THE DIVORCED EMPLYOEE HUSBAND IS A BITCOIN TRILLIONAIRE

Chapter 3: The Secondhand Truck & Kris's Struggle

The man who owned a one billion dollar family fortune was being told to leave a used car lot because he looked too poor to breathe the air.

"Sir, the pickups are on the far side, behind the fence," the dealer told him, looking at Alex's plain gray jacket and old shoes. "The cars up front are for customers who can actually pay."

His name tag read Dale. He had gelled hair, a loud tie, and the smile of a man who had already decided how much money was in your pocket.

Alex looked at the rows of trucks near the back. "I'm here to buy one of those. The blue one with the long bed."

"That one is eighteen thousand." Dale laughed through his nose. "Eighteen thousand real dollars, not the kind you get from sweeping floors."

His face crinkled with open pity. His eyes moved over Alex's jacket again, slowly, as if he were checking a stray dog for fleas.

"I'm serious," Alex told him, his voice calm and even.

"I'm sure you are." Dale stepped closer and lowered his voice, as if he were doing Alex a favor. "Look, buddy, guys like you come here every week. You walk around, you touch the paint, you dream a little. Then you go home to your noodles. I get it. But I have real customers coming, so stop wasting my time."

His tone was soft and mean at the same time. He waved a hand toward the gate like he was shooing a pigeon off a table.

Alex felt no anger at all. He only felt a mild curiosity about how long this man could keep digging his own hole.

"You talk to everyone like this?"

"Only to the ones who smell like a landfill." Dale grinned. "A man who looks like a wet rat should not be standing next to a clean truck. You will leave marks."

Alex tilted his head and said nothing. His silence made Dale's grin twitch for a moment before it came back, wider than before.

That was when a white sedan rolled slowly through the gate and parked near the office. It was old, but clean, and someone had washed it with great care. A young woman stepped out and stood still for a second with both hands on the roof, as if she was saying goodbye.

Alex noticed her right away. She wore a simple navy blazer, and her hair was tied back in a hurry. Her eyes were tired, but they were sharp, the kind of eyes that counted every number twice.

Dale's whole body changed. He let go of Alex like a dropped coin and walked toward her with open arms.

"Ms. Kris! Back again so soon?" His voice was warm like melted butter. "I knew you would come around."

Kris held her car keys against her chest. "You told me you would pay fourteen thousand if I brought it in clean."

"Did I?" Dale scratched his chin. "Prices move, you know. Market is rough this week. Six thousand, take it or leave it."

Her face went pale. "Six? The car is worth double that. You saw the service record."

"I see a desperate woman with a late rent notice." Dale dropped his voice, but not enough for Alex to miss it. "Everyone in this business knows about your trouble, Kris. A woman with debt is like a rabbit in a trap. She will take whatever hand gets her out."

Kris's eyes flashed with a quick flare of hurt, then went flat. Her fingers tightened on the keys until they turned white.

"Six thousand," she said, very quietly.

"That's my girl." Dale smiled like a snake that had found a warm rock.

"She won't take it," Alex said, walking over from the truck lot.

Both of them turned. Dale's smile fell off his face.

"I told you to wait at the gate." Dale's voice rose. "Are you deaf, or just stupid like a mule?"

Alex ignored him and looked at Kris. "The car is worth at least thirteen. If he offers six, he plans to sell it for twelve by Friday. Do not sign."

Kris blinked at him, surprised. "Who are you?"

"A customer." Alex turned back to Dale. "I will take the blue pickup. Eighteen thousand, cash, now."

Dale burst out laughing, loud and ugly. "Cash? From you? Show me eighteen thousand dollars and I will lick the tires."

Alex took out a black bank card and laid it on the hood of Kris's car. The card was heavy and plain, with no logo that Dale could read.

"Run it."

Dale snatched it up with a sneer, and walked into the office to swipe it. Through the glass window they could see his face change. His grin slid away, his shoulders dropped, and his hand began to shake on the machine.

When he came back, he was sweating through his collar.

