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

Chapter 4: Uninvited

The villa sat at the end of a quiet road on the outskirts of Ridgewood, surrounded by thick oak trees on three sides and backed against a steep hillside that made approach from the rear nearly impossible.

Two stories above ground, a full reinforced basement below, and a three car garage with enough space to store supplies for years.

Sean had found it on day two of his search. The previous owner was an elderly surgeon who had retired to Florida and wanted the property off his books fast.

The listing had been sitting for nine months because nobody in the area could afford a twelve million dollar home, and the location was too far from the city center for most wealthy buyers to bother with.

For Sean, the isolation was the whole point.

He sat across from the real estate agent in her downtown office, a stack of documents between them.

Linda Marsh was a sharp looking woman in her late forties who had been selling luxury properties for two decades, and she was trying very hard not to stare at Sean like he had just landed from another planet.

"Mr. Miles, I want to make sure I'm understanding correctly. You want to purchase the Ridgewood estate at the full asking price. In cash. No mortgage, no financing, no contingencies." Linda's pen was frozen above her notepad.

"That's correct."

"Twelve million dollars. Cash." She said it again, slowly, as if repeating it might make it sound more normal.

"Is that a problem?" Sean's face gave away nothing.

"No, not at all. It's just... unusual. Most buyers at this price point go through financing even when they have the liquidity. May I ask the source of the funds? Our compliance department will need documentation." Linda's professional smile was holding, but her eyes were full of questions.

"My attorney will provide all the paperwork. The funds are held in a verified trust. Everything is clean and documented." Sean slid Alan Porter's business card across the desk.

Linda picked it up, glanced at the name, and nodded slowly. "Davis and Porter. Very reputable firm. Well, Mr. Miles, if the documentation checks out, we can close within the week."

"I want to close in three days."

Linda's pen slipped from her fingers and rolled off the desk. She caught it before it hit the floor and straightened up with a slightly flustered laugh. "Three days. Right. I'll make some calls."

The closing happened in two.

Sean stood in the empty living room of his new home on March 8th, one week after his rebirth. The floors were hardwood, the ceilings were high, and the basement was a concrete reinforced box that could withstand a Category 5 hurricane.

He had already begun making mental blueprints for the modifications. Steel shutters for the windows. A secondary generator room in the basement. Insulated walls to hold heat when the ice age hit. Water filtration. Enough storage for food, medicine, fuel, and weapons.

Eighty three days until the apocalypse. The clock starts now.

He ran his hand along the basement wall and focused. The spatial rift opened silently behind him, and he pulled out a box of tools he had purchased earlier that morning. First delivery of many.

The rumors started the same day.

Linda Marsh told her assistant, who told her husband, who told his golf buddy, who happened to be the same real estate broker that George Jones used for his rental properties.

By sundown, the story had traveled through three W******p groups, two neighborhood F******k pages, and the entire sales floor of Century Home Realty.

"Did you hear? That guy who just got divorced from George Jones's daughter bought the Ridgewood estate."

"The one that's been sitting for a year? That place is twelve million."

"Cash. No mortgage. Walked in and paid the whole thing like he was buying a sandwich."

"Wasn't he broke? George used to call him a freeloader at every barbecue."

The phone calls started hitting Jessica's inbox by 7 PM that evening.

By 8 PM, she was standing in her parents' kitchen, phone in hand, her face white as chalk. George was pacing behind her, his neck turning the shade of a ripe tomato. Margaret was sitting at the table, gripping her coffee mug so hard her knuckles had gone pale.

"Twelve million dollars." George's voice was shaking. "That cockroach had twelve million dollars and he sat in my house pretending to be broke?"

"We don't know the full story, Dad." Jessica's voice was thin, controlled, but her eyes kept blinking too fast.

"What story? What story do you need? He walked away from this family with nothing, and three days later he's buying a mansion? That money was earned during your marriage, Jessica. It's half yours by law!" George slammed his palm on the kitchen counter.

Margaret looked up from her mug with narrow eyes. "I told you that man was hiding something. Nobody is that pathetic unless they're playing an angle. He was squirreling away money the whole time, and you let him walk out the door." Her voice was cold and quiet, the kind of quiet that cuts deeper than shouting.

"Mom, he won the lottery. That's what Linda's assistant told Rachel, who told me. He bought lottery tickets after the divorce was signed." Jessica's jaw was tight.

"After? How conveniently after?" Margaret's lip curled. "You think a man who can barely tie his shoes planned the timing of a lottery win? He had that money before. He was hiding it. And even if he did win after, you were married for six years. You're entitled to support."

"Your mother is right. We're going over there. Tonight." George grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door.

"Dad, it's almost nine o'clock."

"I don't care if it's midnight. That man owes this family." George was already heading for the front door.

Twenty minutes later, George's silver sedan pulled up to the gates of the Ridgewood estate. The three of them stood at the front door, George in front, Margaret to his left, Jessica slightly behind, her arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and cold calculation.

George pounded on the door with his fist. "Sean! Open this door right now!"

The door opened after a full minute. Sean stood in the doorway in a plain white t shirt and jeans, looking at the three of them the way a man looks at salespeople who showed up during dinner.

"George. Margaret. Jessica." He listed their names without emotion.

"Don't you 'George' me, you sneaky little rat. Where did you get twelve million dollars?" George pushed past Sean into the foyer without waiting for an invitation. Margaret followed, her eyes already scanning the high ceilings and marble floors with naked greed.

Jessica stepped inside last, her gaze moving slowly across the open floor plan, the grand staircase, the crystal light fixtures. Her face stayed composed, but her pupils were wide.

"Sean, we need to talk about this." Jessica's voice was soft, reasonable, the concerned ex wife routine already running at full power. "This is a lot of money. And regardless of what happened between us, Jack is still your son. He deserves to benefit from this."

Jack is Zach's son. And you know that I know it.

Sean leaned against the wall and looked at her. "The divorce was finalized on March 1st at 2:47 PM. The lottery tickets were purchased at 3:30 PM the same day. The drawing was on March 3rd. Every transaction is timestamped and documented."

George's face went purple. "I don't care about your timestamps! You were part of this family for six years. You owe us!"

"I owe you nothing. The law is very clear on this, George. Post divorce winnings are not marital property. My attorney has already confirmed it." Sean's voice didn't rise. Not even a fraction.

"You think you can hide behind lawyers? We'll sue you into the ground!" Margaret's voice was rising, sharp and venomous.

"You're welcome to try. My legal team is ready." Sean pushed off the wall and walked to the front door. He opened it wide and stood beside it, looking at all three of them.

"Anything else?"