I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

"Today, we're going to do things a little differently," he announced, his voice carrying the confidence of a seasoned host. He turned slightly and gestured behind him, where the table stood with plates neatly arranged and a single slice of pie sitting in the center. "As you can see, we have a table here… and a piece of pie." He paused for dramatic effect before continuing, "We're going to be using this as a visual manifestation of the American wealth gap."

Ethan's smile remained fixed, though there was a glint of irony in his eyes. "Yes, people, today we're talking about wealth inequality in America! But more than that," he added, leaning slightly toward the camera, "we're going to let real people decide for themselves what they think the wealth gap actually looks like." He took a brief moment, then delivered his final line with a flourish:

"Now, let's ask the people!"

He always said that line. It wasn't really a catchphrase—not officially—but he liked to believe it was. He had convinced himself it was, simply because he said it every time.

Scanning his surroundings, his eyes landed on a man with an average dad-bod strolling toward a hardware store. Perfect. Ethan's smile widened as he stepped forward.

"Hello, sir! Hello!" he called out, his voice bright and engaging.

The man turned to look at him, his face neutral. Ethan kept his TV-perfect grin locked in place. "Sir, do you want to talk about wealth equality?"

The man glanced around, looking slightly uninterested before replying, "Nah, I'm good," and continued walking into the store without another word.

Ethan exhaled through his nose but kept the smile intact. No big deal. He was used to rejection. He wasn't fazed.

He spotted a woman stepping out of a store and quickly approached her. "Ma'am, would you like to share your thoughts on—"

"No thanks." She cut him off before he could even finish.

And so it went. One after the other. Seven people. Seven rejections.

After the last one, Ethan let out a long, heavy sigh, turning toward Willfred with a deadpan expression. "Hey, turn off the camera."

Willfred obeyed without question, reaching out to shut it down. The moment the red recording light blinked off, Ethan ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated groan.

"No one gives a fuck about this dead-ass topic," he muttered, his irritation growing. "If I walked up to them and said, 'Oh my God, a new celebrity sex tape just leaked!' they'd be falling over themselves to talk." His voice rose as his frustration boiled over. "God, this nation is so fucking dumb! They don't care about real issues—just a bunch of sheep, mindlessly following whatever bullshit the media feeds them." His fingers pressed against his temple as he exhaled sharply. "So fucking useless," he muttered.

Willfred, who had been standing there watching Ethan's growing frustration, finally spoke up. "Ehm… maybe the pie—"

But before he could finish, Ethan's voice cut through the air, sharp and furious.

"Fuck pie! Pie, pie, pie—that's all you ever fucking think about!" His voice dripped with irritation as he threw his hands in the air. "Jesus Christ, aren't you full? Look at your fucking belly. You could probably go forty days without eating—just live off the excess food stuck in you!" His eyes flared with frustration as he let out a bitter laugh. "Like, seriously, man—food? Food? Always?" His voice gradually lost its edge, his anger simmering down as he exhaled sharply.

Willfred, completely unfazed, didn't even blink. His expression remained flat as he responded, his tone as indifferent as ever. "I meant you could use the pie to call them. Just say 'free pie,' and people should come."

Ethan froze for a second, processing the idea. Then, with a slow nod, he said, "Ehm… that might actually work." He scratched his chin, his mind shifting gears. "Okay. Yeah. Go buy some other pies, and let's get this shit rolling." Enjoy exclusive chapters from My Virtual Library Empire

Willfred let out a small sigh, already turning to leave. "You ungrateful fucker… always taking it out on me," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Ethan to hear.

Ethan clenched his jaw but chose to ignore it.

For now.

With Willfred getting back with 4 pieces of pie Ethan smiled saying "Okay lets do this" he said as Willfred started rolling again

"Free pie! Who wants free pie?" Ethan started shouting, his voice cutting through the air.

It didn't take long before a man approached, curiosity written all over his face. Seeing him, Ethan's lips stretched into a smile, the kind of smile he had mastered for the camera. "Welcome, sir!"

The man glanced at the camera warily before speaking. "Ehm… you said there was free pie?"

Ethan felt his brow twitch at the man's directness, but ever the professional, he didn't let it show. He simply nodded and said, "Yes, sir, but before that, we'd like you to help us answer a quick question."

The man hesitated for a second before shrugging. "Ehm… okay. What's the question? Is it like a quiz? If I get it right, I get the pie?"

