My Ex-Wife wanted Money, The Apocalypse wanted Everything

Chapter 5

Ethan Carter woke up in a hotel suite that cost more per night than he used to earn in a week.

He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality settle over him like warm water. The folder full of winning lottery tickets sat inside the hotel safe three feet from his bed. Five hundred million dollars. And today, he was going to collect every cent of it.

He ordered breakfast from room service. Eggs Benedict, fresh squeezed orange juice, a pot of coffee that smelled like it had been roasted that morning, and a plate of fruit he couldn’t even name half of. When the cart arrived, he sat by the window and ate slowly, watching the city move fourteen floors below.

In his previous life, breakfast had usually been whatever Victoria’s family left behind. Cold toast. Half a bowl of cereal. Sometimes nothing at all, because Margaret had decided the groceries Ethan paid for were reserved for Noah first, then Robert, then herself, and whatever remained was Ethan’s share.

He finished every bite, left a hundred dollar tip on the tray, and headed to the state lottery center.

The claiming process took most of the morning. There were forms, verifications, photographs, and a parade of officials who all wanted to shake his hand and pose for the camera. Ethan declined every interview request. He chose the lump sum payment, signed the tax documents, and sat through a forty minute lecture about financial responsibility from a state appointed advisor who clearly gave the same speech to every winner.

After federal and state taxes, plus a sizable charitable donation that Ethan made because it served both his conscience and his tax strategy, the final deposited amount came to three hundred and ninety eight million dollars.

The number looked almost unreal on the deposit confirmation.

Before he even left the building, his phone began ringing. Three different banks called within the first hour, each one offering premium wealth management services, dedicated advisors, and private banking suites. Ethan listened politely to the first two and declined. The third call came from a branch conveniently located ten minutes from Maple Grove, which made his decision simple.

He drove there that afternoon.

The branch manager was waiting for him at the door. Claire Morgan was a tall woman in her early thirties with sharp features, auburn hair pulled back in a neat twist, and the kind of professional smile that managed to be both warm and calculating at the same time. She wore a fitted navy suit and carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had built her career on making wealthy people feel important.

“Mr. Carter, welcome.” She extended her hand, her grip firm and precise. “I’ve arranged a private office for us. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“Water is fine.” Ethan followed her through the main floor, past the rows of regular customers, and into a corner office with frosted glass walls and leather chairs.

Claire closed the door and sat across from him, opening a leather portfolio with his name already printed on the tab. “I’ve reviewed the deposit details. Three hundred and ninety eight million is a significant amount to manage, and I want to make sure we build a structure around it that works for your goals.” She looked up at him, pen poised. “What are you planning to do with it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Invest. Aggressively. Over the next sixty days.” Ethan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “After that, I’ll be liquidating everything and converting to physical assets.”

Claire’s pen paused. “Physical assets? That’s an unusual timeline, Mr. Carter. Most clients in your position prefer long term growth strategies.”

“I’m not most clients.”

She studied him for a moment, then smiled. It was a different smile from the one she had used at the door. Smaller. More genuine. More curious. “No, I don’t think you are.”

They spent the next hour going over account structures, wire transfer protocols, and authorization procedures. Claire was thorough, efficient, and knew exactly when to ask questions and when to simply process his instructions. Ethan appreciated that. He would need someone who could move large amounts of money quickly and without unnecessary friction.

When they finished, Claire stood and walked him to the door. She held it open but did not step aside immediately.

“Mr. Carter, I know this might be forward, but there’s a private dinner this Friday that several of our high net worth clients attend. Very informal. Good food, good conversation.” She tilted her head slightly, a strand of auburn hair falling free from her twist. “Would you be interested in joining?”

Ethan recognized the invitation for what it was. Half professional networking, half something else entirely.

“I appreciate it, but I’ll have to pass.” He kept his voice polite but clear.

Claire didn’t flinch. “Of course. No pressure at all.” She handed him a business card with her personal cell number handwritten on the back. “But if you ever need anything moved quickly, day or night, that’s the fastest way to reach me.”

Ethan took the card and slipped it into his wallet. He would need her help in the weeks ahead, and keeping the connection open was practical. Nothing more.

He drove straight to Maple Grove.

The neighborhood sat on the eastern edge of the city, a gated community of twelve luxury estates arranged around a private park with mature oak trees and a central fountain that ran year round. Each property was set back from the road behind tall hedges and iron gates. The houses were large, elegant, and built to announce that their owners had arrived in life.

The Bennett family had moved into Estate Number Seven three years ago, using money that Ethan now understood had come from Victoria’s careful manipulation of his income. It was the nicest home on the street, and Margaret never missed a chance to remind the neighbors of that fact.

Estate Number Eight sat directly across from it. A sprawling colonial revival with six bedrooms, a wraparound porch, and a three car garage. It had been vacant for eight months because the previous owner had relocated overseas and priced it too high for the local market.

Samantha Reed from Whitfield Luxury Estates met him at the gate. She was a petite woman in a cream colored blazer who smelled like expensive hand lotion and spoke in the measured, careful tones of someone trained never to show surprise at a client’s requests.

“Mr. Carter, shall we walk the property?” She unlocked the gate and gestured toward the front path.

“No need. I’ll take it.” Ethan barely glanced at the house. He had already studied the floor plans online that morning. What mattered was not the house itself but what lay beneath it.

Samantha paused. “You don’t want to see the interior?”

“The interior is fine. What I want to confirm is the underground parking garage. It connects to the shared basement level of the neighboring properties, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct. The original developer built a connected underground structure for the entire east row of estates. Estates Six through Nine share the parking level, though each section is gated individually.” She glanced at him. “Most buyers don’t ask about the garage first.”

“I’m not most buyers.” Ethan pulled out his checkbook. “One million deposit. Draw up the papers today.”

Samantha looked at the check, then at him, then back at the check. Whatever questions she had, she kept them behind her professional smile. “I’ll have everything ready by this evening, Mr. Carter.”

The purchase was finalized before sunset.

By the next morning, every neighbor in Maple Grove knew. The homes in this community were expensive enough that any new buyer became instant gossip, and a buyer who paid a million dollar deposit without even touring the interior became a headline.

Helen Parker heard the news first from her housekeeper, who had heard it from Samantha’s assistant, who had told her husband over dinner, who had mentioned it to the gardener, who serviced half the properties on the street.

Helen Parker was a woman in her sixties who had lived in Maple Grove longer than anyone else and considered it both her right and her civic duty to know everything about everyone on the block. She was also the Bennett family’s closest neighbor, and she had always envied the way Margaret carried herself at the homeowners’ association meetings.

So when she heard that Ethan Carter, the Bennetts’ son in law, had purchased the most expensive vacant property on the street, her first thought was not curiosity. It was jealousy wrapped in congratulations.

She put on her nicest cardigan, picked up a tin of homemade cookies she kept ready for exactly these occasions, and walked across the street to the Bennett residence at half past nine in the morning.

She rang the doorbell expecting Margaret’s usual polished smile and an invitation for tea.

Instead, the door swung open to reveal the entire Bennett family in complete chaos.