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?"