I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 79: Alexander Day Two

"Arrgh! Really? Why does he have to come to my school? Aren’t you already homeschooling him?" a young feminine voice groaned inside the moving car.

"Now, young lady, you know why this is important." The older woman’s voice was firm but patient. "We all agreed that Alexander needs to go out and make friends. And what better place than high school?"

A deep, gruff voice scoffed. "We didn’t all agree. You agreed and forced that decision on the rest of us," the man grumbled. "I mean, what does the boy even need to learn there?"

The older woman’s tone sharpened. "Cassius."

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The name left her lips like a blade, cutting through the tension in the car. Cassius turned to face her, his dark eyes locking onto her ice-blue gaze.

"We agreed," she continued, her voice dangerously low, "that the boy should experience real life—outside of your teachings, your meetings, and your control." She leaned in slightly. "Or do you not want him to develop social skills? Isn’t that a vital trait for a successful businessman?"

Cassius let out a scoff, unimpressed. "Social skills? The boy has met kings, sultans, billionaires, presidents. What more does he need? How to talk to girls?" He waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, there’s Everlyn. She’s already learning how to be the perfect right hand for him. She can do all the talking. He just needs to lead."

Elisabeth let out a sigh, shaking her head. "Yes, that—and don’t forget the school. This is a great way for him to build connections for the future."

Cassius let out a booming laugh, the sound filling the entire vehicle. "Elisabeth," he said mid-laugh, his voice rich with amusement, "we are Blackwells. I and my son will die Blackwells. We don’t need connections." His laughter faded as his black eyes met hers with unwavering certainty. "We are the connection."

Meanwhile, Alexander, who had been listening to the argument, kept his face buried in the book he’d recently found interesting. The 48 Laws of Power—a book on manipulation—was his escape. As he read, he chose to stay out of the debate unfolding around him.

His sister’s voice broke through the silence. "Well, if he has to come, he should stay away from me. I mean, look at him—always has his head buried in all those weird books. He’d just freak my friends out."

Before their mother could respond, her voice sharp, "Young lady, I’ve warned you—"

"It’s okay, Mom," Alexander’s voice came through, soft but firm, cutting her off. He glanced at his sister, who looked at him with a mix of disgust and annoyance.

"Don’t worry, sister. I’ll make sure not to disturb you," he said, his tone laced with dry humor. His sister huffed in response, turning her attention to the window as if Alexander no longer existed.

But Alexander wasn’t done. He turned to his father. "And for you, Father, I feel school would be beneficial for the future. It should do a lot of good later on," he said, keeping his voice measured, as if discussing any other matter.

His mother, always the supportive one, cooed softly, "Yes, dear, and don’t worry. I trust you’re going to have fun. Just..."

Cassius remained silent, his sharp gaze never leaving his son. He wants to go to school, he thought, his mind turning over the idea. Cassius had spent countless hours ’tutoring’ Alexander, knowing full well that his son didn’t do anything unless it served a purpose. Alexander had inherited that trait from him, but it was different with him. He literally wouldn’t take a step unless it advanced his goals in some way.

Cassius’s black eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his son, wondering what game Alexander was playing. But for now, he said nothing, continuing to watch him quietly.

The sleek, tinted car glided to a stop at the entrance of the academy, its tires crunching softly against the gravel. The building before them loomed with an imposing, gothic architecture, each stone arch and turret carefully crafted to evoke an air of ancient grandeur. This institution, one of the oldest in the world, was founded by the powerful for the powerful. It was a place where wealth and privilege flowed like a constant undercurrent, and scholarships were a foreign concept—if you couldn’t afford it, you likely hadn’t even heard of it.

As the car came to a halt, two armed guards approached, their sharp eyes scanning the vehicle. One tapped the glass. The window lowered, revealing the designated driver—Sebastian—dressed in a butler’s uniform. The guard, attempting to peer inside, was momentarily distracted by the immaculate interior of the car.

"Cars are not allowed beyond this checkpoint," the guard stated firmly. "Please park here, and let the students disembark."

Before Sebastian could respond, a voice called out urgently from behind the guards.

"Trevor, come here!"

A tall, well-dressed man hurried toward the car, his pace quickened by the situation. He reached the window just as the guard, still attempting to peer inside, turned to face him.

"I’m sorry, sir," the man said to the butler with a brief, apologetic glance. "He’s new here."

Sebastian, without a word, rolled the window back up as the man nodded at the guards, signaling for them to allow the car through.

"Have a pleasant day, sir," the guard called out, bowing his head as the vehicle drove past the checkpoint.

As the car disappeared beyond the gates, Trevor stood frozen for a moment, still processing the encounter. His gaze shifted uneasily toward the head guard, his voice hesitant.

"But sir, the rules say no vehicles are permitted into the building, except for those of the staff," Trevor said, his tone uncertain.

