The Invincible son-inlaw Secret Identity

Chapter 2:The signed paper and the new Man

Ethan walked out of the bright dining room, the red wine dripping from his shirt and landing on the marble floor. The loud whispers followed him like buzzing flies. He didn't look back.

He didn’t care about the stain. He didn't even care about the mess Margaret had made in her own perfect house.He just walked. Left foot, right foot, past the steel sink he had polished just hours before. The kitchen was dark, and that was good.

He reached the corner where he kept his old, worn jacket. He slipped his hand into the pocket and felt the cheap, cracked phone. The screen was still on from the powerful, single-word message: "BEGIN".

The warmth that had started in his chest was now a rushing fire. It didn't burn; it cleaned. It flowed through his stomach, up his chest, down his arms, and into his legs. The deep, constant ache in his back, the pain from three years of endless scrubbing and labor, didn't just fade—it vanished instantly.

He stood straighter. His shoulders went back. He didn’t need to force them to anymore.He stared at the phone. His eyes, usually bowed down and tired, were now wide and sharp. He wasn’t looking at a cheap phone anymore; he was looking at a symbol.

“Three years... it was real,” he whispered. The sound of his own voice was raw and new, like he hadn’t used it to speak the truth in a very long time.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. He didn’t switch it off. The signal was on.Just as he reached the back door, a sharp, cold voice sliced through the kitchen air.

“Thinking of running away, trash?”

It was Margaret, his mother-in-law. She stood in the doorway, her tall, angry figure framed by the light of the hallway. She held a thin stack of papers, white against her long, shiny blue dress.

“You will sign this now,” she hissed, holding out the papers. “The deal is done. You are leaving forever. You will sign the divorce papers on the way out!”

Ethan didn’t move toward her. He didn’t move his feet, and he didn't lower his gaze. He simply reached out one hand, perfectly still.

Margaret was surprised. She expected him to look scared, or maybe even drop to his knees and beg for Clara. But his face was different. It was calm, but the coldness in his eyes was almost unbearable. It made her heart beat faster, even though she didn't know why.She stepped forward and slapped the papers onto his outstretched palm.

“Sign it! And remember what I said: if I ever see your poor face near this house again, I will tell the police you stole every silver tray you polished!”Ethan looked at the papers. He saw Clara’s name, his name, the date. He didn’t read the small print. It didn’t matter.This document was the key to his next move.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cheap, plastic pen—the kind given out at gas stations. He opened it and his hand, which used to be rough from all the work, now felt steady and strong.

He signed his name.

The pen moved quickly, smoothly. The signature was neat, but it was just his first name. Ethan.

Margaret snatched the papers back, breathing hard with triumph. "Good. Now get out. Go disappear!" she snarled. "You're a stain on this family!"

Ethan finally looked at her. A tiny, cold smile touched the corner of his mouth. It was gone before Margaret could even be sure she saw it.

"I won't disappear, Margaret," Ethan said. His voice was no longer the soft, defeated sound of a man scared to speak. It was deep and clear, like a bell ringing in a quiet room. "I'm just beginning."

He turned and pushed the door open. He didn't use the small back gate. He walked straight through the yard and around to the front of the house.

He was still wearing the pale blue jeans and the gray shirt stained with expensive red wine. But as he walked toward the front gate, something changed. His slow, quiet steps became deliberate. He wasn't running away; he was taking back ground.

He saw the shiny, black insect of a car belonging to Leo, the arrogant man who was supposed to be Clara’s "real" husband. And right on the small wooden table beside the door were Leo’s heavy, shiny car keys, placed there deliberately for Ethan to pick up like a servant.

Ethan paused. He looked down at the keys. Go polish my car after dinner. It's dusty, Leo had sneered.

Ethan slowly bent down. But he didn't pick up the keys. Instead, he pulled out his own phone again. He opened a different app.

It wasn't cracked or cheap anymore. The interface was military-grade and complex. He held it up and quickly snapped a photo of Leo's keys and the car through the window.

He typed a single, cryptic message: "Asset 007. Initiate Phase Alpha."He straightened up. He looked directly at the massive, expensive, silver-plated front gate of the Thompson estate. The gate that had closed on his identity for three long, brutal years.

He put his hand on the gate. He didn’t push it open. He just stood there for a moment, letting the metal feel the power in his hand.

Then, a sudden, bright flash of light came from the street.A sleek, black SUV, far more expensive than Leo’s, pulled up quietly to the curb. It wasn't flashy; it was serious. Two men in dark, perfectly tailored suits stepped out from the SUV. They were tall, silent, and moved with practiced, military speed. They didn’t look like drivers; they looked like highly trained guards.

They saw Ethan in the wine-stained shirt, standing by the gate. They didn't hesitate. They didn't question. They just walked up to him.

"Commander," one of the men said, his voice a low, respectful rumble. He ignored the stained shirt and the humble look. He saw only the power.

The other man held out an open case. Inside, nestled on soft velvet, wasn’t cash or a diamond watch. It was a single, black credit card. It was so plain, it looked almost fake, but etched subtly into the corner was a tiny, familiar symbol: a soaring bird with a mountain peak in its talons. The symbol of the Everest Corporation.

"The Everest card," the man stated. "Unlimited. And your new command center is prepared, Commander. We await your orders."

Ethan took the card. The thin metal felt cold and heavy in his hand. He looked past the men, back at the dark, silent house where his wife, Clara, was worried about a lost business contract and her own miserable family. He knew the chaos that was about to erupt inside those walls.

He had to move fast. He had a family to destroy and a wife to reclaim."Contact the CEO of the Everest Corporation," Ethan commanded, his voice sharp and absolute. "Tell him that the contract with the Thompson family is terminated. Permanently. And tell him that the CEO of the Everest Corporation... has a new boss."

He walked past the men and got into the back seat of the SUV. The door closed with a silent, expensive thud.

As the SUV began to pull away from the Thompson house, Ethan’s phone vibrated violently. It was a new text message.

He opened it and it was a picture. The picture was of Leo’s shiny black car.But it wasn't a picture Ethan had taken. It was an aerial satellite photo. And written clearly across the roof of Leo's car, painted in brilliant, fast-drying red paint, was one single, powerful word:

"TRASH."