I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Inside the foyer of the school headmaster's office, the vast gathering area seemed almost small—an ironic contradiction given its grandeur. The space was adorned with antique luxury: towering marble columns stretched toward the high ceilings, intricate gold-leaf detailing ran along the edges of the archways, and a massive crystal chandelier hung in the center, casting a warm, regal glow. Plush velvet chairs lined the room, their deep burgundy color contrasting against the polished black-and-white checkered floors. Oil paintings of long-passed dignitaries adorned the walls, their watchful gazes seeming to scrutinize the assembled guests.

Yet, despite the room's size, it felt constricted—not by the number of people present, but by the sheer presence of those who had gathered. These were not ordinary individuals; each carried an air of power that demanded space, suffocating the room with their authority and influence. The atmosphere was thick with tension, an unspoken acknowledgment of the significance of the moment.

They had unconsciously formed six distinct groups—or rather, five groups and one lone individual.

To the far right, near an imposing statue of a British knight in full ceremonial armor, stood a cluster of five people both men and women dressed in sleek black suits. Their postures were rigid, their expressions unreadable, and their eyes constantly scanning the room—these were not mere bodyguards, but elite operatives. Anyone with the right knowledge could instantly recognize them as agents of the Special Air Service (SAS), the United Kingdom's most secretive and formidable intelligence force. They stood protectively near two individuals—a man and a woman—both striking in their appearance.

The man was lanky and tall, his frame almost delicate but with an underlying sharpness, like a blade concealed in silk. His blond hair was neatly combed back, emphasizing the angular structure of his face. Piercing green eyes surveyed the room with a detached curiosity, as though nothing here was truly impressive to him. His tailored navy-blue suit fit him with meticulous precision, exuding effortless elegance.

Beside him stood a woman of undeniable beauty. Her long golden-blond hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, framing a face that seemed almost sculpted. She shared the same green eyes as the man, but hers held a certain knowing glint, as if she saw far more than she let on. She wore a pristine white dress that, despite its simplicity, radiated wealth, complemented by a delicate emerald necklace resting just above her collarbone. Each of them had a personal assistant at their side, discreet but ever watchful.

Though they appeared as one group, the couple was engaged in conversation with a third man, distinct in his presence. He was middle-aged, wearing a flowing red robe that set him apart from everyone else. His demeanor was solemn, and unlike the couple's poised smiles, his expression was unreadable—stoic, almost detached. As they spoke, he stretched out his hand, not in the warmth of friendship, but in a calculated gesture—one that seemed more ceremonial than personal.

The man in red was flanked by two figures dressed in white robes, their features obscured by the hoods draped over their heads. Two nuns stood beside them, their hands clasped before them in silent reverence. And behind them, standing like immovable sentinels, were two guards—both covered from head to toe in white armor that looked almost futuristic, like something out of a Star Wars film. They did not shift, did not move, did not even acknowledge the presence of others in the room. Armed and motionless, they exuded an aura of absolute discipline and intimidation.

The air was thick with an unspoken understanding.

And to the far left stood two other distinct and equally terrifying groups.

The first group consisted of rugged men, their faces littered with scars, each one carrying Russian-made weapons. They were members of the Alpha Group, an elite Russian counter-terrorism and special operations unit. These were men trained in the harshest conditions, their presence alone enough to send a chill through even the most hardened individuals. Some carried advanced firearms not even known to other governments, and their posture was one of silent, deadly vigilance. In the middle of the formation stood a man who seemed to tower over even his guards.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, but what set him apart were the priceless diamonds embedded in his cufflinks and buttons. He exuded an aura of quiet menace, his very presence seeming to draw the air out of the room. He did not speak, did not gesture—he simply stood, his hands resting in front of him, but every single guard in the room had a hand subtly placed near their weapons in response to him. This was a man who radiated danger, even in silence.

Beside them stood an equally formidable group—Chinese men, each one disciplined and rigid, their eyes scanning every detail of the room. Unlike the Russians, they carried no visible weapons, but that only made them more unsettling. They were members of the Snow Leopard Commando Unit, one of China's most elite paramilitary forces. Their reputation preceded them—trained to eliminate threats with speed and precision, they were masters of combat even without firearms.