The head guard, Jack, shot him a fiery glare, his eyes narrowing with irritation.

"Are you a fool?" Jack’s voice thundered, causing Trevor to flinch.

"Pardon?" Trevor stammered, shocked by the sudden harshness.

Jack’s anger flared. "Couldn’t you see the plates? That symbol! Do you have any idea who that was?" His voice was thick with disdain as he took a step closer to the younger man, his irritation palpable.

Trevor stared at Jack, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion. The man who had always treated him kindly now stood before him, scolding him with an intensity that stung.

Jack exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. "That plate had the symbol of the Blackwells," he said, his voice lowering but filled with undeniable authority.

The words hit Trevor like a blow to the chest. His eyes widened in realization, the weight of the mistake settling in. Jack’s words had the intended effect—Trevor’s face drained of color.

Jack, clearly frustrated, added, "Now you know the kind of blunder you’ve caused, right?"

Trevor’s breath quickened as panic began to set in. "Are you sure, sir?" he asked, his voice trembling with apprehension.

Before Jack could even respond, Trevor’s eyes widened further, his face a mix of shock and dread. "Oh God, what have I done?" he muttered to himself, pacing in frantic circles. He stopped abruptly, his eyes lighting up as though he had a sudden realization. "I need to go apologize," he said, determination flooding his voice. Without another word, he turned to run after the car.

Jack’s voice boomed, his authority returning. "Wait! What are you doing?"

Trevor spun around, his face flushed with urgency. "What do you mean, what am I doing?" he asked, almost breathless. "Didn’t you just say it was the Blackwells? Everyone knows about Cassius Blackwell’s temper and pettiness. You might not know this, but I need this job! I have to go beg him!"

Without waiting for a response, Trevor turned on his heel and hurried off, his mind racing with the fear of what he might have just set into motion.

Jack’s hand shot out, grabbing Trevor’s arm firmly. "Just come here," he said, his voice laced with authority.

Trevor jerked back, his fear overwhelming him. "What?" he shouted, momentarily forgetting his place. The tension in his voice betrayed the panic that had overtaken him. He realized only then that he was speaking out of turn—and that his outburst could cost him his job.

Jack, sensing Trevor’s anxiety, understood all too well the fear of crossing the Blackwells. Cassius Blackwell’s reputation was known worldwide, a tempest of power and volatility. Jack, however, remained calm.

"I mean, what are you doing?" Jack asked, his tone softening slightly. He could see the panic in Trevor’s eyes. "Didn’t you notice? It was just one car."

Trevor froze, his mind racing as he processed Jack’s words. Jack released his grip on Trevor’s arm, but Trevor, already on the edge of panic, was about to bolt again.

"I said wait, damn it!" Jack shouted, his voice cutting through Trevor’s spiraling thoughts.

Trevor stopped dead in his tracks, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned back, confusion and fear still written on his face.

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Let me finish what I was saying, Goddammit," he muttered under his breath before continuing, his voice more measured. "It was just one car. If Cassius Blackwell were here himself, the whole place would be crawling with details and security. So just relax. It was probably his daughter, just coming for a drop-off."

Trevor’s breath caught in his throat as the realization slowly settled in. The gravity of his mistake lessened, but only slightly. He stood there, still shaken, as Jack’s words began to make sense.

As the car bearing the Blackwell symbol pulled up to Montgomery Hall, the atmosphere inside shifted. In the back seat, Stephanie couldn’t wait any longer. She flung the door open, her relief evident.

"Thank goodness!" she exclaimed, practically bolting out of the car, eager to escape the confines of the vehicle. Elisabeth, ever the caretaker, chased after her.

"Young lady," Elisabeth called out, her tone half-exasperated, half-amused.

Meanwhile, in the back seat, Alexander sat opposite his father, Cassius. As they arrived, Cassius glanced at his son, who was tucking away his book, clearly lost in thought.

"What are you thinking, Alex?" Cassius asked, his voice calm. Over time, he had grown accustomed to speaking to Alexander as if he were an adult, his mind momentarily forgetting that his son was only fourteen.

Alexander, looking up from his book, met his father’s gaze. "One year," he said simply.

Cassius raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "One year?" he repeated.

Alexander nodded, his tone steady. "I’ll stay at the academy for the next year, Dad. Mom’s right. The connections the kids here have could be invaluable to the future."

Cassius gave a small chuckle, reaching over to ruffle Alexander’s hair. "Okay then, no problem, son."

Alexander opened the door and stepped out, his gaze lingering for a moment on his father.

Cassius watched his son’s retreating form, his mind drifting to what Alexander had just told him. A twisted, almost evil smirk curled on his lips as his thoughts ran deeper. He couldn’t help but chuckle, a low, unsettling laugh escaping him.

He really is hiding something from me, Cassius thought, the realization sending a thrill through him. Alexander had never kept anything from his father before. This was the first.

