I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

"I loved my cousin once. But Alexander Blackwell is no longer the man we admired.

He is no longer worthy of this legacy.

He is no longer Blackwell Investments.

I am, We are."

Desmond's words cut through the stillness of the room, echoing off the walls with a weight that seemed to settle into every corner of the space. His declaration hung in the air, oppressive and final. Each person in the room reacted differently, their faces betraying a mixture of shock, disbelief, and... something more.

Evelyn, who had been pacing anxiously with her phone glued to her ear just moments before, stopped dead in her tracks. The endless cycle of calls and frantic messages had come to a halt. She was done, no longer running around trying to put out a fire that seemed to grow bigger with each passing moment. The words Desmond spoke were the final nail in the coffin. She could feel the weight of it all—of the enormous mistake they'd all made. The misstep, the oversight that had led them here, was too much to bear.

Elisabeth, Alexander's mother, was the only one sitting. A glass of wine rested untouched on her arm. Her eyes, once sharp and calculating, now reflected nothing but a deep, weary exhaustion. The years of constant struggle, the infighting, the battles within their own family—she was tired. Too tired. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts swirling in a mixture of disbelief and resignation. She was fed up, utterly fed up with it all. The endless fighting, the constant power struggles, the greed that had poisoned them all—it was all too much. She wanted it to end. She wanted it all to be over. For once, just once, she wanted peace. But that seemed a far-off dream, one that would never be within reach. Her grip tightened around the stem of her glass, but still, she did not drink.

Nearby, Sebastian, the ever-loyal butler, stood a little removed from the chaos. His hands were folded neatly in front of him, his posture immaculate, but his eyes? They were a different story. Sebastian, the ever-quiet observer, stared intently at the screen, a strange glint dancing in his eyes. If anyone had been paying attention to him, they might have noticed that he wasn't the least bit worried. In fact, the more the scene unfolded, the more amused he became. The tension was thick, suffocating even, but to Sebastian, it was almost like a show, a performance he was eager to watch. He stood just slightly apart from the others, taking in the spectacle with a quiet thrill.

His eyes flicked to the back of Alexander, who sat facing the screen, the very embodiment of arrogance and detachment. Alexander's posture was stiff, his jaw set in that familiar, arrogant manner, but his face? His face was a mask of cold indifference. He didn't even flinch when Desmond's words hit like a thunderclap. To anyone who didn't know him well, it would seem as though he were unfazed, completely unmoved. But Sebastian, with his sharp perception, saw something different.

He saw the tension in Alexander's back, the barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. It was as though Alexander were a coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing second. In that moment, Sebastian couldn't help but grin wickedly to himself. What now, boss? He thought, the anticipation curling in his mind. There was a wicked thrill in the uncertainty, a sick curiosity about what Alexander would do next. I wonder how far you'll go, Alexander. How far you'll push this before you break.

For Alexander, however, time seemed to slow. His mind felt numb, disconnected from the chaos around him. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. The room was a blur, their voices a dull hum in the back of his mind. I should feel something, he thought, but nothing came. The words that had been spoken, the accusations, the legacy of his family—all of it felt distant. He was detached, adrift in a sea of blankness. His fingers curled around the glass of water in his hand, but he didn't feel the cold, the smoothness of the glass against his skin. He was a shell, hollow, unable to process the weight of what was happening.

Then, a sharp sound split the air—a crack, so sudden and violent that it made everyone in the room jump. It was the sound of glass shattering, and before anyone could react, a loud, sickening crack followed, a breaking sound that reverberated through the room.

All eyes turned to Alexander. He stood there, his hand still gripping the broken glass, shards of it lodged deep in his palm. Blood mixed with water, dripping down his hand in slow, thick drops, staining the floor beneath him. The silence was suffocating.

