Chapter 2

Once I got home, I immediately went to work.

I had spent years building my business from scratch. You don't survive in the cutthroat logistics industry without making some serious connections.

I knew people on both sides of the law.

I reached out directly to Marcus Cole, the best private investigator in the city. He was ex-military and an ex-cop who got kicked off the force for "bending the rules." Now, he ran a private agency.

While trailing Chloe, I had managed to snap a few clear photos of the guy.

I slid the photos across the desk to Marcus. “Marcus, I need everything on this guy. Money is no object, but I need it fast.”

Marcus slipped the photos into his jacket pocket. “Don't worry, Ethan. I’m on it.”

With enough money on the line, Marcus worked at lightning speed. It took him less than a week.

We met at a quiet, private lounge. Marcus handed me a thick manila folder, looking at me with a touch of pity in his eyes.

“I got it all, Ethan. The kid's name is Jax Mercer. Twenty-seven, unemployed. He lives in Apartment 1203 at the Grand Plaza. The files and photos are all inside. See for yourself.”

I nodded, gesturing for him to take a sip of his drink.

The envelope was thick. I untied the string and pulled out the first stack of photos.

The first photo showed Chloe walking into a boutique hotel with Jax, arm in arm. The timestamp read 3:00 PM.

The second was Chloe putting sunscreen on a shirtless Jax by a luxury pool. She was wearing a tiny bikini I’d never seen before.

The third was Chloe passionately kissing Jax in her car, parked on a secluded dirt road, the windows half-rolled down.

I silently flipped through the photos, the veins in my temples throbbing violently.

“Fucking bastard!”

I couldn't help it. I slammed my hand on the table, cursing out loud.

Marcus remained quiet, pouring me a glass of water.

I never expected Chloe, who acted like a refined goddess in front of me, to play the sugar mommy to an unemployed bum.

But honestly, Jax was young, handsome, and fit. He was exactly the kind of eye candy women lusted after.

I used to look good, too. But years of building a business meant working eighty-hour weeks and sacrificing my health. I had gained weight, my skin looked exhausted, and my energy was depleted.

Regulating my breathing, I set the photos aside and continued reading the files.

Jax Mercer, twenty-seven. High school dropout. Worked briefly in sales, as a personal trainer, and as a club promoter. Currently living in Grand Plaza 1203, rent is $2,500 a month. Drives a brand-new BMW 3-Series he got last year.

His bank statements were attached.

He hadn't held a job in over a year, yet his spending was lavish.

VIP tables at clubs almost every night, dinners at high-end restaurants, and a wardrobe full of designer streetwear.

Where did an unemployed guy get that kind of money?

The answer lay in Chloe’s bank statements.

Her transaction history over the past two years was staggering. The transfers to Jax were painfully clear. Some were a few thousand dollars, some were tens of thousands. The largest single transfer was last June—a whopping fifty thousand dollars.

Some of that money came from the allowance I gave her for clothes and bags. Some of it was cash she begged for, claiming she was investing in index funds. The rest was capital I gave her to keep her boutique afloat.

No wonder her spending had skyrocketed. I thought she was just getting used to a luxury lifestyle. In reality, my hard-earned money was funding her pretty boy's lifestyle.

“Ethan, take a look at this,” Marcus said, pulling a final sheet of paper from the very bottom of the folder.

“It took some major strings to pull this record.”

I took it. It was a business registration certificate.

“Mercer Enterprises LLC”

Registered Agent: Jax Mercer.

Incorporation Date: One year ago.

When I saw the shareholder column, my pupils contracted.

Shareholder: Emerald Apparel LLC, owning 80% shares.

Initial Capital Investment: One million dollars.

Emerald Apparel was Chloe's boutique.

Seeing this, everything clicked.

A year ago, Chloe told me her boutique was taking a massive hit due to market trends. She claimed she’d lost major clients and profits were plummeting.

She said she was restructuring her strategy and needed capital to rebuild.

I had praised her ambition back then. She wasn't struggling at all—she was funneling my money out of her business.

She used my money to start a shell company, putting her lover's name on the deed.

Once she drained enough, she could merge Emerald Apparel into his shell company and run away with him and my money.

And what about me?

I would have kept working myself to death, blindly giving her money, only to be discarded like trash when my bank accounts hit zero.

Taking a deep breath, I packed the photos and files back into the manila folder.

“Great work, Marcus. I’ll wire you the remaining balance right now.”

Marcus nodded, hesitating for a moment. “Ethan, I’ve seen this play out a hundred times. If you need any... creative solutions, let me know.”

“No need,” I interrupted, slamming down my glass. “I’ll handle this myself.”

With the Soul-Swap System in my hands, why should I care if Chloe transferred my wealth? I didn't even have to worry about my terminal cancer anymore!