Chapter 3: Vanishing Act at Midnight

Afterward, I went abroad to study, and didn’t see Savannah for years.

The distance was hard, but I thought it was for the best. I wanted her to have space to heal, to build a life without my family’s tragedy hanging over her. I told myself it was right, even as I missed her every day.

Now that I think about it, wasn’t that middleman’s last name Chu?

The realization hit like lightning. Harrison Chu—of course. It all made sense now. The tangled web of debts and favors, the way Savannah’s family had ended up in Harrison’s orbit. I let out a bitter laugh.

So that’s how it is. Real life is messier than TV.

I couldn’t help but laugh, tears stinging my eyes.

The absurdity was overwhelming. I laughed until I cried, the sound echoing through the empty house. Life had outdone itself this time—no screenwriter could have dreamed up a story this twisted.

With shaking hands, I called Mr. Waller.

I fumbled with my phone, dialing his number from memory. My hands shook so bad I almost dropped it, but I got the call through.

"Mr. Waller, back when I sold those shares and donated the money through a middleman, can you give me all the details and receipts?"

My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. I waited, holding my breath, as he searched his files.

"Of course, son. I kept everything, including emails and recordings."

His voice was warm, reassuring. Relief washed over me. Maybe, just maybe, I could finally get some answers.

"Great, send them all to me."

I hung up, heart pounding. For the first time in days, I felt a flicker of hope.

***

It wasn’t until the next evening that Savannah finally rushed home.

She burst through the door, hair windblown, cheeks flushed. She looked at me with wide, anxious eyes, clutching a folder to her chest.

"Babe, that doctor did remove your kidney without permission, but he committed suicide soon after quitting."

Her voice shook, but her eyes were steady. She handed me the folder, full of official-looking documents. I took it, hands trembling.

Does it really take a whole day and night to print a fake death certificate?

I flipped through the papers, noting the mismatched signatures, the blurred stamps. It was all a sham, but she played her part well. My fists clenched, anger simmering.

I glanced at the report in her hand, sneering as I clenched my fists.

The sight of her standing there, so earnest, made my blood boil. I forced a smile, playing along. Two could play this game.

"So the dead pay no debts."

My words were sharp, pointed. She flinched, just for a second, then smoothed her face. I watched her, searching for any sign of remorse.

Savannah nervously watched my reaction.

She bit her lip, eyes darting between me and the folder. I could see her mind working, calculating her next move. She was good at this—too good.

I played along, my eyes bloodshot.

I let my emotions show, tears welling up. I wanted her to think I was broken, defeated. It was the only way to keep her off balance.

"Savannah, don’t you think people are scary? In a moment, they can ruin someone’s whole future. It was his fault, but I’m the one who has to live with it!"

My voice cracked, raw. I saw a flicker of guilt cross her face, but it vanished. She reached out, her touch hesitant.

Savannah avoided my eyes, just gently rubbed my back.

She murmured soothing words, her hand moving in slow circles. It was a practiced gesture, one she’d used a thousand times. But this time, it felt empty.

"Ethan, there’s no absolute good or bad in this world. Even though you lost Mariah, we’re together now, and I love you more than she ever did."

Her words were meant to reassure, but they only made me feel worse. Did she even believe them? Or was she just trying to keep me close?

Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud.

The absurdity was too much. I bit my tongue, holding back a bitter laugh. If only she knew how little her words meant now.

"Savannah, we’ve been married two years, and I haven’t been able to give you anything—not even a child."

I let the words hang, heavy. I watched her closely, waiting for her reaction.

Savannah tried to stay calm and quickly comforted me.

She grabbed my hand, squeezing tight. "Babe, I’m actually already pregnant with your child. I wanted to surprise you on your birthday, but I guess I should have told you sooner."

Her smile was radiant, her eyes shining with excitement. I forced myself to match her energy, pretending to be happy.

I pretended to be delighted.

I pulled her into a hug, laughing with fake relief. "That’s wonderful. Let’s celebrate my birthday properly. Buy me a yacht—I want to take you and the baby out to sea."

I watched her reaction, noting the way her eyes lit up at the mention of the yacht. She nodded eagerly, already planning.

Seeing my mood finally improve, Savannah secretly breathed a sigh of relief and quickly agreed.

She kissed my cheek, promising to make all the arrangements. I smiled, knowing I’d just set the last piece in motion.

***

Mr. Waller soon had all the materials ready for me.

He delivered them in a thick manila envelope, every document organized. I spent hours going over receipts, emails, recordings, piecing together the truth of what happened all those years ago.

A thick stack, detailing every payment’s time and amount.

There was a paper trail for everything—the initial transfer, the middleman’s fee, the final deposit into the Lee family account. All there, black and white. Proof I’d been the one to save Savannah’s family—not Harrison.

There were also all the call records between me, Mr. Waller, and the middleman.

I listened to the recordings, my own voice sounding strange. I heard the gratitude in Mr. Waller’s tone, the relief in mine. It was like listening to a ghost.

