The Oracle They Fired A Billionaire's Obsession

After the New Year break, I went to the Temple of the Sea Goddess to pray for blessings. On a whim, I cast six Holy Cups in a row, and the entire temple fell silent.

My boss handed me an $88,000 bonus on the spot and told me to make corporate fortune-reading my full-time role from then on.

But his girlfriend, the newly appointed director fresh off her Ivy League degrees, sneered at the whole thing. She grabbed my Censer and smashed it on the ground in front of everyone.

"We live in a world of science. The fact that this company pays a charlatan like you is an absolute disgrace! As of today, you're fired!"

I looked at her forehead, where the faint dark lines of misfortune were already creeping in, and smiled. "Fine. As long as Mr. Delgado has no objections, I'll leave right now."

Bertram Delgado had his arm around her, his expression impatient. "Philippa Sullivan, superstition really isn't a good look. You should find opportunities elsewhere."

I turned and walked out without another word. The moment I stepped through the doors, I climbed into the Rolls-Royce belonging to Kevin Farley, head of the rival Farley Group.

"Ten million a year. Year-end dividends calculated separately. In the entire Farley Group, aside from me, you hold the highest authority."

Kevin slid the contract across the table, a warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I've been waiting for this day for a very long time."

I let out a dry laugh but didn't pick up the pen. "Mr. Farley, aren't you worried I'm just a fraud playing tricks with incense and mirrors?"

Kevin's voice was unwavering. "Bertram Delgado is blind. I'm not."

"Ms. Sullivan, you don't just have talent. You have the favor of the divine."

"Three years at Delgado Group, and you took them all the way to an IPO. Everyone in the Capital knows what you're capable of."

He paused. "But before anything else, you need to retrieve the half of the Holy Cup you enshrined at Delgado Group."

"If you don't sever the karmic ties with the Delgados, your Fortune will suffer, and they'll keep draining you dry."

A jolt ran through me. He was right.

Years ago, to help Bertram Delgado survive a death calamity, I had placed half of a Holy Cup beneath the altar's base. It was the one I'd carried with me since childhood.

"Alright. I'll go get it now. And while I'm at it, I'll collect my commission from last month's deals." My gaze turned cold.

I took my resignation letter and walked back into Delgado Group.

But the moment I reached what used to be my desk in the Sales Director's office, the sight that greeted me was pure devastation.

Every personal item I owned had been swept into the hallway. My water glass lay in pieces. Documents were scattered across the floor.

Tamara Cooley stood with her arms crossed, directing the cleaning lady like a general surveying a battlefield.

"That's right, use the mop from the bathroom. These things reek of bad luck. Might as well scrub some reality into them."

The cleaning lady looked deeply uncomfortable, dragging the filthy mop across the consecrated ash I had carefully maintained every single day.

Ash and dirty water swirled together across the tile.

My eyes burned red in an instant. I lunged forward like a woman possessed, dropping to my knees in the grimy water, snatching the one remaining Silk Talisman Pouch from the desk.

My grandmother had sewn it for me with her own hands before she was wheeled into the ICU.

I tore it open, and my blood ran cold. The Protection Charm that had been tucked inside was shredded to ribbons.

"Tamara Cooley!" I bit down so hard my teeth ached, my whole body trembling with rage.

"If you have a problem with me, take it up with me. You destroyed something my family made for me. Aren't you afraid of what comes back around?"

Tamara didn't flinch. She threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? What's the matter, can't your precious gods even protect a little pouch?"

"A fraud is a fraud. A few cheap psychological tricks, and you actually started believing you were some kind of living saint?"

More and more coworkers gathered around us, but not a single one spoke up for me.

I swallowed the urge to throw her out the window.

"Fine. Since I'm no longer part of this company, give me back my half of the Holy Cup."

"And my commission from last month's eight-million-dollar deals. The second the money hits my account, I'm gone."

That money was the only thing standing between my grandmother and her ICU bills and the next round of targeted therapy.

Tamara let out a scornful laugh, pulled a financial statement from behind her back, and flung it straight at my face.

"Commission? You actually have the nerve to ask?"

She turned to face the entire staff and announced at the top of her voice, "Listen up, everyone!"

"After a thorough company investigation, it has been confirmed that Philippa Sullivan has been using con-artist psychology to brainwash and extort clients."

"She has severely damaged the Delgado Group's reputation. Every single one of those contracts was obtained through superstitious nonsense."

"Therefore, all of her commissions are hereby confiscated as reputational compensation to the company."

"And not only will you not see a dime, but given the damage you've caused to this company's image..."

"You'll also be signing this five-million-dollar liability claim."

"That's a load of crap. Those clients were begging me to sign with them." My whole body shook with rage.

Destroying my grandmother's charm. Withholding her life-saving money. And now demanding I pay five million on top of it?

"I want to see Bertram Delgado." I shoved Tamara out of my way and forced my way into the CEO's office.

Inside, Bertram was lounging on the sofa, cheerfully browsing gifts for Tamara.

