I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

At Zurich Airport, Switzerland's largest and most prestigious international gateway—known locally as Flughafen Zürich—the very essence of the country was reflected in its surroundings.

Wealth. Precision. Excellence.

Everything about the airport exuded Swiss sophistication, from its immaculate terminals to its seamless efficiency. Frequently ranked among the best and cleanest airports in the world, it served as a hub of global connectivity, offering direct flights to over 200 destinations—a testament to Switzerland's strong international presence and diplomatic reach.

Though technically a public airport, under the Swiss government, but it was managed by a private company., its operations bore the distinct mark of private luxury. This was evident in the high-end brands that lined its halls: Rolex, Hermès, Gucci, Montblanc. Not mere retail stores, but elegant boutiques that transformed the airport into a haven of luxury shopping.

Beyond the shops, Michelin-starred restaurants catered to discerning travelers, their world-class chefs crafting dishes that rivaled those found in the finest establishments in Paris or New York. Premium Swiss chocolate boutiques, offering the finest confections, were a reminder that Switzerland was not just a country but an experience—one synonymous with affluence and exclusivity.

But the airport was more than just a place of transit; it was a microcosm of Swiss society itself.

What many considered luxury in other parts of the world was the standard way of life in Switzerland. In a country where the average net worth per adult exceeded half a million dollars, Zürich Airport was simply a reflection of that staggering wealth.

Yet, even within this opulence, distinctions still existed.

There were those who were wealthy by global standards, effortlessly spending thousands in the airport's designer stores. And then there were those who belonged to the true elite, a class so far removed from the ordinary that even Zürich Airport had a separate world built just for them.

Tucked away from the bustling crowds, the VIP private lounge was where the world's ultra-rich and power players waited for their flights. Unlike the first-class lounges accessible to premium ticket holders, this was a different league entirely—an environment designed to cater to royalty, business magnates, and those whose influence where big in their countries and out of it.

The atmosphere inside was palatial yet discreet.

High ceilings adorned with intricate Swiss craftsmanship gave the space an airy, regal feel. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the private tarmac, offering a breathtaking view of luxury jets—many of them privately owned—waiting in pristine readiness. Soft ambient lighting cast a golden glow over the bespoke furniture, where deep leather armchairs and marble-topped tables provided an air of refined comfort.

The service was flawless, nearly invisible—staff moved with trained precision, attending to the needs of their distinguished guests before requests were even made. Fine crystal glasses were filled with the most exquisite wines and champagnes, while trays of rare delicacies—truffle-infused hors d'oeuvres, hand-crafted pastries, and the freshest caviar—were offered as casually as one would offer coffee in an ordinary setting.

This was where the true power brokers gathered, far from the eyes of the public. Deals worth billions were discussed here, alliances forged, decisions made that would ripple across financial markets and global economies.

And in the midst of this sanctuary of power and privilege, stood a man of distinction.

He appeared to be in his mid-sixties, his presence commanding yet understated. His posture, the subtle confidence in the way he held himself, suggested a lifetime of influence and authority.

Beside him was a woman—one who, at first glance, appeared significantly younger.

To any onlooker, the assumption was natural: she must have been his daughter.

Her youthful features contrasted sharply with his silver-threaded hair, and their dynamic seemed to fit that narrative. But then, if one looked closely, there was something more—a familiarity between them, an ease that suggested something beyond a simple father-daughter relationship.

And with them, there were two children.

A little boy, no older than three or four, his bright eyes filled with the innocent curiosity of youth. And a girl, perhaps nine or ten, her composed expression resembling that of her mother—poised yet watchful in her own style.

To any observer, the picture was complete: a father, his daughter, and his grandchildren.

But then—the moment they spoke, the illusion shattered.

The words exchanged between the man and the woman rewrote everything the other guests had assumed, revealing a truth that left them subtly readjusting their perceptions.

"Why are we suddenly traveling? You even pulled the kids out of school," the woman's voice rang out, laced with frustration.

Her husband, who was busy organizing their luggage as airport staff assisted with packing the bags, let out a sigh. Once everything was arranged, he settled back into the seat beside her, running a hand over his face before finally responding.

"I told you, Lena. I just need to leave the country for a while—to clear my head. As for the kids, I can homeschool them."

Lena crossed her arms, unimpressed. "And where exactly are we going? For how long?"