I bought a safe and put everything inside.

The safe was heavy, solid, bolted to the floor of my study. I placed the documents inside, along with a letter explaining everything. If anyone ever needed to know the truth, it would be there.

Then I checked all the assets under my name.

I logged into every account, scoured every file. Savannah had given me more than I’d realized—houses, cars, stocks, even some art. It was a small fortune, and I was determined not to leave a trace behind.

Over the years, Savannah had given me a lot: besides the 99 houses, there were expensive watches, luxury cars, antiques, and some shares in the Lee Group.

I made a list of everything, down to the last detail. It was weird, seeing my life as a spreadsheet. But it made things easier, somehow—more manageable.

I hired several agents to help me sell everything quickly, even below market price.

The agents were discreet, efficient. They didn’t ask questions, just moved the merchandise fast. I took whatever offers came, caring more about speed than profit.

Soon, everything was sold, and I recovered a total of $160 million in cash.

The final number was staggering. I stared at the screen, barely believing it. More money than I’d ever dreamed of, but it meant nothing now.

After receiving the last payment, I paid for the fake death service first.

I wired the money to the account the woman gave me, making sure to cover my tracks. The transaction was quick—a final goodbye to my old life.

I also sent the travel route and yacht model for that day.

I emailed the details, double-checking every coordinate, every spec. I wanted everything perfect—no mistakes.

The moment the money arrived, my phone rang. The voice on the other end was still cold.

She confirmed the plan, brisk and professional. No turning back now.

"Once you set out, a submarine will track you the whole time. Make sure to fall into the sea at exactly 10:00 p.m."

Her instructions were clear. I memorized every detail. No second chances.

"Your new identity and accounts have been sent. Don’t bring any electronic devices."

A new life, waiting for me across the water. I felt a strange relief, mixed with fear. I was about to become someone else—someone who didn’t have to look over his shoulder.

With that, she hung up.

The line went dead. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was next.

A string of numbers popped up on my computer—the new overseas account. I deposited the remaining $158 million into it.

I transferred the money in small increments, careful not to trigger alarms. When it was done, I closed the laptop and leaned back, exhausted.

I had little to pack. I went to Savannah’s jewelry box and took a silver locket.

The locket was old, a little tarnished, but beautiful. It had belonged to my mother—the only thing I had left of her. She’d always said it should go to the woman I loved, but now it felt more like a goodbye than a gift.

The locket was my mother’s only keepsake. She’d said it should go to my future wife.

I turned it over in my hands, tracing the initials. It felt heavy, full of meaning—a reminder of what I’d lost, and what I still had to fight for.

I wrapped it and my new passport in waterproof film.

I tucked them into a small bag, sealing it tight. If I made it out alive, they’d be the only things I’d take into my new life.

After packing, a few messages popped up on my phone—from Savannah.

Her texts were short, apologetic. She claimed to be swamped at work, promising to make it up to me on my birthday. I read them without emotion, already knowing the truth.

Only then did I realize she hadn’t been home in a long time.

The house felt empty, her absence a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong. I wondered if she missed me at all, or if I was just another loose end.

"Babe, I won’t be home tonight either. My maternity leave is about to start, and I still have a lot to hand over at work. Let’s just meet on your birthday."

Her words were sweet, but I heard the distance. She was already gone.

But on Facebook Messenger, she didn’t talk to Harrison that way. These days, they were practically inseparable.

Their messages were full of inside jokes, late-night confessions, and plans for the future. It was clear they were more than friends. I felt a pang of jealousy, then anger.

Eating together, commuting together, even going to prenatal checkups together—like they were the real couple.

I scrolled through the photos, each one a knife in the gut. They looked happy, carefree, as if I didn’t exist. I wondered how long it had been going on.

I sent a few casual replies, then screenshotted and printed all of Savannah and Harrison’s chat logs, and put them in the safe too.

I wanted a record—a testament to the truth. If anyone ever came looking, they’d find it here, locked away.

I placed the safe in the most obvious spot.

It sat in the center of my study, impossible to miss. I wanted them to find it, to see everything I’d uncovered. My final act of defiance—a way to make sure the truth outlived me.

***

On my birthday.

The day dawned gray and cold, sky heavy with clouds. I dressed in my best suit—the one from our wedding. It felt strange, like wearing someone else’s skin. But I wanted to look my best for my final act.

Before leaving, I called Savannah.

Her voice was breathless, hurried. I heard traffic in the background, distant horns. She sounded distracted, like she had somewhere else to be.

She was clearly flustered and out of breath.

"Ethan? What’s up?"

I smiled, keeping my tone light. "Just the two of us on the yacht might be too quiet. Why don’t we invite some friends and share the good news?"

I pretended not to notice and spoke naturally.

I could hear her hesitation, the way her breath caught. She tried to sound enthusiastic, but I could tell she was nervous.