The moment he saw me barge in, his face darkened.

"Philippa, who told you to come in here? Do you have any sense of propriety?"

I strode over and slammed the outrageous five-million-dollar claim down on his desk.

"Bertram Delgado, you'd better explain this to me."

I locked my eyes on his, searching for any shred of conscience still left in him.

"Bertram, put your hand on your heart and tell me the truth."

"When your funding chain collapsed, who was it that knelt before the Holy Mother's statue for three days and three nights to pray for your salvation?"

"Those billion-dollar contracts. Who was it that cast the holy cups and guided you to South Side to close those deals?"

"Now you're burning the bridge after crossing it, letting her steal my grandmother's life-saving money? Are you even human?"

Something flickered behind Bertram's eyes, a brief, guilty flinch. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by cold entitlement.

"Philippa, could you please stop trying to disgust me with your little mystic act?"

"Those clients were won through the company's brand equity and our advanced management systems. You just happened to be there."

"Do you actually think you're some kind of living saint? You've been leeching off this company for years. Isn't that enough?"

A wave of absurdity crashed over me, so overwhelming I almost laughed.

For years, every time Bertram hit a dead end, he'd come crawling to me like a spineless wreck, begging me to cast the cups and divine a way out.

When he needed me, I was a living goddess. When he didn't, suddenly he wanted to talk about logic and reason?

"Bertie, look at her. You've already exposed her, and she's still running her mouth." Tamara sauntered over and draped herself against Bertram's chest, her voice syrupy sweet.

"Why don't we call in Robin Lambert and the others for a face-to-face? That way she can't accuse us of ganging up on her."

Bertram pressed the intercom without hesitation.

Less than two minutes later, Robin Lambert walked in with several senior employees trailing behind him.

The moment I saw Robin, a flicker of hope sparked in my chest.

Two years ago, he'd been framed and saddled with tens of millions in bad debt. He'd been so desperate he was standing on the rooftop, ready to jump.

I was the one who cast the cups, unraveled the scheme within the scheme, and saved his life and his family.

The others, too. It was my guidance that pointed them to new clients, helped them put down roots in the Capital, buy homes, buy cars.

I thought they would at least speak up for me. Say one honest word.

But the second Robin Lambert walked through that door, he pointed his finger straight at my face, his expression blazing with righteous indignation.

"Mr. Delgado, Director Cooley is absolutely right!"

"Philippa Sullivan didn't just peddle superstitious nonsense in the office. She forced us to buy her Protection Charms at outrageous prices."

"And if we refused, she'd pull her mystic routine and spiritually bully us. We were too afraid to speak up."

I froze. "Robin, you..."

Beside him, a woman I'd once guided away from a fatal car accident stepped forward and began piling on the lies.

"Exactly, and those big deals of hers weren't even clean. I saw her with my own eyes going into a hotel with a client in the middle of the night."

"Who knows what kind of disgusting tricks she pulled behind closed doors."

"Right? She's an absolute disgrace to the Delgado Group."

"You all of you"

I stared at these people, the same ones who used to call me "Philippa" this and "Philippa" that, now tripping over themselves to stab me in the back just to curry favor with the new director.

All I felt was a bone-deep chill and revulsion.

Bertram delivered his ultimatum. "Philippa Sullivan, the people have spoken loud and clear."

"Sign this penalty agreement today, hand back the money, and I might still let you walk out of here in one piece."

"If you refuse, I'm calling the police. Extortion and embezzlement. That kind of record follows you for life. What company would ever touch you after that?"

I looked around this office, at this company I had built with my own two hands, and let out a cold laugh. "Fine. You're all just wonderful."

"I'm not paying back a single cent. Go ahead and call the police."

I snatched the agreement off the table, ripped it to shreds, and hurled the pieces straight into Bertram's face. Then I turned and headed for the door.

I was done playing servant. With my abilities, I could make eight million anywhere.

"Leaving? Not so fast." Tamara's eyes turned venomous in an instant. She snapped her fingers, the sound crisp and sharp.

Four or five hulking men burst into the room and locked the door behind them.

I tried to force my way through. I'd barely reached the doorway when two massive bodyguards shoved me hard.

I stumbled and crashed to the floor. My forehead struck the sharp corner of the coffee table, and something warm immediately trickled down my temple.

"Let go of me!" I struggled to get back up.

But Tamara walked over to me.

She pulled out her phone, unhurried, and dialed a video call. Then she shoved the screen in my face.

"Recognize this place?"

One glance was all it took. Every drop of blood in my body went cold.

On the screen was the nursing home where my grandmother lived.

Inside the ICU, several men were roughly shoving nurses aside. One of them already had his hand on the ventilator tube keeping my grandmother alive.

She was unconscious, but her brow was furrowed tight, as if she were enduring tremendous pain.

"Stop it! Don't touch her!" I thrashed and fought, but the bodyguards pinned me to the floor.

"Tamara Cooley, if you lay a finger on my grandmother, I will kill you!"

