I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 129: Sides I

"When things feel like they are falling apart, they might actually be falling into place."

The words came in the distinctive, measured voice of Alexander Blackwell, echoing softly through his home office, his tone as unshaken as ever.

A mere few minutes ago, Everlyn had barged in, her urgency palpable, the tension rolling off her in waves. She barely paused for breath as she delivered the latest blow. "They've taken George and part of his team to the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC) in Brooklyn." Her voice carried an edge, but she didn't stop there. "Things are falling apart, Alexander! not just that but the board members we placed in key businesses are losing ground. Power is consolidating against us—especially in Apple and Amazon. The backlash against our influence there is becoming impossible to contain!"

She had come expecting a plan, a reaction, a directive—anything to counterbalance the storm closing in around them. And instead, all she got was a philosophical musing.

Everlyn had been trained from childhood to be the perfect second-in-command—taught to follow orders, execute without hesitation, and ensure flawless efficiency. She could adapt in the moment, think fast, and navigate through chaos, but leadership? That had never been her role. She had been programmed to serve, not to lead.

And now, the man she had been molded to serve—the one she had entrusted with everything—was speaking in riddles? She felt something dangerously close to betrayal burning in her chest.

Yet as she stood there, her breath shallow, her mind racing, she became acutely aware of the eyes watching her. Alexander, seated with an almost unsettling calm, studying her reaction with quiet amusement. And beside her, standing like an immovable pillar, was her father—Sebastian. Neither of them looked shaken. If anything, they regarded her like an experiment in observation, waiting to see how she would respond under pressure.

Everlyn inhaled sharply, steadying herself.

This isn't you, Everlyn. What's happening? she thought, trying to regain control of her thoughts. You don't panic. You don't doubt. So why now?

And then, like a puzzle snapping into place, realization struck.

Alexander Blackwell never spoke without purpose. Every word, every action was deliberate, calculated. If he had said that phrase, it meant something. It wasn't just a throwaway line—it was a signal. A hint.

Her mind began spinning through the implications. Could it be that simple? That obvious? The idea made sense on the surface—he was implying that he had his enemies exactly where he wanted them. That the chaos wasn't chaos at all but a carefully laid trap. But no... Alexander never worked in just one layer. There had to be more.

And yet, doubt gnawed at her.

She hated this uncertainty. Hated feeling unmoored. Was Mr. Blackwell's death affecting him more than they had anticipated?

The questions spiraled through her mind as she stood motionless in the office, watching Alexander flip a page in his book with lazy ease. Her father remained just as still, his presence a silent monolith beside her. The sheer ordinariness of the scene unsettled her—because outside these walls, their empire was being chipped away piece by piece.

Just as she was about to excuse herself, a sharp ding from her phone cut through the silence. The sound jolted her, sending a ripple of unease down her spine. Why was she messaging me here?

Without betraying a flicker of emotion, she carefully slid her phone from her pocket, her thumb hovering over the screen. Before she could even read the message, her father's voice broke the quiet.

"Who is it?"

His tone was neutral, but Everlyn's heartbeat quickened slightly. She masked it well, keeping her expression unreadable as she brought the phone into view. The moment her eyes landed on the sender's name, a wave of unexpected relief swept through her.

Mrs. Longbottom.

"It's Mrs. Longbottom. I assume she's letting me know the cars have arrived," she replied smoothly, dismissing the underlying tension.

With practiced nonchalance, Everlyn tapped her screen and opened the full message. The moment she read it, her breath caught. Her eyes widened slightly, and the words left her lips before she could stop them.

"Oh no."

Elsewhere, in the same city, another storm was brewing.

In the heart of New York, a skyscraper loomed over the skyline, its sheer presence commanding attention. It was more than a building; it was an institution, a symbol of absolute power.

270 Park Avenue.

Its glass-and-steel façade gleamed under the city lights, a towering monument to the might of JPMorgan Chase. But beyond its architectural grandeur, it was what the building represented that truly mattered.

It wasn't just an office. It was a fortress of finance, a command center of global economic influence. Within its walls, empires were created, markets were shaped, and wealth wasn't just accumulated—it was engineered.

Here, billion-dollar deals were made over coffee. Policies that could shake governments were drafted in whispered conversations behind closed doors. The corridors buzzed with the relentless energy of financial warfare, where fortunes were decided in seconds and the fate of industries lay in the hands of those who walked these halls.

JPMorgan Chase was not a bank.

It was a force. A silent behemoth that dictated the very fabric of the world economy. Governments listened when it spoke. Markets trembled at its movements. It was the unseen hand that guided global wealth, the architect of financial empires that spanned centuries.

And at the very top of this towering symbol of power, three figures sat in a dimly lit room.

Three people who shared not only a lineage but a legacy—the blood of the very man who had built the Morgan dynasty from the ground up.

They weren't here to discuss quarterly profits.

They were here to determine the fate of an empire.

And by extension, the fate of the world.

They had come to discuss what was on the lips of every American who had even a passing interest in power and wealth. From the streets to the highest circles of influence, from the ordinary man to the elite, everyone was talking about one thing—the Blackwell case.

But unlike the masses, who indulged in idle speculation, gossiping about Alexander Blackwell's wealth and fate, the people in this room had gathered for something far more consequential. They weren't here to speculate. They weren't here to simply exchange opinions. They were here to decide—to choose a side.

For decades, the Morgans had been close allies of the Blackwells. From the time of Alexander's father to the present, that alliance had held firm. Alexander himself was close friends with one of the two Morgan heirs. And yet, even they had now been summoned, just like every other influential family, and given a choice.

Lines were being drawn. The elite families of the country were rallying, all converging under the undisputed banner of Nathaniel Rockerfeller, arming themselves for a war against the Blackwells. Some families had chosen neutrality, hoping to avoid entanglement in the storm that was brewing. The Morgans were famous for their neutrality, their ability to balance power without truly committing to one side or another. But not this time.

Nathaniel Rockerfeller had made a request—a request that felt more like a demand. He wanted the Morgans to step down from their perch on the fence and declare their allegiance. And it wasn't simply his own influence that gave him the confidence to make such a request. Backing him was the collective strength of nearly every major family. The tide was against the Blackwells, and Nathaniel knew it.

But was it really just about isolating the Blackwells? Was it merely about cutting off their strongest and oldest ally, making them appear more vulnerable than ever? As Patrick Morgan sat in the boardroom, watching his two sons argue their positions with fire in their voices, he knew there was more to it than that.

Today, I feel truly blessed to have all of you, my readers. Thank you so much for your support! However, I'd like to extend a special thanks to three incredible people.

First, my deepest gratitude goes to one of my oldest readers, VisineAnt, who sent me two golden tickets. Thank you so, so much! This truly touched me, and I feel incredibly grateful. Your support means the world to me!

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