At the center of their formation stood a man of relatively short stature, yet his presence was one of overwhelming importance. Unlike the other powerful figures in the room, this man was not merely a businessman or an influential figure—he was the second-in-command of the Chinese government, Wei Zhiyuan. He carried himself with the air of a man who did not need protection, for his very position ensured that no nation would dare touch him. His mere presence in a foreign land meant that the host country bore the responsibility of his safety—because if anything were to happen to him, it would mean invoking the wrath of a sleeping dragon. And no one, not even the most powerful nations, wanted the People's Republic of China knocking on their doors in fury.

Then, at the front of the room, stood the most bizarre yet unsettling group. Four separate teams of highly trained guards stood at attention, their weapons a mix of various nations' best firearms. But what set them apart wasn't their security detail—it was the entourage of secretaries. A set of strikingly beautiful African women stood in perfect formation, their poise both elegant and commanding. Their presence was in stark contrast to the frail-looking old man at their center. He appeared weak, as if the very air might carry him away, yet the way he moved—the way he carried himself—suggested that he was anything but. His authority was unquestionable, and despite his aged appearance, his mere entrance had set the entire room on edge. These women were not just secretaries—they were god-filled and blessed, their shape radiating an almost divine allure that only added to the enigmatic presence of their employer.

And that left the final set of individuals—the ones who stood directly in the center of the room, drawing the most attention of all.

Even with the sheer weight of power gathered in this room, these individuals stood out. Perhaps it was because of David Morgan, who, unlike the others, showed no signs of caution, happily conversing as if unaware of the dangerous men surrounding him. Or perhaps it was because of the man standing at the very heart of the room—a man who needed no introduction.

Alexander Blackwell.

Everyone in this room had encountered him before—some had seen him as a child, carried into meetings by his father, others had crossed paths with him in high-stakes business deals. And then there were those who had met him in this very school, in a different era. Regardless of how they knew him, one thing was clear—his presence was unmistakable.

Beside him stood his ever-loyal secretary, her posture mirroring his—stoic, unreadable, and utterly composed. She was a striking figure, but considering the number of beautiful women already present in the room, it wasn't her appearance that drew attention—it was the guards around them.

Four guards stood in the room, distinct from the others. While every other security force present belonged to a nation, these men seemed to belong to no one but their employer. They didn't have the posture of government operatives or special forces. They moved like mercenaries—but far deadlier.

What truly unsettled the other security teams, however, wasn't just their demeanor—it was the weapons they carried. These weren't standard-issue firearms. In fact, they didn't even resemble any known weaponry. Even the Russian operatives, with their access to classified technology not known to the world, were eyeing these weapons warily.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier. Every security detail was on edge.

Alexander, the employer of said guards, was engaged in conversation, though his focus remained fixed on a single location. David, standing near him, was talking animatedly.

"Good to see you, Alex! Do you know why we were called here? And—" he continued, oblivious to the fact that the person he was addressing neither acknowledged him nor spared him a glance.

Alexander's eyes were locked on the only person in the room who stood alone, separate from any group—a blonde-haired woman engrossed in her phone. She appeared completely unbothered by her surroundings, as if the sheer weight of power in the room meant nothing to her.

The tension in the air was suddenly cut by the voice of the frail-looking old man surrounded by his god-filled and blessed secretaries. His voice, despite his age, rang with authority.

"Where is my son? Is this not a meeting? Where is my son?" he demanded, addressing a woman seated at the front, who bore the unmistakable air of a secretary.

Before anyone could respond, another voice filled the room—the voice they had all been waiting for.

"Good day, gentlemen and ladies."

A sharp, feminine voice rang through the air, drawing every eye to its source.

"My name is Amelie Montgomery. I am the new head of school."

A woman, seemingly too young for such a title, stood before them, a composed smile on her face. If she was intimidated by the presence of some of the most powerful figures in the world, she did not show it.

Without hesitation, she continued, "About your guards—please, we ask that they all remain in the recreation room, which has already been arranged for them."

