In my past life, I was a legal shark. After working myself to death, I was reborn—with my memories intact. While other toddlers made mud pies, I begged my dad for life insurance. While other kids rebelled, I dragged my family to a notary to secure my property rights. But my adoptive parents were painfully honest—even writing IOUs for borrowed sugar. For 18 years, my legal strategies gathered dust. Just as I embraced my comedic fate, a powerful family appeared, claiming I was their lost daughter. The impostor, Celeste, clung to the matriarch’s arm. At their mansion, they slid a severance agreement toward me. “Sign this for five million. Don’t get ideas.” Celeste fake-cried, “I’m sorry, Nina. They’re just protecting me…” As they watched with contempt, I calmly pulled out a voice recorder and a countersuit. “Severing ties is fine. First, pay 18 years of child support, emotional damages, and identity theft compensation—let’s call it 800 million. Oh, and I’ve already frozen the company’s assets. Until this lawsuit ends, you won’t touch a cent.” 1 “This is the final mediation before the hearing. Are you sure you want to proceed?” I leaned back in my chair, observing the family of three seated on the sofa across from me. No, a family of four. My so-called brother, Connor, was glaring at me with murder in his eyes. The man who had spoken was Mr. Sterling, the Delacourt family’s chief legal counsel. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with a condescending charity. “Ms. Lin, Mr. Delacourt is willing to increase the compensation to fifty million dollars and purchase a villa for your adoptive mother. This is our final, most sincere offer.” “All you have to do is drop the lawsuit and issue a public statement admitting this was all a misunderstanding.” I smiled. “Mr. Sterling, how many years have you been practicing law?” He blinked, caught off guard. “Fifteen.” “Then you must be familiar with the criminal code regarding felony child abandonment?” I slowly sat up straight, my gaze sweeping over the family, their expressions shifting. “When circumstances are heinous, resulting in serious injury or death, the sentence is no less than five years in prison.” “The day I was thrown in a dumpster, it was below freezing. If it weren’t for my adoptive parents, I would have been dead from hypothermia within twenty-four hours.” “Tell me, Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Wouldn’t you consider that heinous?” The color drained from his face. The patriarch of the Delacourt family, my biological father, Julian Delacourt, finally spoke. “Is that a threat?” His voice was deep, heavy with the authority of a man used to being in charge. “It’s not a threat.” I took out my phone and played a recording. “Sign this, and five million dollars is yours. Don’t get any ideas about things that don’t belong to you.” It was the first thing my biological mother, Isabelle, had said to me. I hit pause. “This is evidence of your admitted attempt to sever our relationship with a paltry sum, a threat which caused me secondary emotional distress.” “As for the eight hundred million…” I glanced at my assistant, who immediately handed me a thick file. “This is a calculation of your family’s average annual income based on Delacourt Enterprises’ financial reports for the last eighteen years. By law, the child support you owe is the sum total of all living, educational, and medical expenses enjoyed by Celeste during the time I was missing.” “Add in emotional damages and identity appropriation compensation, and eight hundred million is already a steep discount.” “Oh, and by the way,” I said, waving another document, “this is the court order to freeze your assets. Until this lawsuit is settled, you won’t be moving a penny from your corporate accounts.” Julian Delacourt’s face turned thunderous. Beside him, Celeste was sobbing, her face a mess of tears. “Nina, why are you doing this? We’re family…” “Shut up.” My gaze turned to her, cold as ice. “Illegally occupying someone else’s identity for eighteen years for immense personal gain. You’ll be receiving a second lawsuit from me shortly.” Celeste’s crying stopped abruptly. She stared at me in disbelief. “You’re insane! A complete lunatic!” my brother, Connor, shouted, leaping to his feet and pointing a finger at me. “How could the Delacourt family produce someone as cold-blooded as you? Suing your own parents for money!” I met his furious gaze, my own expression perfectly calm. “You’re wrong.” “I’m not suing you for money.” “I’m suing you to teach you the meaning of the law.” 2 “Connor, sit down!” Julian barked, silencing his enraged son. But the look he gave me was just as venomous. “Let’s talk.” That was the language of the weaker party at a negotiation table. I gestured for him to proceed. Mr. Sterling cleared his throat, trying to regain control. “Ms. Lin, there’s no need to burn bridges. You’re a young woman with a long future ahead of you. It’s unwise to be so absolute.” