I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Chapter 131: Protest

While the Morgan family head had sent the Rockefellers' heir out of the building, the act only serving to deepen the divide between the two families. Tension crackled like a live wire, not just between the Morgans and the Rockefellers but also among the other elite families who had thrown their support behind Nathaniel Rockerfeller. It was a move that would be felt across their circles, an open declaration that the Morgans would not be swayed or strong-armed. Yet, while this political storm brewed, the family that had unwittingly set all of this in motion was dealing with a crisis of its own.

Evelyn was pacing the long, marbled hallways of the Blackwell Island mansion, her sharp heels clicking against the pristine floors with each hurried step. Her phone was still clenched tightly in her hand, her grip tense, her knuckles pale from the pressure. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of disbelief and simmering frustration coursing through her veins. She had read the message at least three times, but the words didn't change, nor did the implications behind them.

Just as she reached the end of the hallway, a voice called out to her.

"Are you sure you want to go there?"

She stopped in her tracks, closing her eyes for a brief moment before turning around. Sebastian stood there, his face unreadable, his posture straight and unwavering. He had followed her out of their boss's office, a clear indication that he had been watching her closely.

Evelyn exhaled sharply, the frustration she had barely managed to contain flashing through her eyes. "Of course, I have to," she said, her voice clipped with determination.

Sebastian, ever the voice of reason, shook his head slightly. "It's dangerous."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Isn't it dangerous because none of you are doing anything at all?" she shot back, her words cutting through the thick air between them. It wasn't just about the current situation—her frustration stemmed from something deeper, something that had been festering for far too long. She had grown tired of the inaction, the way they all played a game of calculated patience while the walls around them threatened to cave in.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. Losing control wouldn't solve anything. "I already called Liam and his team. They'll meet me outside," she said firmly. "I'll be fine."

Sebastian's jaw tightened, his concern evident, but he did not argue. Instead, he nodded. "I'll go secure the packages. You should return to the office and stay with Mr. Blackwell."

The suggestion made Evelyn stiffen immediately. "No," she said sharply, almost too quickly.

Sebastian arched a brow, his silence pressing her for a better response.

She swallowed, lowering her voice. "I'll be fine," she repeated. "Nothing will happen to me. I just… I need the fresh air."

She didn't wait for another protest. Turning on her heels, she walked toward the helipad.

Sebastian remained where he stood, watching her retreating figure. He could see the frustration rolling off her in waves, her reluctance to remain anywhere near Alexander Blackwell painfully clear. She was shouldering a burden heavier than she should, and there was nothing he could do to ease it. As the wind from the chopper's blades picked up, whipping through the air, he muttered under his breath, "Don't worry, dear… soon, it will all be over."

Inside the chopper, Evelyn sat across from Liam and four other men, their faces unreadable, their movements precise. Each of them was checking their weapons, loading ammunition, adjusting their tactical gear. The soft clicks and metallic snaps of firearms being readied filled the cabin, an ominous reminder of what they were walking into.

Evelyn frowned, crossing her arms. "I don't think those will be needed," she said, her voice firm but wary. She didn't want things to escalate. If there was a way to resolve this without bloodshed, she was determined to find it.

Liam looked up from where he was securing his sidearm, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Miss Hawthorne. These are just precautions. We won't use them unless necessary. Us four, combined with the men already stationed at the docks, should be more than enough."

His words did little to ease the knot forming in her stomach. She knew exactly who these men were. Most of them had been trained for war, for quick and decisive action. They followed orders without question. To them, human lives were just obstacles to be eliminated if necessary. She had never allowed herself to think too much about it before, but now… now she hoped they would know where to draw the line.

Calling the cops had never been an option. No doubt, the people they were up against had already anticipated that. Corruption ran deep, and Evelyn knew the authorities would be as useless as ever. If they wanted this handled, they had to do it themselves.

The low hum of the helicopter filled the cabin, vibrating beneath them as they neared their destination. Through her headset, Evelyn could still hear the powerful whirl of the chopper blades cutting through the air. But something else soon reached her ears, muffled yet unmistakable.

Screams.

Her breath hitched slightly as she turned her head, her sharp eyes scanning the ground below. As the helicopter drew closer to the docks, she finally saw it.

A crowd.

A massive crowd.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. There had to be thousands of people gathered just outside the fence of the docks, their movements chaotic, their voices rising in an unrelenting roar. They were pushing, shoving, yelling—an uncontrollable sea of bodies. The sight of them sent a cold shiver down her spine.

Beside the garage, she spotted even more people forcing their way closer, their anger palpable even from this height.