"Sure, whatever you say."

Her agreement was quick, almost too quick. I pressed on, pushing her a little more.

"Also, I want to invite Harrison. It’s been a while, and now that we have a child, there might be business between us in the future. It’s time to let the past go."

I could hear the panic in her silence, the scramble for an excuse. I didn’t give her the chance.

"No..."

I cut her off, my tone mocking.

"You’re not worried I’ll find out you and Harrison are closer than you and me, are you?"

She stammered, her words tumbling. "Of course not. I’ll invite him."

I took my passport and mother’s locket and left.

I slipped the locket into my pocket, feeling its weight. I glanced around the house one last time, memorizing every detail. Then I closed the door and walked out into the cold morning, ready for whatever came next.

To everyone’s surprise, Harrison and Savannah boarded the boat together, even wearing matching outfits.

They arrived arm in arm, laughing, matching jackets drawing a few looks. They didn’t care. I watched them from across the deck, face unreadable.

At 8:00 p.m., the yacht left Chicago harbor, packed with people.

The city lights faded behind us, replaced by the endless dark of Lake Michigan. The boat was full—friends, acquaintances, even some strangers. The air was thick with laughter, clinking glasses, expensive cologne.

As night fell, the atmosphere got lively.

Music blared, couples danced, drinks flowed. I made my rounds, shaking hands, making small talk, always keeping an eye on Savannah and Harrison.

After a few rounds of drinks, I toasted each friend. When I got to Harrison, I put my arm around Savannah and raised my glass.

The crowd quieted, sensing something. I smiled, raising my glass high. "To old friends and new beginnings," I said, voice steady. Harrison stared, unreadable.

Harrison didn’t clink glasses, just took a sip.

He raised his glass in my direction, but didn’t meet my eyes. The silence was heavy, full of things unsaid.

"Ethan Harper, of all people, you should thank me most. If not for me, you wouldn’t have married Savannah. But you’re really lucky—we all thought you’d be childless with only one kidney, hahaha..."

His laugh was loud, forced. The guests laughed too, not catching the sting. I smiled, waiting.

This was what I’d been waiting for. I glanced at my watch: 9:55 p.m.

The second hand ticked closer to ten, my heart pounding. I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

I smiled. "Harrison, you really are my great benefactor. Why don’t we go out on deck and have a private drink—let’s let the past be the past."

My words were smooth, inviting. He hesitated, then nodded, following me outside. The air was cold, wind whipping off the lake.

Harrison gave a fake smile. "Sure."

He followed, posture stiff. We stood at the railing, city lights a memory. I poured us each a drink, the bottle trembling in my hand.

Out on the deck, he dropped the act. "Ethan, you’ve known about me and Savannah for a while, haven’t you? You’re really something, wearing this green hat so calmly."

His words were sharp, mocking. I met his gaze, refusing to look away. I could see the triumph in his eyes.

I clinked glasses with him.

The sound rang out, clear and sharp. I took a long drink, feeling the burn. It was almost over.

"So what? Harrison, after all your scheming, Savannah is still pregnant with my child. You can’t even beat a cripple with one kidney. Maybe you should get checked out yourself."

My words were calm, almost casual. I saw the color drain from his face, his confidence faltering.

Harrison froze. "What did you say?"

His voice was tight, barely a whisper. I smiled, savoring the moment.

I checked my watch again: 9:58 p.m.

The second hand inched closer. I reached into my pocket, pulling out the folded report.

I pulled a paternity test report from my pocket and handed it to him. It clearly stated I was the biological father of the fetus.

He snatched it, eyes scanning the page. His hands shook, paper crumpling. I watched, face blank.

Forging a report—he wasn’t the only one who could do it.

I thought of all the lies, all the secrets. I’d learned from the best. Harrison’s face twisted, his composure slipping.

I taunted, "See that, Harrison? You can’t even compare to a cripple!"

My words were harsh, but I didn’t care. He’d taken everything from me—I wanted him to feel it too.

Harrison’s veins bulged with rage. "You two are playing me!"

His voice was loud, echoing over the deck. The guests turned, sensing a fight. I stood my ground.

At 9:59, his fist, carried by the lake breeze, swung at me.

He lunged, knuckles catching my jaw. I staggered, the world tilting. The pain was sharp, but I barely felt it. I glanced at my watch—almost time.

I dodged, but my foot slipped and I fell off the boat.

The railing caught me for a split second, then gave way. I tumbled over the side, cold air rushing past. The water hit like a wall, stealing my breath.

At that moment, Savannah happened to walk over and saw everything.

She screamed, her voice slicing the night. I caught a glimpse of her face—wide-eyed, terrified—as I disappeared beneath the waves.

As the water swallowed me, I heard Savannah scream from the bottom of her heart.

"No! Ethan!"

Her cry echoed across the lake, mingling with the shouts of the guests. I let myself sink, the cold numbing my body, darkness closing in. For the first time in years, I felt free.