She allowed her words to settle for only a moment before pressing on. "And there is no need to be concerned about your safety. Our head of security, Trevor Barker, has been with us for fifteen years. He and his team are highly qualified and will handle security. Please, allow us all to converse in peace."

For a brief moment, no guard moved. The room remained still, filled with unreadable expressions. But then, almost too smoothly, they all turned to their respective employers. With slight nods of acknowledgment, the guards exited in a precise, disciplined manner, their absence making the room feel even heavier.

Seeing them leave, Amelie spoke again. "Okay, then. Parents, right this way. Secretaries, you may remain here, or you may follow the guards to the break room."

She turned, leading them toward another room. As they began moving, Mr. Adewale Tinubu, concern evident in his voice, spoke up once more. "Where is my son? Is he not here?"

Amelie, without breaking stride, responded smoothly, "Oh, they are fine. They are already in the room. You will see them soon."

Just as they reached the entrance, Amelie suddenly stopped and turned to face them again. Her gaze met each of theirs, one by one, her composed smile still in place.

"I am pleased to host all of you parents here today," she said. But then, her smile faded.

"Well… almost all of you."

Her gaze landed on David Morgan, who was still grinning and chatting with Alexander. The room fell silent as she addressed him directly.

"Mr. Morgan, I'm sorry, but you can't come in."

David's smile faltered for the briefest of moments before he recovered, flashing his signature grin. "Ahh, don't worry about it. I told the old man I was coming for Daphne. Don't worry—anything he can do, I can do better," he said with a wink.

But Amelie did not laugh. Her expression remained firm, her voice unwavering as she spoke the next words—words that sent a shockwave through the room.

"I do not doubt that, Mr. Morgan," she said coolly. "But, unfortunately, the invitation was sent to Mr. Morgan or Mrs. Morgan. Since neither has appeared here today, I regret to inform you that after today—"

She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in.

"—your sister, Daphne Morgan, is hereby expelled."

The room froze. A thick silence hung in the air as every pair of eyes turned to David, waiting for his reaction.

For the first time, David Morgan was speechless.

I want to take a moment to thank Peanut_Butter_2757 for the two amazing gifts! Thank you so much, man—this really made my weekend. I truly appreciate it, and I'll be releasing another chapter today as a way of showing my gratitude. Wishing you a happy weekend as well! P.S Your comments always put a smile on my face, and I love reading them.

A big thank you also to VipeXGaming for the golden ticket! I really appreciate the support. You guys are the best!

If you want a scene between the guards like this post(i know plenty of you don't talk that's why I said just like)

100 Chapters Milestone! 🎉

Wow, I just realized I've passed 100 chapters! I've been so busy writing that it completely slipped my mind. Huge congrats to me, but even bigger congrats and thanks to all of you—the incredible readers who have supported me every step of the way.

From the OGs to the newest members of this community, I truly appreciate you all. TW_MIRAGE, my best reader—you've saved my mood more times than I can count, and without you, I might not have made it this far. Sugar_danny, your gift was the singular most expensive one I've ever received, getting a luxury car gift still blows my mind to this day—thank you so much! Velsharoon, you've been here since the beginning, always dropping golden tickets, and I haven't forgotten my promise—I hope you'll love what I have in store for you. VisineAnt, another day-one supporter who's given me gifts as well, I appreciate you! VipeXGaming, your steady support never goes unnoticed. Jbp2k24, one of my oldest readers and a consistent donor, thank you for always being there.

To Austin_Maina, I see you reading almost every day, and to the new legends like Peanut_Butter_2757, who has been so supportive lately, Cocopunch88, I appreciate you so much, man—thank you for everything! AddictedReaderr, your comments, golden tickets, and engagement mean the world to me. And a big shoutout to Rexcite_WH40K, MAD_DRAGON, Gaurav_Sharma_4052, and Nirav_Vaja_8566 for donating power stones every single day—I see you, and I appreciate you.

I can't fully express how grateful I am to all of you. Whether I mentioned your name or not, please know that I see you, appreciate you, and value every bit of your support. I promise to keep giving you my best—I hope to never let you down.

Love you all! ❤️