I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

The next day, the students of Montgomery Hall—usually radiating confidence and pride—were far from their usual selves. They sat quietly in the opulent foyer of the hall, their faces marked with a range of emotions: dread, stress, frustration, and even defiance. The foyer itself was a testament to luxury, with polished marble floors that reflected the sunlight streaming through massive arched windows. A grand chandelier hung overhead, its crystals glinting like diamonds, while plush velvet couches and gilded armchairs were scattered elegantly around the room. Ornate tapestries lined the walls, each one telling a story of tradition and power.

Despite the grandeur of their surroundings, the tension in the room was palpable, and no one seemed more stressed than Caroline Blackwell.

"I can't believe she would do that," came the sharp voice of Daphne Morgan, who was seated beside Caroline, her arms crossed in frustration.

Caroline, slumped on one of the velvet couches, sighed heavily. "The woman is insane," she muttered, replaying the disastrous events of the day before. She had carefully gone to the assistant's office to 'ask'—or rather insist—that her parental contact information be switched from her father to her mother. But just when she thought her plan was working, the new headmaster overheard everything. To make matters worse, the headmaster personally called her father to deliver the news.

Caroline groaned, burying her face in her hands. "And the worst part is, I'd already called my mother to explain what was going on. When I tried to tell her not to come, she just said, 'Oh baby, I'm so glad you called me! I can't wait to come to the school meeting.'" Caroline sighed again, leaning back on the couch and letting her head rest against the plush upholstery. "I couldn't bring myself to tell her not to come after that."

Daphne, sitting closer now, gently placed a hand on Caroline's head in a comforting gesture. "Sorry about that," she murmured before letting out a sigh of her own. "I'm not exactly having the best time, either. My brother already called me, and thank goodness he's the one coming instead of my parents, but…" She trailed off, biting her lip. "That's a whole different problem on its own. I just hope he behaves himself."

The two girls exchanged exhausted looks, sharing a moment of silent understanding. Before they could dive further into their woes, a cheerful, almost mocking voice shattered the heavy atmosphere.

"Oh, why are all of you so gloomy? Look on the bright side!" The voice belonged to none other than Noah Tinubu, who was sprawled lazily on a chaise lounge at the far end of the room. He was casually popping grapes into his mouth, utterly unbothered by the tension surrounding him. His carefree attitude made everyone turn their heads in disbelief.

Greta, seated nearby with her arms crossed and a deep frown etched on her face, snapped at him. "And what exactly is the bright side, Noah?"

Noah grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "What else? No class, obviously!" He let out a laugh, tossing another grape into his mouth.

Greta's frown deepened as she glared at him. "Seriously?"

"I don't get why you guys are acting like it's the end of the world," Noah continued, waving a hand dismissively. "It's just your parents coming. Not, like, monsters or anything."

His words hung in the air as the room collectively groaned, their irritation with him plain on their faces. Clearly, Noah's perspective wasn't as reassuring as he thought.

Noah, still lounging with his plate of grapes, glanced around at the tense group before speaking again. "Look at Li and Paul. They're not stressed. Why do you all have to be?"

Everyone's eyes turned to the two boys seated quietly across the room. Li's expression was stern and focused, while Paul looked completely indifferent, as though none of this concerned him in the slightest. Greta was the first to scoff.

"Please," she said, rolling her eyes. "I know why Paul isn't stressed. My uncle's such a chilled person, he has no reason to be worried."

Noah immediately shot back, "But I've met your parents too, and they seem pretty chill. So why are you freaking out?"

Greta sighed heavily, shaking her head. "Why wouldn't I be? I mean, I just got back to school, and less than a day later, they're already calling them to report about me." She groaned, the weight of her circumstances pressing down on her. She didn't need another issue with her parents—not when she was already on thin ice with them.

Li, who had been sitting silently, finally spoke. "I actually think this is a good thing," he said flatly.

Noah grinned, pointing a grape at him. "Thank you!"

But Li's sharp gaze shot toward Noah, his tone colder now. "Not for the same reasons as you," he said, his disgust evident as he eyed Noah, who continued to eat fruit, utterly oblivious.

Li leaned forward slightly, his voice steady and resolute. "It's true that Montgomery Hall has been losing its prestige. Before I came here, I heard stories about how great this place was. But now? Look at us. We're the worst generation of students to walk these halls." His eyes darted around the room, resting on each of them in turn. "If calling our parents—the one thing some of you still seem to respect, or in some cases fear—can help bring some discipline and dignity back, then maybe it's not such a bad thing. Maybe it's exactly what this place needs."

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, no one bothering to respond to Li's words. They were all too used to his blunt, moralizing tone by now.

Caroline, however, wasn't paying attention to him. Her gaze had drifted to Noah, who had casually swiped some of her grapes without a care in the world. The absurdity of the situation made her think about something that had been nagging at the back of her mind. She straightened slightly and finally asked, "Your legacy—can you elaborate on it?"

Noah paused mid-chew, looking around as if to make sure she was really talking to him. "What, me?" he asked, blinking. Seeing Caroline's unwavering gaze, he shrugged. "What, you want to mock me because I didn't give some grand declaration or something? Well—"

Before he could launch into a defensive rant, Paul Orsini, who had been silent until now, cut him off.

"Noah," Paul said simply, his voice calm but firm. He looked directly at him, his expression unreadable. "I don't think it's that. Just answer the question."

