I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

The protest at the private airstrip, where over a hundred voices rose in defiance, was more than just a gathering of frustrated citizens. It was the physical manifestation of a storm that had been brewing for days now—a raw, unfiltered cry against injustice, corruption, and the suffocating grip of unchecked power. Yet, while the protest itself felt like the epicenter of this rebellion, something far more insidious and formidable had been awakened in the shadows. The true battlefield was not just on the ground, but in the unseen corridors of influence, where narratives were crafted, perceptions manipulated, and reputations dismantled. The most powerful machine in modern history had been turned on, its gears grinding, its engines roaring—the Media Industry Complex had woken up.

This was not just any industry. This was an empire, a vast, sprawling dominion ruled by six titans, each wielding an influence so profound that they dictated what the world saw, heard, and believed. These were not mere corporations; they were the architects of public perception, the gatekeepers of truth, and the puppeteers of reality. The Big Six, as they were known, controlled an iron grip over 90% of all news and media in the United States. And their reach did not stop at the American borders—their influence extended far beyond, shaping narratives across continents, defining global discourse, and, when necessary, choosing who rose and who fell. Enjoy more content from My Virtual Library Empire

Their names were carved into the very foundation of modern media:

Comcast – Masters of telecommunications, their dominion stretched across NBCUniversal and Sky, feeding information into millions of households with a carefully curated touch.

The Walt Disney Company – More than just childhood nostalgia, they were the overlords of ABC, ESPN, and 20th Century Studios, shaping not just entertainment but the very fabric of mass media culture.

Warner Bros. Discovery – Controllers of CNN, HBO, and Warner Bros., their power lay not just in storytelling, but in shaping the very news cycles that dictated what was fact and what was forgotten.

Paramount Global – The giants behind CBS, MTV, and Paramount Pictures, ensuring that both news and entertainment worked hand in hand to shape the consciousness of the public.

Fox Corporation – Home of Fox News and Fox Sports, a bastion of influence that could elevate or dismantle reputations with a single broadcast.

Sony – Beyond the cameras and studios, their reach extended into the digital age through Sony Pictures and Crunchyroll, cementing their role as the invisible hands behind global entertainment.

Together, these six conglomerates did not just report the news; they decided what was news. They did not simply entertain the masses; they dictated what the masses consumed. Their control over 60% of global entertainment and news distribution meant they were more than just businesses—they were institutions of power, untouchable and absolute.

And now, they had turned their collective gaze toward one man.

The machine had been activated. The engines had roared to life. The media giants had been summoned for a singular purpose—to dismantle, to eviscerate, to utterly tarnish the name of Alexander Blackwell.

The weight of their power was immeasurable. They had destroyed kings, toppled governments, and rewritten history. And now, they were coming for him.

The war had begun, and the battlefield was everywhere—on the streets, on the airwaves, in the headlines, in the minds of the people. This was not just a protest. This was a reckoning. And only time would tell who would emerge victorious.

It had all started just two days prior. While Alexander Blackwell was walking into his daughter's school, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing around his name, another man—one who would unknowingly become part of a much larger narrative—was simply going about his routine in a small Illinois town.

Ethan Jones, a weary journalist trapped in a cycle of mediocrity, found himself entering a modest shopping mall. His show, a local segment owned by CBS, was hardly the pinnacle of journalism. It was a lighthearted, somewhat trivial program where he walked around town, asked people questions, and showcased their responses. It aired only in his town, a fact that gnawed at him daily.

At thirty-nine, Ethan had long envisioned himself as a real journalist—someone who covered wars, interviewed world leaders, and unearthed scandals that shook the world. Yet, instead of breaking global news, he was about to film a segment involving a pie. The realization made him sigh as he looked around the mall. Sparse foot traffic, dull lighting, and the unmistakable scent of stale pretzels defined the scene. This was not what he had dreamed of.

Behind him, his cameraman, Wilfred, was hauling the equipment, his round face glistening with sweat. Wilfred was twenty-nine, significantly younger than Ethan, but with a stockier build that often left him out of breath after minor physical exertion.

"Wilfred, let's set up right here at the front," Ethan instructed, rubbing his temples in frustration.

Wilfred, wiping his brow, nodded. "Okay, let me go grab the table from the van."

As his cameraman waddled off, Ethan leaned against the nearby wall, watching a few people shuffle in and out of the mall. He shook his head. This wasn't the hard-hitting journalism he had envisioned. This was an exercise in futility. He had no family, no accolades, and now, apparently, he had to make a pie segment entertaining.

"Im here," Wilfred announced, struggling as he set down the collapsible table.

"Good, let's get this over with," Ethan grumbled. The two of them covered the table with a cloth and positioned the camera. As Ethan scanned their setup, he suddenly asked, "Where are the plates and the pie?"

Wilfred froze, his expression turning guilty. "Uh… you need them?"

Ethan blinked. "Of course, we need them! That's the whole segment!"

"Right, right, I'll go grab them," Wilfred muttered before trudging back to the van.

Ethan checked his watch, tapping his foot impatiently. The segment wasn't a live broadcast, but he still wanted to get it over with quickly. There was nothing waiting for him at home, but the sheer thought of being done with this nonsense was motivation enough.

Minutes passed. Then more minutes. Ethan clenched his jaw. "What the hell is he doing?"

Finally, Wilfred reappeared, plates in hand. "Alright, let's set up," Ethan said, taking a few plates from him and arranging them neatly on the table. "Okay, pass the pie."

Silence.

Ethan's outstretched hand remained empty. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the table to Wilfred, who was now staring at the ground, shifting uncomfortably.

A headache was already forming as Ethan placed a hand on his forehead, rubbing it in slow, frustrated circles. He knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "You ate the pie, didn't you?"

Wilfred hesitated before blurting, "I didn't know we were going to use it! It looked delicious, and I figured it would spoil if it just sat there, so I ate it. No sense in wasting food."

Ethan's expression darkened. "You saw the plates. You saw the whole setup. Just admit it—you got hungry, you fat fuck" he bit back the insult, taking a deep breath. His voice rose again. "Do you know how long it took me to make that pie? I stayed up late last night baking it!"

Wilfred's response was almost inaudible: "No wonder it didn't taste good."

"What was that?" Ethan snapped, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing! Nothing!" Wilfred quickly waved his hands. "Look, this is a mall. There's gotta be a bakery somewhere. I'll go find another one."

Ethan exhaled sharply, waving him off. "Yeah, you better."

As Wilfred walked away, he muttered under his breath, "You old bastard. It's not my fault your life is in the gutters."

Ten minutes later, he returned, grinning like a child who had just found candy. In one hand, he held a single piece of pie.

"I'm back!" he announced, his enthusiasm completely unwarranted. "Man, I found this great bakery. Their cheesecakes? Incredible! I had a slice while waiting, and lord was it"

"Just put the pie down and shut up," Ethan cut him off, his patience paper-thin.

Wilfred placed the slice down, and Ethan took his position in front of the camera. "Alright, let's get this over with. Start rolling."

Wilfred clicked the camera on. "And we're shooting."

Instantly, Ethan plastered on a smile, the professionalism kicking in. "Welcome, people of Freeport, Illinois! Today, we're bringing you another exciting segment where we dive into the minds of everyday Americans—"

The camera rolled, capturing Ethan as he flashed a wide, practiced smile—so very different from the irritated expression he had just worn a few minutes ago. His professionalism took over, masking his true feelings as he spoke with enthusiasm.

This chapter is dedicated to all of you as a heartfelt thank you for your incredible support! To show my appreciation, I'll be releasing another chapter today.

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