When he didn't answer, her patience snapped. "Jeff! Isn't it you I'm talking to?" she called, voice rising.

The man in question—Jefferson Westbrook—exhaled deeply, his name barely registering in his ears. Hours ago, he had still been the Dean of Student Affairs and headmaster of the most prestigious hall in the most exclusive school in the world. Technically, he still held those titles. He hadn't been officially dismissed. But given the circumstances, it was only a matter of time.

Rubbing his temple, he finally spoke. "We're going to the UK. It's just for a year. After that, we'll come back. I've made all the necessary arrangements. We'll stay in the townhouse we bought there—it'll be fine." His tone was meant to be reassuring, but it did little to calm the storm brewing in his wife's expression.

"What? A whole year? Are you insane?" Lena's voice shot up in disbelief, turning a few heads in the lounge. "What about my job? What about your job? What about the kids' friends? You can't be serious, Jeff!"

Jefferson glanced around, his lips pressing into a thin line as he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. "Lena, please. Just calm down." He reached for her hands, his grip firm but gentle. His voice softened, almost pleading. "Everything is fine. Just trust me, okay? We need to go for at least a year, and then we'll return. Believe in me, baby."

His wife, who saw him like that, fell silent, studying his face. She could see the exhaustion in his features, the weight he was carrying, but her confusion remained.

"But why? What's wrong? What abo—"

Before she could finish, Jefferson clasped her hands in his, squeezing gently. "Just believe in me, dear," he murmured, his gaze locking onto hers.

Lena hesitated, her lips parting as if to argue again, but the way he looked at her—those same eyes she had fallen in love with—made her pause. There was something unspoken there, something serious. She sighed but still shook her head.

"Jeff, this is crazy. A whole year? I can't just—"

"Please, Lena." His voice was quieter now, almost pleading. "I need you to trust me on this."

She exhaled deeply, torn between frustration and the unshakable instinct that he was keeping something from her. But in the end, love won over logic.

"Okay… fine," she muttered, though her reluctance was clear.

A small, relieved smile flickered across Jefferson's face. "Thank you, baby. I promise, I'll explain everything once we get there."

The once stone-faced dean now looked like a man completely at the mercy of his wife. It seemed some battles weren't won with power or authority—but with a single look from the right person.

"Yeah, yeah," Lena huffed, shaking her head. "But what about the kids? What are you going to tell them when their vacation turns into a year-long exile?"

Jefferson turned his gaze toward their children. His son, oblivious to the tension, was happily playing with his toys, running around the lounge with the boundless energy of a toddler. His daughter, on the other hand, was in what could only be described as a premature rebellious phase—her hood pulled over her head, AirPods in, completely detached from the world as she lounged on a chair, scrolling through her phone.

Jefferson sighed. "Don't worry, I'll—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the door to the private lounge swung open. A flight attendant entered, her presence instantly drawing attention.

She was dressed in a sleek navy-blue uniform, the fitted blazer hugging her frame while a neatly pressed skirt fell just above her knees. A silk scarf, in the airline's signature colors, was tied elegantly around her neck, complementing the polished look. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she moved with practiced grace, a warm yet professional smile on her lips.

It wasn't hard for her to capture the room's attention. After all, the lounge was sparsely occupied. A lone woman sat at the far end, scrolling through her tablet. Two men, dressed in tailored business suits, were deep in discussion, their hushed conversation betraying the weight of their topics. Another woman sat at the vanity mirror, meticulously applying makeup, seemingly in no rush at all. And then, of course, there was them—the family of four whose presence carried an unspoken tension.

As all eyes subtly shifted toward the flight attendant, Jefferson leaned back slightly, already sensing that whatever came next would only add to the weight pressing down on his shoulders.

The lady who entered looked nervous at first, but she quickly steeled herself and said, "Hello, everyone." Her voice drew the attention of the entire room. As she glanced around, confirming that all eyes were on her, she took a deep breath before delivering the news.

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"I am saddened to inform you that all flights have been suspended until further notice."

She braced herself, knowing what would come next.

The first to react was one of the businessmen. His voice, previously a hushed murmur in conversation, now came out loud and sharp. "What do you mean? Is there a storm or something?"

The flight attendant sighed before shaking her head. "No, sir, there is no storm."

