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I'm Ethan Montgomery, son of tech moguls. In a life I barely lived, I extended naive kindness to Kyle Johnson, our housekeeper's son, by giving him a supplementary Amex card. A small help, I thought. He used it like a magic wand. Kyle became the campus philanthropist, "donating" labs and AC with my money. He'd smirk, making me feel indebted for letting him build his empire using my funds. It climaxed when he claimed my cherry-red graduation muscle car. When I tried to tell the truth, his "fans" turned, screaming, "Liar! Thief!" They shoved me, fists flew. My reputation shattered. I became a pariah. I gathered proof to expose him. But Kyle couldn't let his world crumble. His aunt, a construction manager, violently swerved her truck into my car. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Pain, then darkness. Kyle, my "grieving best friend," then stole my entire inheritance, my life. A gasp tore from my throat. My eyes snapped open. I was in the university conference room. Dean Thompson beamed, Kyle Johnson, triumphant, signed the "Innovation Lab" agreement. The exact moment. This time? My fingers, steady, fumbled for my phone. "Supplementary cards. Kyle Johnson. Deactivate. Confirm."