Frowning, she turned back to her team, her voice low but firm. "I hope you're ready."

She received no verbal response. The only reply was the sharp clicks of weapons being locked and loaded, a chilling confirmation that they were prepared for anything.

Evelyn swallowed hard. Whatever awaited them down there, one thing was certain—this was about to get far worse than she had imagined.

The chopper descended onto the split roof of the garage, a marvel of modern engineering that opened up like something out of a high-budget sci-fi movie. As the rotor blades slowed, the aircraft smoothly eased into the hidden landing bay beneath, the metallic whir of the retracting panels echoing through the enclosed space. It was a seamless, calculated maneuver, designed for discretion and efficiency—qualities that Evelyn had always valued.

As soon as the aircraft touched down, she was already unstrapping herself, ready to move. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mind racing as she prepared to step into the chaos outside. But before she could take a single step forward, Liam's voice, firm and authoritative, cut through the tension.

"Ma, please stay behind. We'll handle the situation."

Evelyn turned her head sharply, her piercing gaze locking onto his. He stood there, composed but unwavering, his years of experience in high-risk operations evident in the way he carried himself. His grip on his weapon was relaxed, but his stance was poised—ready for anything.

Liam didn't wait for her response. He shifted his attention to the three remaining members of his team, issuing crisp orders.

"You three, be prepared. No lethal force unless absolutely necessary. Keep the package secure at all costs, and most importantly—protect Miss Hawthorne. No exceptions."

The three men gave him curt nods, their silence an affirmation of their understanding. There was no need for unnecessary words; they were professionals, and their leader had spoken.

Liam gave a final approving nod. "Good. Okay, then—fall out! Go, go, go!"

The command was sharp, decisive, a remnant of his past life as a war commander. The team sprang into action instantly, moving with practiced precision. Evelyn, though frustrated, didn't argue—at least not yet. Instead, she followed closely behind them, her eyes scanning ahead as they advanced toward the source of the commotion.

By the time she reached the gate, the full scope of the situation revealed itself. Even from a distance, she could see the sea of bodies, the overwhelming presence of protesters surging around a large truck that had barely managed to make it through.

The package.

Evelyn's fingers clenched into fists at her sides as she assessed the scene. The truck was surrounded—its path obstructed by the relentless crowd. People were screaming, shoving, throwing objects. Their anger was palpable, their emotions raw and unchecked. The vehicle was under siege, battered by an onslaught of human resistance.

And inside that truck?

She gritted her teeth.

Hundreds of millions' worth of customized vehicles. Not just any cars—these were the prized possessions, meticulously tailored to perfection under the personal direction of Barbara Longbottom. A fleet of machines meant for one man alone—Alexander Blackwell.

The ridiculousness of it all made her blood boil. These cars should never have been here in the first place. Their destination had always been the offsite garage, far from prying eyes, far from unnecessary risks. And yet, somehow, against all reason, they had ended up here—right in the middle of an escalating riot.

Evelyn exhaled sharply through her nose, her anger mounting as she recalled the message that had first alerted her to this mess:

'Ma, I came to show the customized cars to Mr. Blackwell, but I'm stuck now. Please help me, ma.'

The absurdity of the request had made her jaw clench the moment she had read it. Even now, standing here, watching the chaos unfold, she could barely believe the situation. How had it even come to this? The sheer incompetence it must have taken to redirect the shipment to this location was beyond comprehension.

Beside her, Liam was already moving with precision, making his way to the dock where two of the stationed guards were supposed to be. His voice carried over the noise, sharp and commanding.

"Adrian! Lucas!" he barked, his voice cutting through the madness.

Evelyn barely heard the response as she refocused on the scene in front of her. The weight of the moment pressed down on her shoulders. They had to act fast—before things spiraled even further out of control.

Liam approached the stationed guards, Adrian and Lucas, who stood firm despite the overwhelming noise from the protesters. As he neared, both men snapped into a salute, their expressions serious and tense.

"How is it going" his voice said measured as if unbothered by the Noice just beside him.

"Sir!" Adrian called out over the commotion. "As you can see, it's a no-go. They've blocked the rear as well—there's no way for the truck to reverse."

Liam's jaw tightened. "Pass me the microphone."

Lucas quickly handed over a megaphone. Liam stepped forward, his eyes scanning the mass of protesters before him. Lifting the megaphone, his voice boomed through the air, cutting through the chants and shouts.

"This is private property! I repeat, this is private property! Blocking the entrance of our goods is illegal, and you have no right to prevent this truck from entering! We have refrained from calling the cops, even though we are well within our rights to do so. We ask that you step aside and allow the truck through!"

