared as simple administrative errors or system glitches rather than test runs for larger fraud.

I documented everything while appearing completely unaware, maintaining my performance as the supportive wife enjoying a business trip in an exciting foreign city. When we returned to New York, I found Mia had been busy in my absence—cultivating relationships with my key staff, reviewing client files under the guise of "getting up to speed" for our joint venture, and generally establishing herself as an authority figure within my company.

"Your team is amazing," she gushed during our first meeting after my return. "So talented and dedicated. Especially Jennifer—she was incredibly helpful while you were away."

The mention of my finance director was not coincidental—in my previous life, Jennifer had been the first staff member to raise concerns about accounting discrepancies, only to be systematically undermined by Mia and eventually pushed out. This time, Jennifer was fully briefed on what to expect and instructed to appear cooperative while actually revealing nothing of significance.

"She's been with me from the beginning," I replied. "I trust her completely."

Something flickered in Mia's eyes—frustration, perhaps, at finding this potential ally less useful than anticipated. "Trust is so important in business," she agreed. "Speaking of which, I've been thinking about our joint venture structure. For the Bergman Gallery expansion project, we might need more integration than we initially discussed. Their accounting department is requesting a single point of contact for billing."

The request seemed reasonable on the surface but would create exactly the kind of financial integration their scheme required. In my previous life, I'd agreed to such "practical" adjustments without recognizing their strategic purpose.

"We can designate a project accountant for client convenience without changing our underlying structure," I countered smoothly. "I'll have Jennifer set it up."

Each such exchange followed a similar pattern—Mia proposing "practical" adjustments that would incrementally break down the barriers I'd established, me finding alternative solutions that maintained those critical separations while appearing to be reasonable accommodations.

Meanwhile, my private investigator continued documenting Ethan and Mia's increasing personal involvement—meetings at his private club when I was known to be occupied with foundation events, late-night phone calls, text exchanges that grew increasingly intimate in tone. The pattern matched my previous life exactly, though their attempts at discretion were more sophisticated this time—perhaps sensing in me a vigilance I hadn't possessed before.

Fifteen months into my marriage, exactly as in my previous life, I discovered the first concrete evidence of financial fraud—a client payment diverted to an account I didn't recognize before being "corrected" as an accounting error. In my previous life, I'd accepted the explanation provided by the Hayes-recommended accounting firm that had gradually taken over my financial operations. This time, I documented the transaction while appearing to believe the "system glitch" explanation.

Similar "errors" increased in frequency and scale over the following months—always corrected when "discovered," always explained as technical problems or administrative oversights. I tracked each instance meticulously while maintaining my performance as the trusting wife and friend, gradually building a comprehensive map of their fraud scheme.

The pattern was sophisticated but clear: client payments temporarily diverted to holding accounts before being partially restored, service contracts with Hayes-affiliated businesses that provided minimal actual value at maximum cost, and gradual adjustments to profit-sharing agreements that channeled funds away from my company through seemingly legitimate means.

Most significantly, I discovered what I hadn't been able to prove in my previous life—Ethan's direct involvement in the scheme. His legal expertise was being used to create contractual structures that appeared legitimate while containing hidden mechanisms for fund diversion. His family connections were providing cover for transactions that would otherwise raise red flags. And his position as my husband gave him insights into my schedule and activities that allowed their operations to proceed when I was least likely to notice.

Eighteen months into my marriage—exactly as in my previous life—the Hayes Foundation announced a major fundraising gala to celebrate its 50th anniversary. The event would be held at the Hayes mansion, the same location where I had died in my previous life. The symmetry was perfect—creating the opportunity I needed for the final phase of my plan.

"Of course Reed Events will handle everything," Victoria declared during a family dinner, not bothering to frame it as a request. "It's our most significant celebration in decades."

"Actually," Ethan interjected smoothly, "I was thinking Reed & Chen Collaborative would be perfect for this. The foundation's art education programs align perfectly with their joint expertise."

The suggestion was not coincidental—in my previous life, this event had been the catalyst for discovering their betrayal. The complex financial arrangements required for such a major event had created opportunities for significant fraud, eventually leading to the discrepancies I'd discovered the night before my death.

"Either way," Victoria conceded with a dismissive wave, "Olivia will oversee the creative direction. The guest list includes everyone who matters in New York—it must be flawless."

"Of course," I agreed, already calculating how this event would serve my purposes. "It's an honor to showcase the foundation's legacy."

The planning process provided exactly the opportunities I needed—access to Hayes family financial records under the guise of budget discussions, interactions with key associates who might later serve as witnesses, and most importantly, legitimate reasons to be present at the mansion while making preparations.

I used these opportunities methodically, gathering the final pieces of evidence needed to complete my case against them. Bank records showing systematic fraud. Communications documenting their coordination. Witness statements from vendors who had been pressured to participate in fraudulent billing. And most damning of all, recordings of Ethan and Mia discussing their plans when they believed themselves unobserved.

One month before the gala—and exactly one month before the anniversary of my death in my previous life—I met with my attorney to finalize preparations for what would come next. The evidence was organized into three comprehensive files: one documenting the financial crimes against my company, one detailing Ethan's ethical violations and legal misconduct, and one addressing the personal betrayal that, while not criminal, would destroy their social standing and professional reputations.

"This is extraordinarily thorough," my attorney remarked as she reviewed the materials. "Most people in your position would have confronted the issues much earlier, with far less documentation."

"I needed to understand the full scope," I replied simply. "And ensure there could be no doubt about what has occurred."

"There's no doubt," she confirmed grimly. "The question is how you want to proceed. Given your husband's family connections and legal resources, this will be... complicated."

"I'm aware," I nodded. "That's why timing and approach are critical. I have a specific plan for how this needs to unfold."

I outlined my strategy in detail—the precise sequence of events, the key players who needed to be present, the contingencies for various responses. My attorney listened with increasing concern.

"This is unusually... theatrical," she observed when I finished. "Most cases of this nature are handled through formal legal channels, not public confrontations."

"This isn't just about legal remedies," I explained. "It's about justice in its fullest sense. They need to face the consequences of their actions directly, not just through proxies and procedures."

She studied me for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to my motivation than I was revealing. "This is personal for you. Beyond the obvious betrayals."

"Yes," I acknowledged simply. "It is."

She nodded slowly. "Just be careful that pursuit of justice doesn't become something else. Revenge rarely provides the satisfaction people expect."

Her warning—gentle but perceptive—echoed James's earlier concerns. In constructing this elaborate plan, was I becoming as calculating as those who had destroyed me? Was justice pursued through deception still justice at all?

But such philosophical questions were luxuries I couldn't afford, not when I was so close to completing the mission that had driven me since my resurrection. The Hayes Foundation gala would be held exactly two years after my wedding—and precisely on the anniversary of my death in my previous life. The symmetry was perfect, the trap set with meticulous care.

All that remained was to spring it at precisely the right moment, when all the key players were assembled and the evidence could be presented in a way that would make denial impossible.

Not just Ethan and Mia, but Victoria and Richard as well—all those who had benefited from my destruction, all those who had seen me as nothing but a useful tool to be discarded when no longer needed.