Page 76 of Billionaire’s Ruin

I’d already tuned out halfway through her speech, mentally labeling her as a very committed con artist. Now she was dragging my name into this? Cute.

“My name is June Bennet.” The girl repeated, more steady this time.

“What kind of sick joke is this? My name is June Bennet.” I let out a wicked-witch laugh. “You scammers really go above and beyond for a few hundred dollars.”

“I’m not a scammer.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

Reaching for the phone dangling from her lanyard around her neck, she shoved it toward me. “Look. This is me.”

A gallery of social media posts, travel photos, what looked like legitimate documents appeared. Then finally⁠—

A confirmed booking.

Penang to Shanghai.

The exact route I needed.

With June Bennet printed in bold letters.

My chest tightened. I stared at her face, then the ticket, then her again. If this were a scam, it was the most elaborate one ever orchestrated—planning, stalking, psychological profiling, a sprinkle of black magic.

“Look,” she continued, “I’m just backpacking through Asia. But someone stole my⁠—”

“Wait,” I cut in, “you and I actually share the same name?”

“Yes. I was shocked when I overheard your conversation earlier. I really need some money or I’ll be sleeping on the street tonight.”

She’d mentioned it before. All her cash gone. Not enough in the bank to buy a replacement ticket.

“This could work,” I murmured.

“That’s what I was talking about.”

After we exchanged numbers, she followed me to the check-in desk where I took her place—the British June Bennet. The staff looked at me like I’d materialized a ticket out of thin air, but they didn’t question it. They processed my details and handed me a physical boarding pass—still used in this charmingly outdated airport.

“Have a pleasant journey,” they said, bowing and smiling as they closed the desk behind me.

It was last call. I was their final passenger.

“How much do you need for it?” Only then did it hit me—we hadn’t discussed a price at all.

“It cost me around $375. If you could give me anything close to that, it would be great.”

The girl hurried along beside me, practically jogging to match my pace as I beelined for the security gate. The rucksack bounced behind her, the straps slipping off her shoulders every few steps.

The decision was already made—I’d pay her the moment I had a chance, whether I made it onto the plane or was dragged away by airport security for identity fraud.

“What about after that? What are you going to do for money?” I asked. It wasn’t my business, but the question slipped out anyway, carried by my lingering guilt.

“I had a teaching job lined up in Shanghai. But I needed to get there first.”

“Teaching what?”

“English and literature.”

“Right…”