The screen loaded. My stomach didn’t just drop; it vanished.

Checking: $0.00
Savings: $0.00
Business: $0.00

I stared. I blinked, sure that my exhaustion was hallucinating disasters. I refreshed the page. The little wheel spun, mocking me.

$0.00.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out the hospital machinery. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my throat. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the phone. I dialed the bank, my voice a ragged whisper.

“Ma’am,” the calm, professional voice on the other end said, delivering the execution order. “Several transfers totaling $850,000 were authorized overnight. They came from your device, with verified security questions answered correctly.”

“No,” I croaked. “That’s impossible. I didn’t…”

“I understand you’re upset,” she interrupted gently, effectively dismissing my life’s collapse. “But our records clearly show these were authorized transactions.”

My legs buckled. I slid down the cold wall of the hallway, the phone slipping from my grip. $850,000. Gone.

Someone close to me—someone who knew my passwords, my security questions, my mother’s maiden name, the name of my first pet—had done this.