"Then why are all flights suspended?" came the sultry voice of the woman who had been applying makeup earlier. Even in this tense moment, her tone carried the same flirtatious lilt, as if she were incapable of speaking any other way.

The flight attendant maintained her professionalism. "We're not sure either, ma'am. We simply received a directive that no flights are to take off. When we receive further information, we will let you all know. Until then, we sincerely apologize for the inconvenience." She bowed her head slightly in a show of respect, but the response was anything but merciful.

"Are you people serious? No reason at all? What kind of airline service is this? This is outrageous!" the businessman spat, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Yes! You can't just ground flights without an explanation," Jefferson chimed in, rising to his feet. His frustration was evident, though not as unhinged as the businessman's.

"This is absolute bullshit!" The first businessman raged on. "I need to be in the United States before my deadline. I have an important meeting—this is unacceptable!" He turned to his associate. "Alec, call our pilot. We'll take our chances ourselves."

Alec pulled out his phone, ready to make the call, but before he could dial, the flight attendant's voice cut in. "I'm sorry, sir, but that won't be possible. All flights at this airport have been grounded indefinitely."

"For fuck's sake! Do you even understand what this means?" the businessman shouted. "We'll lose billions if we don't make it in time. Would you people compensate us? Of course not! How can they just ground all flights without a damn explanation?"

His shouting continued, but this time, Alec placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "That's enough."

"Enough? No, it's not enough!" the man snapped back. "This isn't some vacation we can just postpone. This is a billion-dollar deal!"

Meanwhile, the makeup-clad woman scoffed. "Fine, then. Just book me a first-class ticket to the Maldives. I can't be late, and trust me, you people will hear from my boyfriend about this. He won't let this slide."

Alec sighed and added, "Alright, book me two for the U.S. immediately. First-class."

The flight attendant, feeling utterly drained, forced herself to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry, but like I said—it's not just your private flights. All planes have been grounded."

The response only fueled the fire.

The flight attendant, standing at the center of the growing chaos, felt her chest tighten as voices clashed around her. The businessman's rage, the socialite's entitlement, Jefferson's pressing questions—it all came at her like a storm, but she held her ground.

She had expected this. The moment she received the call, she knew there would be outrage. And yet, she also knew she had it easy. Somewhere outside this private lounge, her colleague was delivering the same news to a crowd of passengers—families reuniting, patients traveling for medical treatments, people with lives waiting on the other side of their flights. Their cries would be filled with desperation, not just frustration. Compared to that, enduring the fury of a few privileged passengers was almost a mercy.

Still, the tension in the room felt suffocating. The air was thick with entitlement and disbelief, with the loudest voices demanding explanations she couldn't give. It was only when they started calling for the airport manager that she allowed herself the smallest hint of relief. Good. Let the people hiding behind their desks come forward and face this. (But she knew it wouldn't change anything. From the way her boss sounded, someone far more powerful was behind this). (maybe if they were Peanut_Butter_2757 their flights wouldn't dare be suspended)

Yet, amid all the shouting, one person had remained silent.

The woman sitting at the far end of the room hadn't spoken a word. She sat draped in a scarf, her posture relaxed yet unnervingly still. Her gaze wasn't frantic like the others; she wasn't panicking or even irritated. She was simply observing. Watching. As if she had already known this was coming.

Then the door at the back of the lounge opened.

A woman in a crisp black suit walked in, flanked by a man who moved like a bodyguard. They weren't concerned with the shouting or the rising tension. Their presence was calm, deliberate. The chaos in the room faded in the background as they approached the silent woman.

She met their eyes the moment they entered, already knowing why they were here.

The woman in the suit gave a respectful nod before speaking, her voice cutting clean through the noise.

"Miss Beaumont, Mr. Blackwell is asking for your presence."

🚗💨 This chapter—and the next one dropping today, unfailingly—are all thanks to the legend himself, Peanut_Butter_2757! 🎉

Bro just gave me the best start to my day—sent me a luxury car gift! 🚘🔥 Like, WHAT?! What a way to wake up! Sleep?? Gone. Vanished. Left my eyes instantly. 😭😂

This is INSANE—I'm blown away! 🤯🙌 Thank you so, so, so much! Another chapter coming soon—y'all stay tuned! 📖👀

And biggest shoutout to my guy—Peanut_Butter_2757, you're a real one! 💯🔥

Much love! ❤️🙏