I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

"Darren, are we sure about this?"

The voice was soft, uncertain, almost lost beneath the music playing from the old speaker on the nightstand. It belonged to a young woman, her fiery red hair catching the dim light in their cramped apartment. Freckles dusted her fair skin, and her wide, worried eyes remained fixed on the man she had just addressed. She couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest.

Their apartment wasn't much—just a small rented space with one bedroom, a tiny living room, and a single, often-problematic bathroom. The walls were thin, the furniture secondhand, and the air carried the faint scent of paint. That was because Darren had been at it for hours, creating banners, his hands and arms covered in streaks of color as he worked tirelessly on the bed, his lean, toned chest bare. He wore only a pair of loose sweatpants, his messy blonde hair falling over his forehead as he focused on his task.

The song Going Up the Country by Canned Heat blared through the speaker, nearly drowning out her voice. Frustrated, she called again, louder this time.

"Darren!"

This time, he looked up. As soon as his gaze landed on her, a broad, boyish smile stretched across his lips, his brown eyes lighting up with amusement. His voice, still caught somewhere between adolescence and manhood, carried both a lingering softness and the growing depth of maturity.

"What's it, dear?" he asked, the affectionate lilt in his voice making her heart clench.

Nora exhaled, crossing her arms, her stance firm despite the way his smile always made her weak. "I said, are we sure about this? What we're about to do… are we absolutely sure?"

Darren's smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew, teasing and playful. He set down the brush in his hand, the wet paint on his fingers forgotten as he walked over to her, his bare feet making soft thuds against the floor. His movements were fluid, confident, filled with a carefree ease that contrasted her nervous energy.

"Aww, baby," he cooed, his voice dripping with amusement as he reached for her, arms snaking around her waist. "Are you scared?"

She gasped as he suddenly pulled her close, his fingers digging into her sides as he began tickling her, his laughter warm and rich. "Is my baby scared, hmm?"

Normally, she would have been giggling, pushing him away playfully. But today, her nerves were too raw, her mind too cluttered with doubt. And Darren noticed.

His laughter faded as he felt her stiffness against him. He stopped tickling, pulling back slightly to study her face. His hands, still smudged with paint, had stained the fabric of her dress, but she didn't seem to care. Her expression was serious, her green eyes filled with concern.

"Darren," she said, her voice quieter now. "I'm serious. This is risky."

A sigh left his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, smearing a streak of blue paint across his temple before shaking his head. "I get why you're nervous, Nora. I do. But this will be quick. We have to trust Michael and the team. They know what they're doing. And this?"—his eyes gleamed with excitement—"this is our biggest one yet."

"That's exactly what worries me," Nora countered, folding her arms again. "Like you said, it's our biggest one yet. So why are we the ones starting it? Shouldn't we leave it to a more powerful group? And if there's backlash, we could be—" she hesitated, searching for the right word before finishing, "—litigated."

Darren let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "There's that Harvard talking in you." His grin widened mischievously. "Look at those big words."

She smacked his chest lightly, rolling her eyes. "I'm being serious, Darren."

His expression softened. Gently, he caught her wrists before she could pull away, his grip firm but warm. She looked up at him then, meeting those beautiful, full brown eyes that always had a way of making her feel safe.

His smile didn't fade, but it changed—less teasing, more earnest. "Baby, this is the big leagues. If we do this, we'll be everywhere. We'll reach people, open eyes, make an impact. Isn't that what we wanted? To enlighten the world together?" He lifted one hand, brushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "To make them see what they refuse to see? This is our moment, Nora. It's our chance to be heard. And I know you—you want this just as much as I do."

She swallowed, her gaze faltering. He knew she did. But fear still lingered at the edges of her heart.

Darren noticed. He reached for her chin, gently tilting her face up so their eyes met again. "Hey," he murmured. "Trust me, my love. Everything will go fine. You will be fine."

"I'm not worried about me," Nora whispered. "I'm worried about you."

A short chuckle escaped him before he quieted, studying her face with an expression so tender it made her breath hitch. Then, in a voice softer than before, he said, "I'll be fine, my love. I promise."

Nora exhaled slowly, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But Darren was unshakable, filled with a confidence that somehow made the room feel a little less suffocating. Finally, she allowed herself to smile—a small, hesitant thing, but a smile nonetheless.

"Okay, fine."

A triumphant shout filled the air as Darren jumped onto the bed, his arms raised in victory. "I knew you'd understand, babe!" he hollered, bouncing slightly on the mattress before flashing her his most dazzling grin. "Don't worry—I promise this will go well."

She couldn't help but laugh at his excitement, shaking her head as he hopped off the bed and returned to his paints. But before he could dip his brush back into the colors, her voice called out.

"Well, go and shower," she ordered, arching a brow at him. "We need to meet up with the rest soon, and thanks to you, I need to change." She gestured to the paint smudges on her dress. "So, go clean up while I finish up here. We can't be late."

Darren groaned dramatically but obeyed, stretching as he turned toward the bathroom. Before disappearing, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "Alright, alright," he murmured. "But don't worry—I'm sure we won't be late."

She watched him disappear into the tiny bathroom, shaking her head fondly. Sighing, she grabbed the board he had been working on, a small smile tugging at her lips. She still wasn't completely sure about what they were about to do… but as she glanced toward the closed bathroom door, she found herself trusting Darren's certainty more than her own fears.

"I told you we were going to be late!" Nora's frustrated voice rang out as she practically sprinted down the sidewalk, her arms full of cardboard signs and supplies.