"Sir, the payment went through. I am so sorry for my tone. Please, let me bring the keys. I can offer you a free detailing, and a full tank of gas, and..."

"Give the lady the full price for her car too," Alex told him. "Fourteen thousand. Put it on the same card."

Dale's mouth opened, and then closed, like a fish that had been pulled out of water. "Of course. Of course, sir."

His voice cracked on the last word. He backed away toward the office, bowing the whole way, with his face as red as a boiled crab.

Kris stood very still. She stared at the man in the gray jacket as if she were seeing a different person.

"You did not have to do that," she said.

"He was cheating you." Alex shrugged. "I do not like watching a person get cheated by someone with a loud tie."

For the first time in days, a small laugh slipped out of her. It was a tired laugh, but it was real.

"I am Kris." She held out a hand. "Kristina Hale, but nobody calls me that."

"Alex."

They shook hands. Her palm was cool and steady.

"Dale said something about trouble," Alex went on, careful to sound casual. "May I ask what happened?"

Kris looked at the white sedan for a long moment before answering.

"I ran a fashion e-commerce store for four years. My partner handled the money, and I handled the product and the customers." Her voice stayed flat, but her jaw was tight. "Two months ago he took the supplier deposits, opened an account in his own name, and disappeared. I woke up owing a hundred and ten thousand dollars to people who were very polite about it, and very serious."

"And the car?"

"The car is the last thing I own that anyone wants." She gave a short, dry smile. "I was going to use it to pay the factory first, so at least they know I'm not running away."

Alex listened without interrupting. Then he asked a series of quick questions, almost without thinking.

"What was your return rate on dresses?"

"Eleven percent. We cut it to seven by changing the size chart, and by adding fit photos."

"Your cost per customer on social ads?"

"Nine dollars at the start. Four, once we moved to short videos and creator codes."

"What killed the store?"

"One bad partner, not a bad product." Her eyes lifted and held his. "The numbers were good. They were always good."

Alex felt something settle inside him, calm and certain, like a key turning in the right lock.

She knows this business better than anyone I could hire. And she told me the truth even when it made her look weak.

"Kris, I am starting a fashion e-commerce brand," he told her. "I need an expert who has already made the mistakes. Do you want in?"

She stared at him. Wind pushed a few loose strands of hair across her face, and she did not brush them away.

"You just met me."

"I just watched you count every number twice while a man robbed you." Alex smiled faintly. "That is the kind of person I want."

Kris drew a slow breath. Her gaze dropped to the keys in her hand.

"I want to say yes. But I cannot. I still have a small shop on the third floor of Crown Center, and I owe three months of rent on it. Property management sent me an eviction notice this morning. They are going to lock the door on Friday."

"That is a lot of trouble for one person."

"It is." Her voice shook just a little. "I would only drag you into it."

"Kris!"

A bright voice cut across the lot. A man in a crisp white shirt and a silver watch was walking toward them, smiling like a politician at an opening ceremony. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine.

"Thomas," Kris sighed, quietly enough that only Alex heard.

"I heard you were here, so I rushed over." Thomas stopped beside her and glanced at Alex's gray jacket with open amusement. "Who is your friend? A new customer?"

"Alex," Kris replied. "He is helping me."

"Helping you?" Thomas gave a polite little laugh. "Kris, you do not need help from a stranger. You have me. I work at Crown Property, remember? I know people in property management. Let me introduce you to the manager. A word from me and your eviction might disappear."

His voice was warm and eager, but his eyes kept drifting to Alex's shoes, as if he was measuring the man next to him.

Kris looked at Thomas for a long, quiet moment. She remembered that he had said the same kind of thing at every dinner for six months, and not one door had opened.

"I will think about it," she told him, in the careful tone of a person who did not believe a word.

Thomas smiled harder, a little hurt, a little smug.

Alex reached into his jacket and took out a small white business card, with only a name and a number printed on the front. He held it out to Kris.

"When you are done with the eviction trouble, come and find me." His voice was calm, as if he were naming a lunch spot. "Meet me at the Crown Center penthouse restaurant."