For a moment, the crowd hesitated, the power in Liam's voice causing some to glance at one another. But before he could press further, a voice rang out from the middle of the protesters—one amplified by a megaphone of its own.

"Quiet! Quiet!" the voice commanded, bringing an eerie stillness to the scene. As the chants and murmurs died down, the speaker emerged from the center of the crowd.

Everlyn's eyes narrowed. She recognized him immediately. Michael—the man who had been making headlines, the so-called leader of this protest.

Michael lifted his megaphone again. "We are legally allowed to be here," he said, his voice confident and steady. "The street outside this facility is public property, and we are fully within our rights to gather here in protest!" His tone carried an air of superiority, knowing he had the legal ground to back his claim.

Everlyn instinctively wanted to say something to Liam, but he simply raised his megaphone again, his expression unreadable.

"You may have the right to protest," Liam countered, his voice unwavering, "but that does not extend to illegally obstructing business operations. The Blackwells are not against peaceful demonstrations, but preventing the entry of this truck is beyond protest—it's a violation of law. We have not even called the authorities despite this being private property. We are willing to cooperate, but this blockade is unacceptable."

Michael was about to reply when a sharp female voice cut through the air, loud enough to be heard even without a megaphone.

"Under New York law, the street outside is public property, meaning we have the legal right to gather here. While we cannot unlawfully obstruct movement, nothing explicitly prohibits us from slowing or delaying passage as long as we are not using force or creating a hazard. The facility's entrance is private property, but since we remain on public ground, our presence here is fully within our rights."

Michael turned toward the voice, a smirk forming on his face. "Thanks, Nora," he said smoothly before shifting his gaze back to Liam. "See? We know the law too."

A ripple of chuckles and murmurs moved through the crowd at his words. His confidence only grew as he continued, "That being said, we're reasonable people. Out of respect for how you've handled this so far, we'll allow your truck through. No issue. We understand that not all of you are at fault—you're just exploited workers, brainwashed into protecting the interests of the elite."

He turned to the crowd, raising his megaphone again. "Give way! Give way!" he ordered, and with groans and reluctant shuffling, the protesters slowly started clearing a path for the truck.

Liam watched the scene carefully, then turned to Lucas. "Open the gate."

Lucas nodded and pulled a small keypad from his pocket, walking up to the control panel. Before pressing it, Liam turned to Everlyn. "Stay back, ma'am."

She opened her mouth to protest, but his tone left no room for argument.

Liam turned back to his men. "Stay alert. If anything happens, be ready."

Lucas pressed the device against the pad, and the heavy steel gates groaned as they began to slide open. A thick, suffocating tension filled the air. The crowd, though allowing space, remained close—too close.

As the truck rumbled to life, moving forward cautiously, Michael's voice suddenly rang out again, this time with a sharp, commanding edge.

"ENTER!" he shouted.

The command ignited a storm.

A tidal wave of bodies crashed against the gate—shoving, clawing, forcing their way forward. Hands gripped the metal bars, fingers straining for leverage. The iron groaned under their weight as the protesters hurled themselves against it, their screams merging into a single, deafening roar of defiance.

"CLOSE THE GATE!" Liam bellowed, panic lacing his voice.

Lucas and the guards lunged for the entrance, bracing themselves against the surge. A fist slammed into Lucas' ribs. He staggered but didn't fall. Another guard caught an elbow to the jaw, his head snapping back as he fought to hold his ground. They weren't just blocking the gate anymore—they were being swallowed by the chaos.

Liam's breath came fast and sharp. They're about to break through. He could see it—the way the gate buckled, the way the guards were losing ground inch by inch. A second more, maybe two, and the protesters would be inside.

Everlyn stood frozen, her pulse hammering in her ears. The gate was closing—agonizingly slow, painfully weak—but the sheer force of the mob was prying it back open. For every inch the guards gained, the protesters stole it back twice over.

A scream rang out. Someone hit the ground. The bodies pressing forward didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

And Liam knew.

They were seconds away from losing the entrance.

Michael's eyes burned with triumph. The protesters were on the brink, seconds away from surging forward, from tearing through the facility's defenses. Just a little more pressure, just one final push

Then it happened.

A sound split the air.

Not just loud—deafening. Not just sharp—earth-shattering.

Loud. Monstrous. Devastating.

A single gunshot.

The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath them.

For one breathless moment, the world stopped.

Then chaos erupted.

The crowd recoiled. Protesters stumbled, then scattered. Terror crashed over them like a wave.

No one knew if the bullet had found a target. No one dared to look.

Because in that instant, survival overpowered everything else. And the only thought left was run.

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