Ethan let out a laugh—well, more like his perfected fake laugh—as he waved off the idea. "No, no. There's no right or wrong answer. You'll still get the pie," he assured, motioning for the man to join him behind the table.

As they stood side by side, Ethan turned to the camera. "Alright, people, I'm here today with—" he said, then looked at the man expectantly.

"John," the man supplied.

Ethan nodded before facing the camera again. "I'm here today with John, and we have a question for him—and for all of you watching." He paused for effect before continuing. "The question is: Can you tell us what the American wealth gap looks like?"

He gestured to the pie sitting on the table. "This pie here will represent the total wealth of American households, which, as of now, stands at around 159 trillion dollars."

John let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's a lot of money." Then, as if suddenly remembering something more important, he pointed at the pie. "Uh, what kind of pie is that? Is it blueberry? 'Cause I can't eat that—I'm allergic."

Ethan sighed, his patience thinning. "It's not blueberry," he said, hoping that would be the end of it.

"Okay, then what kind is it?"

Ethan ignored the question completely, refocusing on the demonstration. "Alright, people, now that we've established what the pie represents, let's move on to the plates—and what John will be helping us do today."

He gestured toward five plates laid out on the table. "These five plates represent different economic classes in America." He pointed to them one by one. "The first plate represents the wealthiest 20%—the top earners in the country. The second plate represents the upper middle class, the next 20%. The third is the middle class, then the lower middle class, and finally, the last plate represents the poorest 20% of Americans."

Then, Ethan pointed to a sixth plate he had set aside. "This plate right here—we're going to leave it for a moment, but don't forget about it. We'll come back to it soon."

Finally, he turned to John. "Now, John, your job is simple. You're going to distribute the pie the way you think America's wealth is actually divided. In other words, how much of this pie do you think each economic group gets?"

Looking back at the camera, Ethan added, "This is your chance too, people. Think about it—how would you divide 159 trillion dollars across these groups? Let's see how close John gets."

John, now understanding the task, nodded. "Ooooh, okay. Let's start by putting four pieces of pie on the top 20% plate."

Hearing that, Ethan picked up three pieces and placed them on the plate, repeating for the camera, "Alright, John has chosen four pieces of pie for the top 20% earners. What's next?"

John studied the remaining pie before saying, "Okay, then two pieces of pie for the second plate—the upper middle class."

Ethan followed his instructions, placing the slices accordingly.

By the time they were done, John had arranged the pie across all five plates. The top 20% had four pieces, the second plate—representing the upper middle class—had two pieces, the middle class also had two pieces, while the lower middle class and the poorest 20% each had one piece.

Ethan took a step back, looking at the display. "Alright, people, this is how John has arranged the total wealth distribution of American households. Now, John, do you think this is correct?"

John, arms crossed, nodded. "Yeah, more or less. I mean, that should be pretty accurate, right?"

Ethan turned to the camera. "Well, what about you all watching? Do you think this is correct?" He let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his voice firm. "Well, I'm here to tell you all—John, you are far off."

John blinked. "Ooooh, shit."

Ethan let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Alright then, let's show you all the real numbers."

He turned back to the table, his expression serious. "For the top 20%—they don't just own four pieces of the pie. No, people. They own nine pieces."

John's jaw dropped. "You're kidding me."

Ethan nodded, recalling his own disbelief when he first learned the numbers. "I wish I was." But he wasn't done.

"Let's keep going. The top 20%—again, that's just the upper fifth of the country—get nine pieces. Now, for the second plate—the upper middle class—they get just over half a piece of pie." He grabbed a fork, carefully cutting a piece in half, but making one side slightly bigger. "Technically, they get about 80% of this slice. And the middle class—the third plate—they get the remaining 20% of this slice."

He let that settle in for a moment, giving John and the audience time to process. "And now, you might be wondering about the lower middle class and the poorest Americans. Well, they aren't exempt from this distribution… but they might as well be."

Ethan picked up one of the massive slices from the wealthiest plate, casually shaking it over the fourth plate. A few crumbs fell onto it. "The fourth plate—the lower middle class—gets about 0.3% of the pie. That's basically crumbs."

One of the crumbs accidentally fell onto the fifth plate, the one representing the poorest 20%. Ethan quickly scooped it back up. "Oops. My mistake. That doesn't belong there."

John let out a weak chuckle, but his face was serious now.

