I won $280 million and rented a shabby motel room to test my girlfriend. I heard her call me and laugh at me — then the next morning she was shocked to see me on TV
Ethan Hunt sat on the edge of his bed, the springs of his old mattress creaking. The room was shabby in East New York, where police sirens were the nightly soundtrack and the smell of uncollected garbage filled his nostrils whenever he opened the window.
In his hand was a crumpled Powerball ticket.
The numbers: 05 – 12 – 22 – 38 – 45. Powerball: 10.
The prize: $280 million.
Ethan wasn’t poor. He was a mid-level software engineer, living comfortably in Manhattan. But $280 million was a reality-changing number. It was the key that opened every door, or the knife that cut every true bond.
He looked at his phone screen. A text message from Jessica appeared: “Come over tonight. Miss you.”
Jessica, his beautiful Instagram model girlfriend, who always showed up in Revolve dresses and $500 Omakase dinners. She said she loved him for his “artistic soul.” But Ethan always wondered: If he couldn’t afford Tulum trips or Chanel bags, would that “soul” still be worth anything?
Ethan decided to play a game.
He took a leave of absence, sold his Audi, paid off his luxury apartment on the Upper East Side, and rented this “slum” for a month. He created the perfect scenario: Losing investments, bankruptcy, debt.
He wanted to know if Jessica loved Ethan, or Ethan’s wallet.
There was a knock on the door, hesitant and apprehensive.
Ethan opened it. Jessica stood there, resplendent in her Burberry fur coat, completely out of place in the peeling hallway of the apartment complex. She wrinkled her nose, her eyes scanning the stains on the wall as if afraid they would jump out at her.
“Ethan… You really live here?” Jessica asked, her voice trying to sound casual but unable to hide the horror.
“I’m sorry, Jess,” Ethan bowed his head, playing the perfect loser. “My startup collapsed. The bank foreclosed on my apartment and my car. This is all I have left.”
He led her into the room. There was no Italian leather sofa, just two plastic chairs and a rickety plywood table. Dinner was cold pizza and cheap beer.
Jessica sat on the edge of the chair, not daring to take off her coat. She looked at Ethan, her eyes wavering wildly.
“So… what’s the plan? How long do you plan to live like this?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan sighed, taking her hand. Hers was cold and stiff. “It might take a few years to pay it off. I’ll have to start over, maybe as an Uber driver or a waiter. But I believe, as long as you’re by my side, we’ll get through this. You said you love me, right?”
There was a long silence. The sound of cockroaches scurrying in the corner of the kitchen was clearly audible.
“Of course, Ethan,” Jessica withdrew her hand, smoothing her hair. “I love you. But… I’m a little shocked. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“The bathroom is at the end of the hall, shared with this floor. Remember to bring toilet paper.”
Jessica looked like she’d just swallowed a fly. She forced a smile, grabbed her bag, and walked out.
Ethan sat still on the chair. He wasn’t naive. He knew Jessica wouldn’t go to the bathroom in that filthy public bathroom.
He tiptoed to the door, pressing his ear to the flimsy wooden door that separated him from the hallway.
The sound of high heels pacing back and forth. And Jessica’s voice rang out, no longer sweet, but full of sarcasm and mockery. She was calling someone.
“Mark? Yeah, I’m at his place. God, you wouldn’t believe it. It’s worse than your doghouse.”
Ethan held his breath.
“No, he’s broke,” Jessica sneered, her laughter echoing in the empty hallway. “He’s lost everything. He’s even going to drive Uber. Can you believe it? An engineer turned into a pauper.”
Something on the other end of the line made Jessica laugh even harder.
“Don’t worry, I’m not crazy enough to get into this debt. I’m just here to confirm. I’ll make an excuse to break up with him next week. Like ‘I’m not good enough for you’ or something. I can’t let my friends see me dating some lowlife from the slums. It cheapens me.”
Ethan felt his chest tighten. Not from pain, but from emptiness. He’d prepared himself, but hearing those words directly from the woman who’d said “you mean the world” last night was still a punch in the gut.
“Yeah, I’ll be over tomorrow night. Make sure to have some wine. I need to get rid of this cheap pizza smell. Love you, Mark.”
Jessica hung up. She fixed her hair, took a deep breath to regain her “sympathetic girlfriend” look, and pushed the door open.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice trembling with drama. “I have a headache. I think I should go home early. The air in here… makes it hard to breathe.”
Ethan looked straight into her eyes. Those big, round brown eyes that he’d once thought were the most innocent in the world. Now he saw only cold calculation.
“I understand, Jess. Thank you for coming to see me when I was down like this.”
“Don’t worry, Ethan. It’ll be okay,” she kissed him lightly on the cheek, the kiss as light as a breeze. “Sleep well.”
She turned and walked away, as fast as if she were running from a crime scene. The sound of high heels
n down the stairs like a hammer hammering nails into the coffin of a two-year relationship.
The next morning.
Jessica was sitting in Mark’s penthouse – a nouveau riche stockbroker. She sipped her Mimosa and scrolled through her phone, relieved to be rid of Ethan.
