Chapter 2

The scene played out exactly as I remembered. The nervous chuckles from my colleagues, Mr. Thompson' s skeptical frown, the sheer audacity of Chloe' s claim hanging in the room.

"For example," Chloe continued, her eyes sweeping over the team before landing on me, "our big pitch for the Veridian account next week? The product they' re launching will fail spectacularly. We should advise them to pull it."

My past life' s anger, a cold, hard knot in my stomach, was a stark contrast to the fresh shock on everyone else' s faces. I remembered my own professional dismissal of her words, my confidence in my data. This time, I knew better. Her "prediction" wasn' t a guess; it was information.

"That' s a very bold claim, Chloe," I said, my voice even and measured, completely different from the slightly flustered response I' d given before. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "A fatal design flaw, you said? Can you be more specific? What' s the flaw? If you remember the future so clearly, you must remember the details."

Chloe' s smile tightened for a fraction of a second. It was a flicker of surprise, so small that only I, watching for it, would have noticed.

"The specifics are a bit fuzzy," she said, recovering quickly. "The feeling, the outcome, that' s what' s clear. It' s more of an intuitive knowing."

"Intuitive knowing," I repeated slowly, letting the words hang in the air. "So, not quite a memory, then. More like a very strong hunch." I looked at Mr. Thompson. "My strategy is based on three months of market analysis, focus group data, and competitor research. It' s not a hunch."

Mr. Thompson, ever the pragmatist, nodded. "Sarah' s right. We operate on facts here. Chloe, we appreciate the... creative input. Now, let' s move on."

The meeting concluded, but the seed was planted. I saw the way a few of the junior staff looked at Chloe, a new curiosity in their eyes.

Later that day, Mark came over to my desk, leaning against the partition. "Hey, you were a little hard on the new girl, weren' t you?"

In my first life, this was when he had seemed charmingly protective of me. Now, I saw the opportunism glinting in his eyes. He was testing the waters, figuring out the power dynamics.

"I was professional, Mark," I said without looking up from my screen. "She made an extraordinary claim without a shred of evidence. It deserved to be questioned."

"Yeah, but what if she' s right?" he pressed. "Imagine how good that would make the agency look. Calling a massive product failure before it happens."

"And imagine how foolish we' d look if she' s wrong and we pull our pitch based on a 'fuzzy feeling' ," I countered, finally turning to look at him. His face was a mask of casual concern, but I knew what was behind it. Weakness. A desire to ride the coattails of whoever seemed most likely to win.

The week passed in a tense quiet. I secured the Veridian account, just like before. The victory felt hollow, a temporary reprieve before the real storm. At the celebration planning meeting, the conversation inevitably turned to where we should go.

"I was thinking The Gilded Spoon," I offered, my voice deliberately casual. I had to let this play out. I needed them to believe.

Chloe, right on cue, put on a worried expression. "Oh, I don' t think that' s a good idea."

All eyes turned to her.

"Why not, Chloe?" Mr. Thompson asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his tone this time.

"I have a bad feeling about it," she said, her voice low and serious. "A kitchen fire. It feels... dangerous. I think we should go somewhere else."

The silence was deafening. This was her second test. I watched the faces around me. Skepticism was warring with the memory of her first, still-unproven prediction.

"A fire?" our finance director, a gruff man named Peterson, scoffed. "You' ve got to be kidding me."

But Mr. Thompson looked thoughtful. "The Gilded Spoon is hard to book. But... there are other places. No sense in taking a risk, however small." He looked at Chloe. "Thank you for the warning."

He was being swayed. It was happening again. The feeling of helplessness started to creep back in, but I pushed it down. This was not the end. This was part of the process. I had to let them build their faith in her before I could shatter it.

We ended up at the same mediocre steakhouse. That night, I didn' t scroll for the news. I already knew what I would find. The calls and texts started coming in around 11 PM.

"Did you hear? The Gilded Spoon burned down!"

"Chloe was right again! This is crazy!"

The next morning, Chloe was holding court by the coffee machine, recounting her "vision" with feigned humility. People who had barely given her a second glance yesterday were now hanging on her every word.

Then, two days later, the Veridian news broke. The recall. The stock plummet. Our agency was safe.

The pieces fell into place exactly as they had before. But this time, I wasn't in despair. I was watching a recording of a crime I knew was about to be committed.

Mr. Thompson called Chloe into his office. The door was closed, but I didn' t need to hear the conversation. When she came out, she had a self-satisfied glow. She was no longer just a new hire. She was the company' s oracle, its golden goose.

That evening, Mark caught up to me as I was leaving.

"You have to admit, Sarah, it' s incredible," he said, his voice filled with genuine excitement. "She' s the real deal."

I stopped and faced him. "Do you really believe that, Mark? Or do you just see an opportunity?"

He had the decency to look slightly taken aback. "What' s that supposed to mean? I' m just saying, this is huge for the agency. For us."

"There is no 'us' in this equation, Mark," I said, my voice cold. "There' s the agency, and there' s Chloe. And you need to decide which side you' re on."

I walked away, leaving him standing there. The lines were drawn. I knew my past. I knew my future. I knew their plan. And I finally understood. To change my fate, I couldn't just react. I had to get ahead of them. The fire wasn't a prediction. It was a crime. And I was going to prove it.