Crack. Tamara's palm connected with my face so hard my ears rang and my vision blurred.

"Shut your mouth, you worthless tramp." She grabbed a fistful of my hair and forced my eyes back to the screen.

"Here's something you didn't know. Just yesterday, I used the money you earned to buy that nursing home."

"Your grandmother's life is in my hands now. The second I say pull the plug, they pull it."

On the screen, the hand actually switched off the ventilator.

My grandmother's body seized violently, convulsing on the bed. The heart monitor shrieked with alarms.

"No! Please, no!" Tears poured down my face. Every wall inside me shattered at once.

"I'm begging you, leave her alone! I'll sign! Whatever you want me to sign, I'll sign it!"

Tamara smiled, satisfied, and spoke into the phone. "Stand down for now."

She casually picked up a cup of dirty water that had been used to wipe down tables and poured it onto the carpet in front of me.

"You want your grandmother to live? Sure."

"In a civilized society, it's survival of the fittest. The world doesn't need superstitious old deadweight like her."

Tamara pointed at the puddle of filthy water on the floor. "But lucky for you, I'm a generous person."

"Get on your knees right now. Lick that clean. Then sign the papers. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be merciful enough to let her live one more night."

The office was deathly silent.

Robin Lambert and the others wore expressions of barely concealed anguish, but with the bodyguards standing watch, none of them dared make a move. All they could do was bury their heads a little lower.

I lay sprawled on the floor, trembling from head to toe.

My dignity had been ground into the dirt, trampled underfoot along with the grime.

But I couldn't let Grandma die. She was the only family I had left in this world.

Through the haze of despair, my eyes burning red, I fixed my gaze on Bertram, who stood off to the side without so much as a flicker of emotion.

"Mr. Delgado." My voice shook so badly it barely sounded like my own. "You can fire me. You can dock my pay."

"But when you went bankrupt and wanted to jump off that ledge, I was the one who pulled you back."

"You knelt before the shrine and swore a sacred oath that you'd care for my grandmother like she was your own. You can't do this!"

At the words "sacred oath," Bertram's eye twitched.

But instead of stopping Tamara, he took a step back in disgust and slid his arm around her waist.

"Philippa, don't blame me for being heartless. Tamara's right to do this."

"You've always been too stubborn for your own good. If I don't teach you a bloody lesson, how am I supposed to run this company?"

"You believe in all that spiritual nonsense so much? Why don't you pray for your precious gods to come down and save that old hag?"

"If you don't sign, we pull the plug. You brought this on yourself. Don't blame anyone else."

As he spoke, he walked behind the desk and reached beneath a decorative piece, pulling out a small, delicate Censer.

He rummaged through the ash with a look of revulsion, fishing out the other half of the Holy Cup.

"This piece of junk gives me a headache just looking at it. Take it back."

Bertram let out a cold laugh and hurled the Holy Cup to the ground like a piece of trash.

"Who exactly were you trying to curse with this thing?"

Then he raised his foot and brought it down hard, grinding his heel into the Holy Cup.

The wood groaned and cracked under the pressure.

"No!" I scrambled across the floor on hands and knees, throwing myself over the Holy Cup, shielding it with both hands.

"You're still protecting this piece of garbage?"

Tamara strode over, building momentum, and drove the point of her heel straight into the back of my hand.

A soft, wet puncture.

The stiletto pierced clean through my skin and sank into the flesh.

Searing agony ripped through my entire body.

I screamed. Blood dripped steadily, falling onto the cracked surface of the Holy Cup beneath my hands.

When the pain reached its peak, I stopped struggling.

I lowered my head and watched my blood soak into the fractured half of the Holy Cup until it was stained completely red.

In that instant, I heard something snap in the void, a brittle, resonant crack that existed beyond the physical world.

Somewhere in the unseen space between fate and consequence, the heavy Karmic Thread that had bound me to Delgado Group for three years shattered completely.

The divine closed its eyes. Fortune was reclaimed.

Bertram felt an inexplicable surge of panic. The unease clawed at him, making him irritable. "Stop wasting time with her. Just press her thumbprint on it!"

I gathered the bloodstained fragments of the Holy Cup, piece by piece, and tucked them against my chest.

Then, with my uninjured left hand, I reached inside my jacket and pulled out the private phone Kevin had given me earlier.

Tamara assumed I was calling the police. She threw her head back and sneered without a shred of restraint.

"Go ahead, call the cops! Even if you do, you're the one running a cult and scamming people. Let's see who they arrest."

"This is my turf. You could call God himself today and it wouldn't make a difference."

I ignored the clowns entirely.

I pressed the single contact saved in the phone and hit speaker.

The line rang once before it was picked up.

"Mr. Farley, my Karmic Thread has been severed clean. But I've run into a small problem..."

The line went silent for one second.

Then, through the phone's speaker, Kevin Farley's voice cut through the room, dripping with murderous intent.

"Philippa. Close your eyes. In three minutes, I'll make them wish they were dead."