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on Isabelle, my impeccably preserved mother. Since I had walked in, she’d been watching me with a complex mix of disappointment, disgust, and a sliver of fear. “Mrs. Delacourt, eighteen years ago today, you gave birth to me in a hospital.” Her body gave a slight, almost imperceptible flinch. “You experienced the joy of motherhood, while I was waiting to die in a dumpster.” “For eighteen years, Celeste wore princess dresses, attended the best international schools, and grew up surrounded by your love. Meanwhile, I wore hand-me-downs from the market and collected plastic bottles for a week to afford a few dollars for school supplies.” I paused, watching her eyes well up with tears. I felt nothing. “So, you’re hoping to make up for those eighteen years with tears?” “I…” Isabelle’s voice was choked. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you suffered so much…” “You didn’t know?” I laughed as if it were the funniest joke in the world. “You didn’t look for me out of guilt. You looked for me because of Celeste’s marriage prospects.” I pulled two photos from my file and tossed them on the table. One was of Celeste cozying up to a young, wealthy heir. The other was the heir’s medical report, highlighting a rare genetic disorder. “The Zhou family needed a healthy heiress to marry into their family and continue their precious bloodline. Unfortunately for you, Celeste’s medical exam didn’t pass. So you remembered me, your backup, didn’t you?” Julian’s pupils contracted. Isabelle’s sobs died in her throat. Connor’s face was a mask of shock. Even Mr. Sterling looked surprised. “How did you know?!” Connor blurted out. “Secrets have a way of coming out.” I leaned back, calmly adjusting my cuffs. “You thought my adoptive parents in that small town were simple country folk? Wrong. My father is a retired criminal detective, and my mother was an archivist. Your half-baked private investigations were like child’s play to me.” That was the first surprise I had in store for them. My adoptive parents were indeed humble, but their professional skills were my ace in the hole. “Now,” I said, my gaze landing on Julian. “Let’s talk about ‘sincerity.’ I don’t just want the money. I want a public, full-page apology in every major newspaper, admitting to the abandonment of your daughter and the deliberate confusion of your bloodline.” “Never!” Julian slammed his hand on the table, trembling with rage. “Then I’ll see you in court.” I stood up to leave. “Wait!” Julian stopped me, taking a deep breath to control his fury. “The apology is… negotiable. And the money… we can discuss it. But you must guarantee that this ends here.” I looked at him and smiled. “Mr. Delacourt, you still don’t get it.” “I’m the one in charge now.” 3 The Delacourts, as expected, fought back. The next day, the internet was flooded with stories about me. #Real-Life Viper: Heiress Returns Home, Demands $800 Million from Saviors# #Greed Personified: Poor Girl Sues Own Parents for Fortune# The articles painted me as a manipulative, bitter girl from the countryside, warped by poverty. They used a photo of me in a washed-out school uniform, eating at a cheap street stall. Juxtaposed with it was an elegant photo of Celeste in a couture gown, playing piano at a charity gala. The stark contrast immediately ignited the internet’s righteous fury. Is this woman insane? 800 million? Why doesn’t she just rob a bank? Her real parents come back to give her a life of luxury and she bites the hand that feeds her. What an ungrateful snake. I feel so bad for the fake daughter. Her identity was stolen and now she has to deal with this monster. Soon after, Celeste gave a video interview to a major news outlet. On camera, her eyes were red and swollen, her face pale. Her voice was as fragile as a feather. “I don’t blame my sister,” she whispered. “She… she must have had a very hard life. She’s just not thinking clearly.” “The money, the status… I don’t want any of it. I just want my sister to come home, so we can be a family…” She covered her face, breaking down into heart-wrenching sobs. Her performance of magnanimous victimhood won her the sympathy of the entire country. The hashtag #CelesteTheAngel trended at number one. My phone blew up with hateful, threatening messages. Red paint was thrown on my adoptive parents’ front door, with vicious words like “GET OUT OF THE CITY” scrawled across it. My mother’s blood pressure skyrocketed, leaving her bedridden. My father silently scrubbed the paint off the door, the veins on the back of his hands bulging. The Delacourts’ media blitz was