Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

In the center of the hall, April stood quietly. She crossed her arms loosely across her chest.

Every word coming out of that evil woman’s mouth felt foul and made her belly turn in disgust.

She had no shame, spouting all that talk of integrity and relentless sacrifice when she treated the maids in her household like punchingbags and stripped them of their very human rights.

But that was the least of her crimes. There was someting bigger ahead of that.

Beside April, Dr. Oliver subtly raised his tablet, his fingers tapping a swift, silent sequence across the screen.

On April’s other side, Nat let out a low, breathless chuckle, his golden eyes fixed on the massive, state-of-the-art projection screen hanging behind the stage.

"As we launch our newest enterprise," Madam Morgan continued, gesturing dramatically toward the backdrop, "we take immense pride in presenting the vision, the architecture, and the foundation of our future!"

Steven raised his champagne glass toward the audience. "Behold—the future of the Morgan Group!"

The giant high-definition screens flickered. The crowd hushed in anticipation, waiting for sleek architectural renders and booming financial projections.

Instead, a sharp, static hiss tore through the speakers.

The glossy corporate logo dissolved instantly, replaced by high-resolution photographs and scanned black-and-white ledgers.

The first image to fill the ten-foot screen was a detailed financial audit—highlighting decades of systematic tax evasion, illegal offshore accounts, and dark money laundering channels tied directly to the Morgan Group and the Le Moreno family enterprise.

A collective, sharp gasp rippled through the ballroom.

"What... what is that?!" Steven stammered, his glass freezing halfway to his mouth. "Turn that off! Technicians, switch the feed!"

Before the event staff could panic-button the power, the feed cut to a darker, far more sinister series of files.

High-resolution internal estate logs flashed across the screen, detailing years of severe human rights violations, labor law breaches, and forced, unpaid servitude within the Morgan estate.

Right beside the paper trails were crisp, undeniable security stills: Madam Morgan snarling over bruised, and whipped domestic staff; Matilda cornering young servant girls in dark hallways; and detailed medical records documenting years of severe physical abuse meted out to nameless, unpaid orphans.

The room erupted into absolute, deafening chaos.

"My God! Look at those ledgers!"

"Is that forced labor?! In this day and age?!"

"Look at the Le Moreno name on those wire transfers! They’re tied to all of it!"

"Just what in the world is going on?"

Selma LeMoreno’s jaw dropped in sheer horror as her family’s name flashed on screen alongside dark, illegal transactions, while Cai let out a pathetic whimpering sound, clutching his head in absolute panic.

On stage, Madam Morgan’s face drained of every ounce of color. The arrogant, untouchable matriarch was suddenly trembling, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the podium, her eyes darting wildly across the screaming crowd.

"Shut it down! Shut it down right now!" Madam Morgan shrieked into the microphone, her voice cracking hysterically. "This is a malicious lie! A hack! It’s all fake!"

Amidst the frantic shouting, the crashing champagne glasses, and the wave of rising panic sweeping through the hall, a soft, clear laugh rippled across the center of the ballroom.

April casually took a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray, taking a light, deliberate sip. She tilted her head toward the stage, her melodious voice carrying effortlessly over the commotion.

"Why so flustered, Madam Morgan?" April called out softly, her dark eyes glittering with cold, mocking amusement. "I thought you said tonight was about celebrating your true foundation and legacy. You really shouldn’t be so modest about your life’s work."

The crisp, unbothered arrogance in her tone cut straight through the surrounding noise.

Several nearby board members and high-society socialites froze, their heads snapping toward her in total shock.

"Did... did she do this?" a board member near Steven whispered in sheer horror, pointing a trembling finger toward April as he registered her serene, victorious smile. "Look at her!"

Several more heads turned, stares locking onto the breathtaking woman clad in sapphire.

April didn’t flinch or look away. She stepped forward smoothly, her voice cool, clear, and perfectly commanding the attention of the entire room.

"Yes," April said, her dark eyes flashing with lethal, breathtaking triumph. "I changed the slides, if that’s what you’re asking. Consider it my personal contribution to your grand launch, Morgans."

The moment the words left April’s lips, the air on the grand stage turned completely toxic.

Madam Morgan’s breath hitched in her throat. Her pupils dilated until her irises were almost entirely engulfed in pitch-black fury, her chest heaving violently beneath her gold-embroidered gown.

Her manicured hands clutched the marble edges of the podium so hard her knuckles turned stark white, her knuckles trembling as her brain frantically tried to bridge the gap between memory and reality.

How...? Why was she here?!

Madam Morgan’s blood ran cold as her bloodshot eyes darted away from April’s face, scanning the untouchable perimeter surrounding the girl in sapphire.

Standing right beside the former maid were the exact same terrifying figures whom she had spotted at the auction. But just how was it that they were around her, protecting her? What did she do to gain their favor?

They were standing formation like the woman with them was a queen. Ridiculous!

A violent, ugly knot of jealousy, humiliation, and utter terror twisted in Madam Morgan’s gut. The quiet, helpless orphan she had starved, beaten, and thrown into the dark corners of the servant quarters was now standing in the center of her crowning moment—and ruining every bit of it.

Her teeth gnashed together so hard a faint grinding sound echoed into the open microphone.

"You—!" Madam Morgan shrieked from the stage, her face contorting into a mask of pure homicidal rage and frantic, desperate panic. She slammed her fist against the podium, pointing a violently shaking finger straight at April’s chest.

"You ungrateful, wretched little parasite! Guards! Security! Arrest her! Tear her limb from limb!" Her screeching voice echoed through the high-ceilinged hall, reverberating off the marble pillars and fading into a suffocating, dead silence.

But... Not a single guard moved.

Up on the perimeter balconies and at every heavy exit, the black-uniformed tactical forces stood like towering iron statues, their arms crossed or hands resting cold against their holsters. They didn’t so much as twitch at Madam Morgan’s hysterical commands.

Madam Morgan’s breath hitched, her bloodshot eyes darting frantically toward the perimeter.

"What are you doing?!" she screamed, her voice cracking as sweat began to ruin her heavy makeup. "I pay your salaries! Grab her! Kill her!"

April simply tilted her head, taking a slow step forward as her sapphire gown rustled softly over the marble floor. A low, breathless chuckle escaped her lips—a quiet, melodic sound that cut through the silence like a dropped blade.

"Oh," April murmured, her dark eyes sparkling with cold, intoxicating amusement as she looked up at the stage. "Did I forget to mention?" She paused, her voice carrying effortlessly across the entire venue. "I changed the guards as well."

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