"Well, if you hadn't followed me into the bathroom, we probably wouldn't be late, now would we?" Darren's teasing reply came from behind her, his usual playful smile present as he carried an even larger stack of signs.

Nora shot him a glare, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. "I only went in to clean up your mess! Who knew you were going to—" she trailed off shyly, avoiding his gaze.

Darren, never one to let an opportunity slip by, chuckled. "Oh, come on, don't act all innocent. You knew exactly what you were doing when you walked in looking like that." His voice carried a mischievous lilt. "And let's not forget—you weren't exactly resisting. I remember things going pretty smoothly…"

"Darren!" Nora gasped, her face now fully flushed.

Laughing, Darren sauntered past her as they finally reached their destination. They stood before a barbed wire fence that separated them from what appeared to be an airstrip. The area beyond was vast and open, the dim glow of city lights flickering in the distance. But what truly caught their attention was the crowd gathered on their side of the fence—dozens of people, at least sixty, maybe more.

"Wow…" They both breathed out in unison, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer number.

"You guys are late," a familiar voice called out. "We need to start distributing the cards soon. And if you think this is impressive—just wait. These are only the early arrivals. We've got way more coming. This is going to be our biggest one yet."

Both Darren and Nora turned to see Christiana approaching, her multi-colored hair—streaks of pink, purple, and blue—glowing under the streetlights. She was dressed in her usual effortlessly cool style: ripped jeans, a band tee, and a confident smirk.

Darren grinned at her. "Where's Michael?"

"Over there," Christiana gestured toward the crowd. "Getting ready for his big speech. He's so excited."

Darren nodded, dropping the signs onto a nearby crate. "Thanks," he said before making his way toward Michael.

Christiana watched him go, then turned to Nora. "Wow, he's really into this."

Nora, still holding onto her bundle of supplies, gave a small smile. "Yeah, he is."

Five Minutes Later

A strong-built Black man stepped onto a makeshift platform—a wooden crate they had scrounged up. The dim glow of the surrounding streetlights barely illuminated his face, but his energy radiated through the crowd. He scanned the growing sea of people before him, his heart pounding with exhilaration.

'Look at them all,' Michael thought. 'They came because I asked them to. They came for this.'

For years, he had fought for causes that barely gained traction—small rallies, protests against tree-cutting, campaigns to save libraries from being torn down. But now? Now, they were on the verge of something big. Something that would truly capture the public's attention.

He turned his head slightly, meeting Darren's gaze. "Pass me the megaphone."

Without hesitation, Darren handed it over. "Got you."

Michael nodded in appreciation, then took a deep breath, gripping the megaphone tightly. The crowd buzzed with anticipation. He raised the device to his lips and called out, "Hello, everyone!"

Scattered murmurs, a few heads turning, but not enough.

Louder this time: "I said, hello, everyone!"

A few more people looked up.

Michael's voice rang out with even more force, conviction lacing his tone: "I SAID, HELLO, EVERYONE!"

This time, silence spread across the gathering like a wave. All eyes were on him now.

And finally, they were listening.

Michael stood tall on the makeshift platform, his heart pounding as he gazed at the growing sea of faces before him. Hundreds had gathered, their eyes filled with fire, their hands gripping signs and banners, their spirits hungry for change.

He lifted the megaphone to his lips, the cold plastic trembling slightly in his grip—not out of fear, but from the sheer electricity of the moment. He took a deep breath, then let his voice ring out.

"People! You all know why we are gathered here today!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the murmur of the restless crowd. "We are gathered because we stand against injustice! We stand against corruption! We stand against a system designed to keep us down while the powerful rise higher on our backs!"

A ripple of agreement surged through the crowd, heads nodding, fists clenching. Michael took a step forward, his voice growing stronger.

"Look around you! Look at the world we live in! The price of homes has skyrocketed beyond reason, while wages remain stagnant! Families are being driven from their homes, children are sleeping in the cold while mansions sit empty! Homelessness is no longer a crisis—it is an epidemic! And why? Because the rich would rather hoard their wealth than lift a finger to help the very people who made them rich!"

A roar of anger spread through the crowd, voices rising, fists punching the air.

Darren, standing just beside the platform, clenched his fists, his body thrumming with energy. "YES!" he screamed, his voice raw with passion. "SPEAK, MICHAEL!"

Michael's eyes burned as he continued, his words carrying the weight of every person's frustration, every voice that had been ignored.

"We are here today because we refuse to be silenced! Because we refuse to let them strip us of our dignity! We refuse to watch our neighbors suffer while they drown in luxury! We are here because we are done waiting for change! Today, my people, we FIGHT for it!"

The crowd erupted, voices merging into one defiant battle cry.

Nora, lost in the sea of protesters, shouted with everything in her, her fear forgotten in the face of Michael's words. Beside her, Christiana simply lifted her fist in the air, her multi-colored hair wild in the wind, her silence just as powerful as any scream.

Michael let the energy of the crowd fill him, feed him, push him forward. Then, as the cheers reached a fever pitch, he suddenly lowered his voice, forcing them to listen.

"But today…" he said, his tone dark and deliberate, "we are not just going against anyone. No, my people. Today, we are taking our fight directly to one of the biggest benefactors of this corrupt system. A man who has built his empire on the backs of the suffering. A man who has profited while the world burned."

The crowd leaned in, anticipation thick in the air, their breath held as Michael delivered the final blow.

"Today, people of Earth, we are going against none other than the so-called richest man in the world…"

He took one last, dramatic pause, then let the name ring through the night like a war cry.

"We are going against Alexander Blackwell!"

The crowd erupted.

A storm was coming.

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