“Turn on the TV,” Mark said from the kitchen. “I heard there’s a press conference for the $280 million Powerball winner today. I wish it was me.”
Jessica picked up the remote and turned on CNN.
The screen read “BREAKING NEWS.” A swarm of microphones and cameras flashed in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel.
“And here’s the winner of this historic prize,” the host said. “Please step forward.”
Jessica almost dropped her glass.
The man stepped out in a perfectly tailored navy blue Armani suit, his hair neatly combed, his demeanor poised and confident.
It wasn’t Ethan who’d failed in the dark motel room last night.
It was Ethan Hunt.
“What… what the hell?” Mark poked his head out. “Do you know this guy? Does he look like your ex?”
Jessica couldn’t answer. Her throat was tight. Her mind was spinning.
Ethan was standing on a podium, smiling in front of millions of viewers. The text scrolled below: “Ethan Hunt – Winner of $280 million jackpot.”
“Mr. Hunt,” a reporter asked. “What are you going to do with all this money? Buy a supercar? A mansion? Travel around the world?”
Ethan looked straight into the camera lens. His eyes were cold, as if he were looking through the screen, straight into the penthouse where Jessica sat, stunned.
“Actually,” Ethan said slowly. “I had an interesting experience last night. I tried living the life of a person who had nothing. And through that, I realized: When you are poor, you lose comfort, but you see the truth. When you are rich, you have everything, but you lose the ability to distinguish between sincerity and drama.”
The hall fell silent.
“So,” Ethan continued. “I decided not to keep this money for myself.”
The crowd roared. Jessica held her breath. She hoped he would say he would share it with his family, friends… she still had a chance! She hadn’t officially broken up with him!
“I will donate the entire $280 million – after taxes – to the Abandoned Children Fund,” Ethan announced loudly.
America was shocked.
Mark dropped the frying pan on the floor.
“You crazy!” Mark shouted. “He’s crazy! 280 million dollars! He gave it all away?”
But Jessica didn’t think he was crazy. She understood.
In that moment, she realized that Ethan wasn’t just rich in money. He was on a level that she and Mark – slaves to money – could never reach. He used 280 million dollars just to buy a lesson about humanity, and then threw it away like a piece of waste paper because he didn’t want that “dirty” money to stain his life.
Ethan’s phone went off. Jessica rushed out of Mark’s house, took a taxi to the Plaza Hotel. She had to see him. She had to explain. It was a misunderstanding!
She pushed through the crowd of reporters, her hair disheveled, no longer her usual elegance. She saw Ethan getting out of his private car at the back door.
“Ethan! Ethan!” She screamed, rushing through the security fence.
Ethan stopped. He turned around.
Jessica ran over, panting, tears (real this time, because of the money) streaming down her cheeks. She grabbed the sleeve of his suit jacket.
“Ethan… I saw the news. You… why didn’t you tell me? I… I was just kidding. I called Mark last night to borrow money for you! I swear!”
Ethan looked at her hand clinging to his jacket. His eyes no longer held anger, nor love. They were empty. A terrifying indifference.
“I heard it all, Jess,” Ethan said softly. “About the cheap pizza smell. About the ‘low class’. About how you degraded me.”
“No! It was a misunderstanding! Ethan, I love you! I was still with you when you said you were broke! I didn’t leave right away!” She begged, falling to her knees right in front of the press. “Give me a chance. We can start over. You gave away all your money, you’re back to normal, I still want to be with you!”
She thought that giving away all his money meant he was still the naive Ethan he used to be. She thought she could manipulate him again.
But Ethan smiled. A bitter smile.
“You’re wrong, Jess,” he leaned down, speaking loud enough for her to hear. “I donated $280 million in lottery winnings. But I never said I was broke. I’m still a senior software engineer, I still own an apartment on the Upper East Side, and I still have enough in my savings account to live comfortably for the rest of my life.”
Jessica’s eyes widened.
“I just used that lottery ticket to filter out the trash in my life,” Ethan removed her hand from his shirt.
“Ethan… please…”
Ethan straightened up, adjusting his collar. He looked at her one last time, then said a sentence that was later quoted in the press as a declaration of self-respect: “I would rather live alone in a shabby room all my life, than live in a palace with a man whose heart I have to measure with money.
I want to love someone who doesn’t need to be tested.”
He got into the car and slammed the door. The car sped away, leaving Jessica on her knees in the glare of the flashbulbs of reporters who were capturing the most pathetic moment of a gold digger who had just lost both his fortune and his great personality.
Ethan sat in the car, watching New York City pass by through the window.
He signed the transfer papers right at the press conference. 280 million dollars gone.
Some called him a saint. Some called him a fool.
But Ethan felt more relieved than ever.
He remembered his childhood in the orphanage, remembered the cold, hungry nights waiting for a miracle. That money would bring miracles to thousands of other children – children who would love him unconditionally, without him being rich.
His phone rang. A text message from his foster mother at the old orphanage: “I’m proud of you, Ethan. You did the right thing.”
Ethan smiled. He hadn’t lost $280 million. He had used it to buy back his freedom and his belief in himself. It was the most expensive commodity in the world, and he had paid in full.
