I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

The opulent private lounge at the auction house was a sight to behold. Deep leather armchairs, polished oak tables, and gilded accents filled the room, radiating luxury and refinement. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow that reflected off the countless pristine luxury items being processed for their new owners. Alexander, David, and Catherine were seated comfortably, their purchases finalizing with each passing moment.

A staff member in a sharply tailored suit approached them with a respectful bow. "Mr. Blackwell, Mr. Morgan, Ms. Vanderbilt, congratulations on your acquisitions," he said, his tone smooth and professional. "All items will be delivered to your residences within three days, but the watches and paintings can be carried with you now. For your convenience, we've also prepared portfolios detailing each item."

With a nod, he handed over sleek black folders embossed with gold, presenting them with the kind of elegance one would expect from the elite establishment.

Catherine's eyes danced with delight as she opened hers. She paused at the image of a 1-of-1 pink Lamborghini Revuelto, her lips curling into a self-assured smirk. "Fifteen million well spent. Daphne will absolutely love this," she murmured, eyes glinting with mischief.

David, ever the skeptic, flipped open his folder with a glance before snapping it shut. "You guys didn't go all out this year. I expected more from the legendary Express auctions."

Before Catherine could offer her typical retort, the staff member in the immaculate suit reappeared at their side, this time with a slight air of tension around him. "Apologies for any underwhelming vehicles, Mr. Morgan," he said smoothly. "We're in the process of curating an exclusive collection for a private auction. Once all vehicles are secured, we'll be sending out invitations—and Mr. Blackwell, you will certainly be included."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at the mention of the private auction, but before she could speak, the staff member discreetly handed Alexander a card. "One more thing, Mr. Blackwell," he said, lowering his voice just enough for only the trio to hear. "We host another auction, exclusively for heads of prominent families. We'd be honored to see you there."

Alexander, ever the enigma, pocketed the card with no comment, his face betraying nothing. His gaze never wavered as he took the card, as though it was simply another piece of business. Without a word, he rose to his feet, followed by David and Catherine.

Outside, the night air was brisk, cutting through the lingering warmth of the auction house. Catherine turned to Alexander, her hand resting on his arm as she hugged him tightly, an unexpected gesture of warmth. "I know you're too smart to provoke the Rockefellers without a reason," she whispered, her voice a mix of concern and admiration. "Whatever you're planning, just stay safe, alright?"

She pulled back from him, her eyes lingering for a moment before she nodded, her expression softening. "I trust you," she added, almost to herself, before turning to walk past David. She barely acknowledged him, stepping into her car with a grace that left David standing behind, perplexed.

David, looking after her vehicle as it disappeared into the distance, turned to Alexander, his expression shifting into something more casual, though a hint of curiosity remained. "So," Alexander began, his tone cool and measured, "the Hope Diamond. You're not giving it to her yet, are you?"

David hesitated, then sighed. "Not yet," he admitted, his tone lighter now. "I'm waiting for the perfect moment, you know?"

Alexander glanced at him, a brow slightly raised David then said. "Need a ride back?"

Alexander shook his head. "No, I'm good. My security detail is waiting."

Alexander's gaze shifted toward his lone acquisition: a striking painting titled When Will I Marry, secured for a staggering $350 million. "Just the painting?" David asked incredulously, a hint of admiration in his voice.

David whistled low, his fingers tapping on the side of his Aston Martin in appreciation. "Alright, Blackwell. You always know how to pick 'em. See you around."

With a sharp nod, Alexander watched as David revved the engine of his car, the roar of the engine cutting through the cool night air as he sped off. Alexander remained, his expression unreadable, before he made his way toward his SUV, his security team close behind.

But just as he reached the car, a voice stopped him—a voice that seemed to hang in the air with a cold, polished edge.

"Blackwell."

Alexander turned to find Nathaniel Rockefeller standing before him, his smile tight, as though rehearsed. His eyes, however, held something far more calculating. "I'd like to discuss purchasing the yacht, the plane, and the car you acquired tonight," Nathaniel said, his tone deceptively cordial.