Elisabeth was the first to react, her voice a high-pitched scream that pierced the thick atmosphere. "Alexander!" she cried out, the raw pain in her voice unmistakable. Her eyes locked on the blood dripping from his hand, her face contorted with shock and fear. Why? she thought, the question echoing in her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud. Instead, she screamed, "What are you doing?" Her eyes darted to Evelyn, her motherly instincts kicking in. "Go get a first aid kit!" she ordered, her voice frantic, as though the very act of giving an order might somehow bring control back to the situation.

Evelyn, snapped out of her stupor, immediately darted out of the room. Her breath was shallow, the tension gnawing at her insides as she raced for the supplies. Meanwhile, the others stood frozen, their eyes wide, watching Alexander with a mixture of disbelief and fear. The silence that followed the chaos was deafening.

Sebastian, ever the observer, took a small, barely audible breath as he watched the scene unfold before him. There was no mistaking the fact that the room had shifted—everything had changed. Alexander had snapped. The room was thick with the tension of a man on the brink, and Sebastian couldn't help but wonder how far Alexander would go.

"That should be okay for a bit. I've called one of the doctors; they should be here soon," came Everlyn's voice, steady but strained, as she knelt by Alexander, carefully wrapping his bleeding hand.

Alexander, his face unreadable, simply said, "You can send them away. I am fine."

But before Everlyn could even nod, Elisabeth's voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Like hell you are," his mother snapped, stepping forward, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Her glass of untouched wine was now abandoned, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. "Let the doctors take a look at your arm. This is serious, Alexander. You could have been badly hurt."

Alexander merely shifted his gaze to her, his voice low but firm. "No, Mother. What is serious… is what we just watched."

His words dropped into the room like a stone thrown into still water.

All at once, the heavy veil of worry for his injury was torn away. The grim reality of the broadcasted betrayal returned, cloaking the room in a suffocating silence.

Alexander pointed, with his still-bleeding hand, at the large television mounted on the wall — blood dripping, water trailing down his skin — but he didn't flinch. His eyes were hard, almost empty.

"If we don't stop that," he said, voice grave, "we are doomed. All of this... will have been for nothing."

The room seemed to tighten around them, the air itself heavy with dread.

Everlyn, standing now, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of the moment, said, "It was handled as a technical legality. That's why you weren't informed about the transfer of shares from your uncle to Desmond." She swallowed hard before continuing, her eyes locking with Alexander's. "Because of the charges pending against you, they argued that involving you directly could risk legal entanglement — not just for you, but for the shares themselves. They processed it quietly, to keep the assets insulated and prevent them from being frozen or seized under suspicion."

Alexander's jaw flexed as he processed that.

They had him. His own people. He was too relaxed on the company front .

Everlyn continued, more firmly, "It was supposed to be a safeguard, Alexander. To keep Blackwell Investments alive… not an opening for a coup."

Sebastian, standing by the shadows of the room, let out a soft, amused sound — the only hint of his presence. Then he stepped forward, his gloved hands folded neatly behind him.

"That's not the major issue anymore," Sebastian said, his voice crisp. "Alexander still holds his father's share — 96% of Blackwell Investments. However…" He paused, letting the gravity sink in. "If Desmond goes through with this legal maneuver, with the government building a case against you, they can freeze your shares." He smiled faintly, almost mockingly. "Once your shares are frozen, they become… inactive. You would still 'own' them, technically, but you wouldn't be able to exercise any control. Which means—"

Sebastian gestured dramatically to the room. "—Desmond and Miss Usher would effectively control the company between them."

At that, Elisabeth staggered slightly back into her chair, her face ashen.

"How can we prevent that?" she whispered, horror threading through her words.

She turned to look at them — at Everlyn, at Sebastian — and finally her gaze fell on Alexander, where it lingered.

Her voice cracked as she said, "When Cassius gave his brother part of the company shares... it was to support him. To keep the family together. To strengthen our bloodline, not destroy it."

She looked down for a moment, her fingers tightening into fists. Then, fire lit in her eyes.

