My Wife Killed Me, Now I’m the Apocalypse Billionaire

Chapter 3: Part 2

Sean lay back on the bed and stared at the water stained ceiling. The lottery draw was in two days. March 3rd. If his memory was right, and he was certain it was, each winning ticket would pay out somewhere around three million dollars before taxes. One hundred tickets meant three hundred million, give or take whatever the tax man would carve off.

The question was how to collect it without putting a giant target on his back.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number of a law firm he had looked up earlier. A receptionist answered on the second ring.

"Davis and Porter Law, how can I help you?"

"I need to speak with an attorney about asset protection and anonymous trust structures. Is someone available for a consultation?" Sean kept his voice businesslike.

"One moment please."

A click, a pause, and then a man's voice came on the line. Deep, professional, slightly bored.

"This is Alan Porter. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Porter, I'm going to come into a large sum of money very soon. I need to structure the collection so that my name doesn't appear in any public records, and I need the funds distributed into multiple accounts through a blind trust. Can you handle that?"

There was a brief silence. Sean could practically hear the lawyer's ears perking up like a dog that just heard a treat bag open.

"How large a sum are we talking about, Mr..."

"Miles. Sean Miles. And the number will be in the high eight figures. Possibly nine."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Mr. Miles, I can absolutely help you with that. When would you like to come in?"

"March 4th. The day after tomorrow."

"I'll clear my schedule. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. I was recently divorced. The divorce was finalized today, March 1st. The funds I'm referring to will be acquired after the divorce date. I need you to prepare documentation confirming the timeline so there is zero ambiguity about the separation of assets." Sean's voice was flat and precise.

"Smart thinking. I'll have everything drafted and ready for your signature. See you on the 4th, Mr. Miles." The lawyer's tone had shifted from bored to very, very interested.

Sean hung up and set the phone on the nightstand. He folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

Jessica signed those papers at 2:47 PM today. The divorce certificate is timestamped. The lottery tickets were purchased at 3:30 PM. Every receipt, every record, every document puts the divorce before the money. She can hire every lawyer in the country and it won't matter. The money is mine.

He opened one eye and looked at the clock on the wall. Forty six hours until the drawing.

The next two days passed slowly. Sean stayed in the hotel room, ordering delivery food, testing his spatial ability, and mapping out his plan on the back of a takeout menu. He wrote down everything he remembered about the first three months before the apocalypse. Supply chains that would collapse first. Areas that would freeze over earliest. The locations of underground bunkers, military installations, and the three warehouses in the Midwest where the government had stockpiled emergency rations before things went dark.

On the evening of March 3rd, Sean sat on the edge of the bed with the TV turned to the lottery channel. The host, a woman in a bright red dress with a smile too wide for her face, was chatting with the audience while the machine loaded the balls.

"And tonight's Mega Millions numbers are..."

Sean's eyes were locked on the screen.

"07... 14... 28... 33... 51... and the Powerball tonight is... 09!"

Sean exhaled slowly through his nose. No celebration. No fist pump. No shout. He simply picked up his phone, took a photo of the TV screen showing the winning numbers, then opened his camera roll and took a photo of the stack of one hundred matching tickets spread across the bedspread.

He saved both images, backed them up to his email, and stored a printed copy inside the pocket dimension for good measure.

Then he picked up the phone and dialed Alan Porter's direct line.

"Mr. Porter. The numbers just came in. I'll be at your office at 9 AM tomorrow. Please have the blind trust paperwork ready, and make sure the payout is structured in batches. No lump sum, no press conference, no public filings with my name attached." Sean's voice carried no excitement, only the cold, measured tone of a man who was building a wall around his fortune before the first brick had even been laid.

The divorce was finalized before the ticket was purchased. The ticket was purchased before the numbers were drawn. Every timestamp, every receipt, every legal document formed an unbroken chain of evidence that placed Sean's winnings firmly outside the boundaries of his former marriage.

Jessica Jones would never touch a single dollar of it.