The first million dollars was the hardest. How do you physically destroy a million dollars in a day without attracting attention?
Mo Chen started with the easiest target: cash. She went to the bank and withdrew $200,000 in hundred-dollar bills. The weight of the bricks of money in her designer handbag felt surreal. She drove to a remote, abandoned industrial lot she knew of from her rebellious teenage days.
With a steady hand, she doused the pile of money with lighter fluid from a canister she'd bought for a hypothetical fireplace she'd never had. She struck a match.
The bills caught fire quickly, the flames greedily consuming the portraits of dead presidents. The heat warmed her face, but her heart was ice. This wasn't waste. This was sacrifice. Each curling, blackening bill was an offering to the god of vengeance growing inside her.
[$200,000 USD burned. Remaining quota: $800,000. Personal funds increased by $1,000.]
The conversion was insultingly small, but it was a start.
Next, she drove to the dealership where Julian had bought her the vintage Porsche. She walked in, ignoring the fawning salesmen, and pointed to the most expensive, limited-edition hypercar on the floor—a $1.2 million Bugatti.
"I'll take it. Full payment, now," she said, presenting a system-generated black credit card.
The transaction went through. She had the car driven to the same industrial lot. She then took a sledgehammer from the trunk of her own car and, with a strength born of pure rage, systematically smashed the windows, the headlights, and the pristine bodywork. It was a brutal, cathartic act of destruction.
[Transaction approved. $1,200,000 USD spent on physical asset. Asset successfully destroyed. Daily quota exceeded. Excess converted at 0.1%. Personal funds increased by $3,000.]
Her personal account now held an extra $4,000. It was nothing. But the system was satisfied.
[Daily task completed. $1,000,000 USD successfully burned. Host may proceed. New quota generated in 24 hours.]
As she stood amidst the smoldering ashes of money and the wreckage of a million-dollar car, Mo Chen felt a grim sense of accomplishment. The first step was taken. The money was a tool, a resource to be consumed in the furnace of her wrath.
She pulled out her phone, the normal one, not the system's device. There was a text from Julian.
[My love! Can't wait for dinner tonight. I have the final guest list to show you. Two weeks until you're mine forever!]
A slow, terrifying smile spread across Mo Chen's face. It didn't reach her eyes.
[Can't wait,] she typed back.
Forever was going to be much, much shorter than he thought.