For a moment, Alexander's dark eyes locked onto Nathaniel's with an intensity that could freeze anyone in their tracks. Silence passed between them, heavy and thick, before Alexander finally broke it, stepping toward his SUV without saying a word. He gave Nathaniel a glance, his look cold and dismissive. "No need for a discussion," he said, his voice low. "I'm not interested."

Without another word, he climbed into the vehicle, signaling the driver. "Drive."

Nathaniel stood rooted to the spot as the SUV pulled away, his polite smile fading into something far less pleasant, a spark of something unspoken flickering in his eyes.

As they cruised through the winding streets of the city, the driver spoke up. "We'll reach the dock in thirty minutes, sir."

"Not yet," Alexander replied, his eyes still fixed on the painting he held, deep in thought. "Take me somewhere first."

The vehicle soon pulled into a quiet, affluent neighborhood in Manhattan—one that stood in stark contrast to the ostentatious grandeur of other wealthy areas. Here, understated elegance prevailed, with lush trees lining the streets and quaint, classic townhouses dotting the horizon.

Alexander's SUV slowed to a stop in front of a modest, stately home. Three black SUVs were parked discreetly outside, their presence commanding attention in a way that blended with the serenity of the area. Alexander stepped out of the vehicle, his security team flanking him, as they made their way toward the front door.

He rang the doorbell, his expression composed as he waited. Moments later, the intercom crackled to life. "Who is it?" came a voice, sharp and wary.

Alexander's lips quirked slightly. "Mrs. Beaumont," he said, his voice steady and respectful. "Good afternoon."

The door creaked open, revealing an older woman with platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The warmth in her face quickly evaporated as she saw him standing on her doorstep.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone stiff, her eyes narrowing as she scanned him with suspicion.

"May I come in?" Alexander asked politely, his voice unwavering.

Reluctantly, Mrs. Beaumont stepped aside, allowing him to enter. As he did, she couldn't hide the tension in her posture, the way her hands gripped the door frame as though she were holding back a tidal wave of emotion.

"You should be aware you're not welcome here," she said curtly as she shut the door behind him. "What do you want, Alexander?"

"I've come to drop something off," Alexander said, extending the painting toward her, the weight of the canvas palpable in his hand.

Her gaze softened for the briefest moment, though she still seemed unwilling to let him off easily. She took the painting from him hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface. "That's thoughtful," she said after a long pause. "But unnecessary."

Alexander's voice softened, just a fraction. "It's not just a gesture. It's important. Please accept it."

There was a long silence. Mrs. Beaumont studied the painting, her eyes moving over it as though considering it from every angle. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. "Fine," she muttered, her voice barely audible. "But you should leave. My husband will be back soon, and he won't take kindly to you being here."

Alexander gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, his face once again unreadable. He turned to leave, but as he reached the door, Mrs. Beaumont's voice stopped him.

"How is Caroline?" she asked, her voice unexpectedly softening as she glanced at him. "Is she alright?"

Alexander's dark eyes flickered with something momentarily—an almost imperceptible flicker of sadness. "She's fine," he said quietly, the words heavy with the weight of unspoken history.

With that, he stepped out, leaving Mrs. Beaumont in the doorway, her face a mixture of regret and resignation.

As the SUV pulled away, Alexander's thoughts lingered on the encounter, though his face remained unchanged. The night was far from over, and the weight of his actions—past and present—hung heavily in the air.

At the dock, a helicopter waited, its blades spinning in preparation for departure. Alexander boarded with his team, the world below shrinking as they ascended into the sky. Within minutes, they were airborne, the city's lights fading behind them.

"Welcome back, sir," Evelyn, his assistant, greeted as she stepped up to meet him on the helipad. "We've identified a way to secure a major stake in NVIDIA."

Alexander's lips curled into the faintest of smiles, his gaze already sharpening with focus. "Good," he murmured. "Let's begin."

And so, the game continued unseen by most, but with every move calculated, every consequence planned. For Alexander Blackwell, there was no such thing as rest.