He doesn't know why Zeus wants his wallet. There was nothing in it. Maybe two crumpled dollar bills, a few quarters, one mandatory piece of fake identification, a couple of black and white photos...
He hadn't thought about it, but it hadn't striked him, how ordinary he was. He wasn't a god anymore. He's just a man now, in someone else's car, and he's got a driver's licence to prove it, next to no money to his name, and photos of women who still meant something to him.
It's old, that wallet, and it looked as if it should have some sentimental value hidden between its folds. But he pulls it out of his back pocket and hands it over like it's another man's trash, letting it drop in Zeus' lap before his younger brother had the chance to take it from him.