swift and brutal. They thought that by turning me into a public enemy, they could force me to surrender. Connor called me, his voice dripping with triumphant glee. “See that, Nina? This is what happens when you cross the Delacourts!” “I suggest you drop the suit and apologize. Otherwise, I guarantee you and your pauper parents will never be able to show your faces in public again!” I listened to his tirade, feeling nothing but a cold calm. “Is that so?” I said. “We’ll see about that.” I hung up and dialed another number. “Hello, is this Ms. Zhang? This is Nina Lin. Yes, I’d like to hold a press conference. The location? Right in front of the Delacourt Enterprises headquarters. Time? Ten a.m. tomorrow. I have a gift for them. One they’ll never see coming.” 4 The Delacourts obviously heard about my plan. They probably assumed I was going to publicly surrender and beg for forgiveness. The day of the press conference, the plaza in front of the Delacourt Tower was a sea of reporters and news vans. Julian had even “graciously” sent company security to “protect” me. I stood at the makeshift podium, facing the flashing cameras. In the distance, behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tower, I could see their silhouettes. I knew they were watching, waiting for me to humiliate myself. “I know you’re all wondering why I am demanding eight hundred million dollars from my biological parents,” I began, getting straight to the point. “It’s because they owe me more than just eighteen years of child support.” “They owe me a life.” As I spoke, the large screen behind me lit up. It wasn’t a childhood photo or a family portrait. It was a faded police report. “Eighteen years ago, at City General Hospital, a female infant went missing three hours after birth. The report was filed by a nurse on duty.” “The police later found the infant in a dumpster in the alley behind the hospital, freezing and near death.” “That infant was me.” A wave of gasps went through the crowd. “And my biological mother, Isabelle Delacourt, despite knowing her child was missing, chose not to call the police. Instead, she and another new mother—Celeste’s biological mother—completed their discharge paperwork, and she went home with someone else’s child.” I pointed to the screen, where a second piece of evidence appeared: a hospital discharge form signed by Isabelle Delacourt. “What does this prove? It proves that from the very beginning, this was not a simple case of switched-at-birth. This was a premeditated swap and abandonment.” The crowd murmured in shock. The figures behind the glass tower window seemed to stir. “I know some of you will say this was all the other mother’s fault, that my biological parents were victims too. In that case, please see the next piece of evidence.” A new document appeared on the screen: a hospital record for Celeste from when she was ten years old. She’d had an emergency appendectomy and required a blood transfusion. The record clearly stated her blood type. “Julian Delacourt has type O blood. Isabelle Delacourt has type A. According to the laws of Mendelian genetics, it is impossible for them to have a child with type B blood.” “Which means, at the latest, the Delacourts have known for eight years that Celeste was not their biological daughter!” The crowd erupted. “But what did they do?” My voice rose, filled with the righteous anger of eighteen stolen years. “They did nothing! They didn’t call the police, they didn’t search for me. They chose to bury the secret, to continue enjoying the parental love that was rightfully mine, while I was left to grow up like a weed in some forgotten town!” “This is no longer a simple civil dispute!” I looked directly into the cameras, my voice ringing with clarity. “This is, by the definition of the criminal code, a case of malicious abandonment that has continued for eighteen years!” “I am standing here today not just to ask for money. I am standing here as a victim, to formally file a police report!” “I am demanding an investigation into the criminal liability of Julian and Isabelle Delacourt in this case!” As my last word echoed through the plaza, two uniformed police officers emerged from the crowd and walked purposefully toward the entrance of the Delacourt Tower. Every camera swiveled to follow them. I saw Isabelle’s form collapse, caught by a frantic Connor. And Julian… he just stood there, motionless. Even from this distance, I could feel the venom in his gaze. I met it without flinching. As of today, the nature of this war had changed. This was no longer a fight about money. This was a fight to the death, about crime and punishment. I, Nina Lin, a legal shark in my past life, a vengeful daughter in this one, was officially declaring war.
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