-end luxury consignment boutique in Beverly Hills. Julia

earing a tailored vest and gold-rimmed glasses stepped forward. His name tag re

ned table. She ripped the zippers open. Dozens of des

led on a pair of white cotton gloves, picked up his je

nxiety spiking. She grabbed the complimentary iced Cold Brew from the t

passed in ago

ression uncomfortable. He had separated the items into two pile

d at the massive mountain of bags.

pologize, but this pile... these are high-quali

from the sofa. She grabbed a Birkin bag from the p

handle and the incorrect weight of the hardware. His

ep up appearances while drowning in debt

lex watches and one classic Chanel flap ba

dollars. That is

ollars. In the apocalypse, that wouldn't even

gs back into the suitcases, and stormed ou

walked down the block, pushing through

small table in the back, and pulled ou

pes. She spent ten frantic minutes scrolling through the noise, piecing together scattered advice from hardcore survivalists. Drawing on vague memories of doomsday novels she used to read, she narr

shielding, air filtration, and a water recy

ical kits, solar arrays, and defensive weapons p

lt like a physical weight crushing her chest. She g

away. Without a bunker, she would be de

aggressively through the contacts, se

er a name. Eleanor V

trust fund worth fifty million dollars. The stipulation was strict: Juli

nt years trying to find legal loopholes to

te plan formed in her head. Trade the

be worthless ash in three months. But five

ed up a "Voluntary Relinquishment of Trust Fund Inheritan

ricano. The ice cubes clinked loudl

shop, and got into the Porsche. She set the G