"I can't let this happen," Elisabeth hissed. "We can't let them destroy everything he built."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Every gaze in the room slowly shifted to Alexander.

The man they depended on.

The man who now had to become more ruthless than ever before.

Alexander, for a long moment, said nothing.

He simply let the silence stretch, feeling the weight of it, letting it fuel the storm brewing inside him.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was calm, but beneath it was the coldness of steel.

"Our inability to operate freely in the United States will be… catastrophic," he said.

A heavy stillness fell.

"First, contact the law firm. Tell them to immediately file an emergency injunction against any attempt to freeze my shares — argue undue process, argue the need for corporate continuity, I don't care what lies they spin. Delay them."

He stood slowly, towering over them all, blood still dripping from his bandaged hand like a silent warning.

"Meanwhile," he continued, "using my authority — and my mother's — we will immediately restructure the board. I will move four of our most trusted allies into the director seats. Everlyn, you will oversee it personally. Vet them. Secure their loyalty with blood if necessary."

He turned to Everlyn, his voice sharp.

"Tell the directors at our major Cooperation's — Amazon, Apple, Nvidia, anyone with public standing — to distance themselves publicly if they must, but behind closed doors, we bring them closer. We make them depend on us for whatever they need. Money. Leverage. Access."

He didn't blink. He didn't hesitate.

This wasn't a man reacting.

This was a man orchestrating war.

"And in damage control..." Alexander went on, "Everlyn, push the narrative that Blackwell Investments is relocating for global expansion, not legal escape. Leak 'anonymous' reports that I'm stepping down as CEO to 'modernize leadership'. Set up shell firms under Saudi holding companies to hide our assets. Reassign ownership structures in layers no prosecutor can touch without going through five jurisdictions."

"And Sebastian…"

Alexander looked at the butler with a glint of ice in his eyes.

"Contact the Saudis. Tell them our timeline just accelerated. I want Blackwell Investments legally recognized as a Saudi conglomerate within a week. No mistakes."

But despite all the commands and planning —

Despite the cold, methodical ruthlessness —

Everyone in that room knew.

It was all damage control.

The battle for Blackwell Investments was about to become an all-out war.

Desmond's accusations were sharp.

His legal avenues were legitimate.

And the world — the sharks — had smelled blood.

But that wasn't the true reason tension clawed at their hearts.

It wasn't even the freezing of the shares that haunted them now.

It was something much deeper.

Something far more chilling.

Privatization.

For decades, Blackwell Investments had been protected by the fortress of privatization.

It wasn't about hiding in the shadows — it was about security.

Without public shareholders to answer to, without the endless scrutiny of regulators and markets, they had built an empire on their own terms.

They moved swiftly. Acted decisively.

While others were shackled by quarterly reports and public opinion, the Blackwells operated with a freedom few could even dream of.

Privatization wasn't their weakness. It was their armor.

That protection — that veil — had made them untouchable.

But now?

Now they saw the truth.

Alexander saw the truth.

Behind Desmond's charming rebellion, behind his words of righteousness, behind his calls for "cleansing" the company —Lurking in the shadows he knew was Nathaniel Rockerfeller.

Alexander's mouth curled into a grim, humorless smile.

He could hear Nathaniel's voice whispering through Desmond's speeches.

He could see Nathaniel's fingerprints on the legal documents.

If Nathaniel was involved...

then this was no longer a dispute.

This was extermination.

They didn't want just Alexander out.

They didn't want just to freeze his shares.

They wanted Blackwell Investments stripped bare.

Forced into the public market.

Sliced apart by shareholders.

Devoured by wolves.

Broken — forever.

Alexander, looking at them all, clenched his bleeding fist tighter.

"They don't just want to take the company," he said softly.

"They want to make us just like the rest of them."

His voice lowered into a whisper — yet everyone heard him.

"They want Blackwell Investments… public."