MY WIFE KILLED ME—THEN I REBORN AS A BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 2: The Pushover's New Skin

The Ironclad Solutions team worked fast. Four men in black polos moved through Ethan's house like ghosts, threading wires behind walls, planting pinhole cameras in ceiling corners, and hiding microphones inside air vents. Every room. Every hallway. Even the garage.

Ethan stood in the living room watching the lead technician run the final test on his tablet. Twelve camera feeds blinked to life on the screen, crystal clear, with audio levels pulsing green.

"Everything's live, Mr. Moore. You can access all feeds from your phone, your laptop, or any browser. Cloud backup runs every six hours automatically." The technician handed him a login card.

"What's the final total?" Ethan slipped the card into his wallet without looking at it.

"$90,000 even, sir. That covers the hardware, installation, labor, and twelve months of cloud storage." The technician extended his hand for a handshake.

Ethan shook it and transferred the money on the spot. His balance dropped hard, and for exactly eleven seconds, his account sat near empty. Then his phone buzzed. $900,000 incoming. His total balance now sat at $904,200.

He didn't smile. He didn't flinch. He just put his phone back in his pocket and walked the crew to the front door.

The technicians loaded their van and pulled out of the driveway. Ethan stepped outside to check the mailbox, and that's when he heard the familiar voice.

"Ethan? That you?" Jake Torres walked up the sidewalk in a security guard uniform, his badge catching the morning sun.

Ethan turned. Jake Torres. Penn State, class of 2011. They had shared a dorm room for two years before life pulled them in different directions. Jake had always been solid. Honest. The kind of guy who said exactly what he meant and never apologized for it.

"Jake. It's been a while." Ethan closed the mailbox and leaned against the post.

"Man, I haven't seen you since that barbecue last Fourth of July. You look different. Did you lose weight or something?" Jake squinted at him like he was trying to read fine print.

"Something like that. What are you doing on this block?" Ethan kept his voice casual, but his eyes were sharp.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable. "Actually, I was coming to find you. I work security at the Greenfield Plaza now, the strip mall on Route 9."

"Okay." Ethan waited.

"Your mother in law got caught shoplifting again, Ethan." Jake lowered his voice like he was delivering bad news at a funeral.

"What'd she take this time?" Ethan's expression didn't change at all.

"Perfume. Two bottles of designer stuff, maybe $400 worth. She shoved them in her purse and walked right past the sensors. My guy at the door caught her, and she started screaming about how she's a respected woman and how dare we touch her." Jake shook his head slowly, his lips pressed together tight.

Ethan stared at the ground for a moment. In his old life, this was the part where he would have driven to the plaza, apologized to the store manager, paid for the perfume, and begged them not to press charges. He had done it four times before. Four times Margaret had stolen things she could easily afford, and four times Ethan had cleaned up after her like a janitor mopping up someone else's mess.

"You want me to hold off on the report? I can probably talk my manager into letting it slide one more time, but honestly, Ethan, this is getting old." Jake looked at him with genuine sympathy.

"Don't hold off on anything." Ethan's voice was flat and final.

Jake blinked. "What?"

"File the report. Let the store press charges. I'm done covering for her, Jake." Ethan straightened up from the mailbox post and looked Jake dead in the eyes.

"You serious right now?" Jake took half a step back, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

"I'm going to make them all leave soon. Every single one of them. So don't worry about stepping on anyone's toes." Ethan's tone was calm, but there was something underneath it, something cold and heavy that hadn't been there before.

Jake stared at him for a long five seconds. "Brother, I don't know what happened to you, but you sound like a whole different person."

"Maybe I am." Ethan patted Jake on the shoulder and walked toward his car.

He drove into Midtown Manhattan with the windows down and the radio off. The silence felt good. Clean. He parked in the underground garage beneath the Lexington Luxury Mall and took the elevator to the main floor.

The Kingsley & Hart boutique sat between a Swiss watch dealer and a handbag store that charged $5,000 for a clutch. Ethan pushed through the glass doors in his plain white t shirt, worn jeans, and scuffed sneakers. He looked like a delivery driver who had wandered into the wrong building.

A tall saleswoman with red lipstick and a name tag that read "Patricia" glanced at him from behind the counter. She looked him up and down like she was inspecting a stain on an expensive carpet.

"Can I help you with something?" Her voice was polite on the surface but dripping with dismissal underneath.

"I'm looking for a suit." Ethan met her gaze without blinking.

Patricia's mouth twitched. "Our entry pieces start at $8,000. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable at one of the department stores on Fifth Avenue." She turned back to her computer screen like the conversation was already over.

A younger woman behind the accessory rack looked up. Her name tag read "Megan," and she couldn't have been more than twenty three. She stepped forward with a warm smile that actually reached her eyes.

"Hi there! Welcome to Kingsley & Hart. Are you shopping for a special occasion?" Megan clasped her hands in front of her, her posture open and eager.

"No special occasion. I just want the best suit you have in this store." Ethan turned his full attention to her.

Megan's eyes widened slightly. "The best? That would be the Monarch Collection piece. It's a limited Italian wool and silk blend, hand stitched by a single tailor in Florence. We only have one in the store."

"How much?" Ethan asked it the way someone would ask for the time.

"$398,000." Megan's voice dipped a little, like she expected him to laugh or walk away.

"I'll take it." Ethan didn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second.

Patricia's head snapped up from her computer. Megan's lips parted but no sound came out for a moment.

"I'm sorry, sir, did you say you'll take it?" Megan pressed her hand against her chest.

"I said I'll take it. Can you ring it up for me?" Ethan was already pulling out his phone to transfer the payment.

Megan scrambled to the back room. Patricia stood frozen behind the counter, her red lips slightly open, her face cycling through confusion, disbelief, and then a slow, sickening recognition of what she had just done.

She had just tossed away a $398,000 sale. At their commission rate, that was close to $20,000 she would never see.

Megan came back with the suit in a garment bag, her hands trembling just a little. "Would you like to try it on first, sir?"

"Yes." Ethan took the bag and walked into the fitting room.

The payment cleared on the store's system before he even finished buttoning the jacket. His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket on the bench. $3,980,000 incoming. His total balance sailed past $4 million like a rocket punching through clouds.

He looked at himself in the fitting room mirror. The suit fit like it had been sewn onto his body. The charcoal fabric caught the light in a way that made him look ten years younger and ten times more dangerous. He adjusted the collar, smoothed the lapels, and stepped out.

Megan's mouth fell open. Patricia gripped the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles turned white. Two other customers in the store actually stopped talking and stared.

"Thank you, Megan. You've been wonderful." Ethan gave her a small nod that carried genuine warmth.

Then he looked at Patricia. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. The silence said everything. Patricia's face went pale as milk, and she looked away first.

Ethan walked out of Kingsley & Hart wearing $398,000 like armor. He straightened his cuffs, glanced across the street at the watch store with its glowing display cases, and headed straight for the entrance.