The more Cassius pondered it, the more his grin widened, stretching unnaturally across his face. The thought consumed him, and the idea of his son keeping something from him stirred something dark within him. His heart swelled with pride, a chilling sense of satisfaction flooding him

Alexander, having just said goodbye to his mother, stepped into the grand hall, his eyes immediately taking in the surroundings. The place was exquisite—ornate antique sculptures lined the walls, their delicate features capturing centuries of history, while elegant paintings adorned the hallway, each framed with gold. Rich tapestries hung from the high ceilings, and the polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of the chandeliers above, casting a warm, inviting light across the space.

As Alexander admired the details, he suddenly heard a soft cough. "Ahem, ahem," a voice called, breaking his reverie.

He turned to see a man in his early thirties, with a clean-shaven face and strong jawbones, his presence exuding a quiet authority. As Alexander studied him, the man spoke again.

"Hello, my name is Jefferson Westbrook," he said, offering a friendly yet firm handshake. "Alexander Blackwell, I presume?"

Alexander gave a slight nod, acknowledging the introduction.

"I’m the Dean of Student Affairs and also the Headmaster of this hall," Jefferson continued, his voice smooth and professional. "I’ll be walking you through the rules of the hall."

Alexander listened intently, nodding as Jefferson explained the expectations, pointing out the direction to his room. The man also mentioned that his language had been delivered a few weeks prior, ensuring everything was in order for his arrival.

As Alexander walked down the hallway, his mind raced with thoughts of why he had agreed to be here. There were things he wanted to test, and there was no better place than a high school filled with impressionable minds—minds that could be shaped, molded, and altered in ways he desired. His thoughts drifted to what he had read, a passage about the importance of loyalty—blind loyalty—people who would follow without question, people he could control without them even realizing it.

As he walked, lost in his thoughts, he suddenly heard a voice call out.

"Hey."

He turned to see a young girl and boy, both looking about his age, standing a short distance away. The girl had a confident, almost challenging posture, while the boy seemed somewhat familiar to Alexander, though he couldn’t place where he’d seen him before.

The girl, standing tall, looked directly at him and asked, "Are you Alexander Blackwell?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow, slightly confused, but the girl continued before he could respond.

"I’m Catherine Vanderbilt, and this," she gestured to the boy behind her, "is my friend, David Morgan."

She paused, her eyes locking with his as she pressed on. "Now, answer me—are you really Alexander Blackwell? And did you beat my friend up when you were kids?"

Alexander, who was initially confused at the situation but seeing the two and thinking ’vanderbilt and morgan’ his expression shifted into an uncanny smile, one that resembled the smile his father had worn earlier. It was subtle, yet cold, a knowing look that made it clear he was already considering the possibilities.

These two would do just fine, he thought, his mind already working, calculating the next move.

Later that day, Alexander walked down the school hallway, mentally mapping out the places he’d need to remember for when school started next week. His steps were purposeful, and his mind was focused—until, without warning, he turned a sharp corner and collided with someone.

The force of the impact sent the girl tumbling to the floor, her notes scattering in every direction. She scrambled to collect them, muttering frantic apologies, "Sorry, sorry."

At first, Alexander felt a wave of irritation rise within him, but then, as she looked up, something stopped him in his tracks. He froze, his gaze locking with hers. Her eyes—the most striking emerald green—shone like polished gems, drawing him in with their intensity.

He didn’t even realize he had stopped moving until his breath hitched. His eyes traveled from her eyes to her face, captivated by her features, which seemed to shine with a quiet, captivating beauty. His thoughts scattered, and for a moment, he just stood there, mesmerized.

There was something about her—something he couldn’t quite place, but that he knew he wanted to explore.

This day was a defining moment in Alexander’s life—not because it was his first day at school, nor because it was the day he met his so-called ’friends’. Or because he could try out his ’Plans’ No, today held far greater significance.

Because today was the day he met her.

Susan Beaumont.

Hey everyone,

Sorry for the late chapter. Today has been incredibly rough—on my way to work, my phone was stolen. I had to leave early because, honestly, my head just wasn’t in the right place. Even now, I’m typing this on my sister’s phone.

I wasn’t planning to write anything today. I felt drained, frustrated, and completely out of it. But when I logged in on her phone and saw TW_MIRAGE’s gifts, something changed. I know I’ve thanked him—and all of you—many times before, but I don’t think you truly understand how much your support means to me.

It’s because of him and all of you that I found the strength to push through and write this chapter. Your kindness and encouragement remind me why I love doing this, even on the hardest days. So, I borrowed my sister’s phone and just started typing, because you all deserve at least that much in return for the joy you’ve given me.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. And a special thank you to TW_MIRAGE—your support is simply overwhelming. I hope you enjoy this chapter, as it’s the least I can do to show my gratitude.

Much love, and thank you all so much.