My life's earnings are stashed away in my vault. Well, half of it. As an added security measure, I've given my wife half to hold on to and protect with her life. I've built my house in such a way that I feel pretty confident that my belongings are safe. At the very least, my wife and kids will be safe behind the protection of my pit bull, Tiny.
I come back later in the day to find that a few vagabonds tried, and failed, to steal my money. Their loss, my gain. They died, I thrived. I come back the next day and find that my walls have been sawed through, and my money stolen. I check on Tiny: drugged. My family? All dead, no, murdered. I have nothing left. I check the security tapes, though I'm not really sure why. I don't care for revenge, though I can't say the thought is absent in my mind. Standing in what's left of my house, I take it all in and kill myself.