Ethan took a breath before delivering the next blow. "And as for the poorest Americans—the bottom 20%?" He straightened up, his voice rising slightly. "They don't get pie." He let the words hang for a moment before continuing. "In fact, they have less than no pie. They have—" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. "They actually have a bill for pie."

John frowned, confused. "Wait, what?"

Ethan nodded grimly. "The bottom 20% of Americans are, on average, over $10,000 in debt. That means they don't just not have wealth—they owe wealth. They don't own pie. They owe pie."

John, who had come hoping for a free slice, suddenly looked like he had lost his appetite. "That's… horrible."

Ethan nodded. "Yeah. And that's not even the worst part." He turned back to the first plate, the one he had left empty earlier. He pointed at it. "Remember this plate?"

John hesitated before nodding. "Yeah…"

Ethan's eyes swept over the camera. "This plate represents the top 1% of Americans. And here's my question to you all: How much of the pie do you think they own?" He looked at John. "John, do you want to guess?"

John held up his hands in surrender. "Nope. I feel like if I do, I might actually get sick."

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, you're not wrong, John." He reached over to the top 20% plate and slowly moved one piece of pie to the top 1% plate. "It's not just one piece." He moved another. "Not just two." Another. "Not even three." And finally, he placed the fourth piece onto the plate.

Then he turned back to the camera. "Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The top 1% of Americans own four full pieces of the pie—just for themselves."

John stared at the table, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. "That's… inhumane. Who are these people? How can you hoard so much wealth when so many have nothing?"

Ethan, hearing John's disbelief, let out a small chuckle—but his expression quickly turned serious. "Well, John, it's not over yet. Let me tell you about one of these people."

He turned towards the last plate—the one representing the poorest 20%—and picked it up. "Let's use this," he said, lifting the empty plate into the air. "Seeing as there's nothing on it anyway, it's not really serving a purpose here, is it?"

Then, without hesitation, he placed it right next to the top 1% plate, aligning it with the massive wealth hoarded by the richest.

"This plate," he continued, tapping on it, "represents just one individual. Not a group. Not a fraction of society. Just one person." He let that sink in before looking directly into the camera. "And do you all know how much pie he has?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ethan turned back to the top 1% plate. He picked up an entire slice of pie—one full piece—and moved it onto the plate of this single individual.

"This one slice," he said, voice steady, "belongs to the top 0.000001% of America. This one person—alone—owns an entire pie's worth of wealth. That means this one man has the combined wealth of the upper middle class, the middle class, the lower middle class, and the poorest Americans— 131 million people combined."

John inhaled sharply. The room, the space, the air itself felt heavier.

"Yes, people," Ethan continued, his voice lower now, more deliberate. "You already know this pie belongs to the so-called richest man in the world… Alexander Blackwell."

A tense silence settled over the room as both Ethan and John stared at the plate dedicated to Alexander Blackwell. Their gazes locked onto it, their minds turning over the same question—one neither of them dared to say out loud.

"What is one man doing with all that money?"

The program didn't end there.

John, who had initially come for a free slice of pie, ultimately chose to walk away empty-handed. His appetite was gone.

But Ethan? Ethan wasn't done.

He ran the same demonstration again. And again. And again. He posed the question to 23 different people—every single one of them failing to guess how the wealth was truly divided.

And every single one of them, without exception, was left aghast.

They were shaken.

They were speechless.

And when they saw Alexander Blackwell's plate—when they saw the reality of the world they lived in—none of them could look away.

And a small piece of a local show—meant to stay within the borders of the small town where it was created—somehow found its way into the mainstream.

The engine of the media industry complex roared to life, taking that single clip and pushing it everywhere. It was dissected, shared, and reshared, its message growing louder with each passing hour.

The world watched, and many saw the brutal truth laid bare.

The inhumanity of it all—stark, undeniable—became the conversation of the whole of America and part of the world.

The crazy thing is, this isn't fiction—this is real life. The financial gap in America is wild, and it's not just the U.S.—this is a global issue. Some countries handle it better, while others make the U.S. look like a charity case. But let's be real, America isn't even the worst when it comes to wealth inequality.

May the Lord help us all. 🙏

But in the meantime… let's balance that gap a little—by donating to me! 😁💰 (Think of it as wealth redistribution, but with a personal touch!)

Don't forget to donate Power Stones, Golden Tickets, and even Gifts—every bit helps!

Also, please remember to vote for Alexander and Evelyn in the character fandom, especially Alexander, as I'm aiming to reach 500K votes.