Noah blinked again, clearly caught off guard. He sat upright, dropping the relaxed act for the first time. "Okay, fine. What exactly do you want to know?" he asked, directing the question at Caroline.

Caroline didn't waver, her tone curious yet pointed. "You said your family is your legacy. How is that?"

Noah smirked slightly, shaking his head. "No, no, no," he corrected. "I said family is my family's legacy. There's a difference." He leaned back, now more engaged in the conversation. "Let me put it like this: legacy is something that goes from generation to generation. I am my parents' legacy. That doesn't mean they're mine. My legacy will be the kids I have someday—the ones who'll carry on my name, my line, my story. They're the continuation of everything I am. It's the only living, lasting legacy anyone can leave behind in this world."

He glanced at Caroline, who was staring at him intently, her expression unreadable. Seeing this, Noah raised an eyebrow. "I mean, aren't you your father's legacy?" he asked, tilting his head and posing the question directly.

Caroline sat still, the weight of his question settling over her. She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a heavily accented voice that sliced through the tense atmosphere.

"They are here," said Ekaterina, her sharp Russian tone carrying an edge of seriousness.

Everyone turned to look at her as she stood near the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, her eyes focused on the driveway outside. Following her gaze, the students all looked ahead.

Their parents had arrived.

Inside the timeless headmaster's office, a man in his sixties at best, agitated and pacing, addressed a young woman seated confidently in the headmaster's chair.

"How could you do this? Why invite them? And the stipulations you've posed? Are you insane?" Jefferson Westbrook, the dean of student affairs and the acting headmaster of Montgomery Hall, demanded. His voice was a mix of frustration and disbelief.

The young woman, Amelie Montgomery, sighed, visibly holding back her irritation. Under normal circumstances, no one would have been allowed to speak to her this way in her school. But Jefferson was different. He was family, not by blood, but by bond. Still, there were limits.

"Uncle Jefferson," she said, her tone measured, "can you please relax? I know what I'm doing."

Jefferson, however, was far from relaxed. "Oh, but you don't! If you did, you wouldn't have done this," he said, rubbing his temples. Muttering under his breath, he added, "Lord, if I'd known you'd pull a stunt like this, I'd never have voted to install you here."

Amelie's expression darkened. That was the final straw. Her voice dropped to a cold, sharp tone. "Uncle Jefferson, I would advise you to tone it down. I am your superior now."

Jefferson's face remained defiant. "Oh, now you want to pull rank? You should've thought about consequences before making a reckless decision like this. Do you even have any idea who you invited?"

Amelie's calculating gaze locked onto him. "Uncle, I know exactly who I invited. It's you who underestimates the power of this school and my family's name." Her voice carried conviction as she continued. "If anything, it's the Orsinis we should tread carefully around. They're the only ones with as much reach as ours. But knowing Lorenzo Orsini's reputation, this shouldn't be enough to anger him."

Her eyes sparkled with ambition as she leaned forward. "This meeting is essential. It's how I establish my family's school back into its rightful place. We'll gain the respect we once held—no, we'll surpass it."

Jefferson's expression faltered as his mind wandered to a chilling memory. A black-haired, black-eyed boy who once attended the school came to mind. The year he had spent here had been unlike any other, a robotic, almost militaristic time that left an eerie mark on the hallways. Jefferson shivered, recalling those cold, calculating eyes.

He looked at Amelie, his voice low but firm. "It's not Lorenzo Orsini you should fear."

Amelie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "What?"

Jefferson's voice grew louder, almost desperate. "I said, it's not Lorenzo Orsini you should be wary of."

Amelie's lips curled into a faint smile, the sarcasm in her voice unmistakable. "Then who?"

Jefferson opened his mouth to answer, but a knock on the door interrupted them. Both turned toward the sound. Amelie sighed and straightened her suit. "Enter," she called.

The door opened to reveal Amber, Amelie's assistant. She hesitated slightly, sensing the tension in the room, before saying, "Ma'am, the guests have arrived."

Amelie nodded, adjusting her posture. "I'm coming, Amber." She turned back to Jefferson, her tone cool and dismissive. "Uncle Jefferson, I need to attend to the parents now. And frankly, I think you should take a vacation. You seem tense." She paused deliberately, her next words cutting. "Take all the time you need."

Jefferson froze, the finality of her words sinking in. Nodding slowly, almost to himself, he muttered, "I guess this is it."

He stood up, his movements heavy with resignation. As he walked toward the door, Amber stepped aside to let him pass. Just before leaving, he turned back one last time, his voice low but filled with a quiet urgency that silenced the room.

"Alexander Blackwell," he said. The name hung in the air like a dark cloud. He paused, his voice trembling slightly as he continued. "He's the one you should watch out for."

With that, Jefferson left the office. That same day, he packed his belongings, gathered his wife and children, and left the country, leaving Amelie to face whatever storm she had unwittingly stirred.

I want to take a moment to thank three amazing people for their support in this chapter!

First, a big shoutout to the King of Golden Tickets himself, Velsharoon! You sent me 4 golden tickets, bringing your total to 10 this month alone—absolutely incredible! Thank you so much for your unwavering support. As a special treat, I'll be introducing a character inspired by you soon. You deserve it!

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I'm truly grateful to each and every one of you for making my week so special. By the way, the power stone support has been insane! It's only Wednesday, and I'm already at 70—last week, I hit 100, but now it looks like I'm going to surpass that. Thank you so much for your generosity!

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I'm feeling so inspired and grateful that I'll try to post another chapter today. Thank you all so much—I love you all!