I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Before God gives a man everything he has ever dreamed of, He makes him experience rock bottom—to teach him gratitude and faith."

Alexander Blackwell's voice fell over the dimly lit room, every syllable weighted with purpose. His words did not seek agreement; they demanded contemplation. The two men seated across from him listened, their expressions unreadable, their eyes trained on the man who had, in recent months, become the most polarizing figure on the planet.

Everlyn stood just behind Alexander, her arms folded, observing. She had attended countless high-stakes meetings before, yet none quite like this. The sheer weight of power in this room could alter the course of history.

"And now, gentlemen," Alexander continued, his voice smooth as silk yet sharp as a dagger, "we have met our downfall. We have experienced our fall. And as any student of history knows, the only way to move from here is upward."

A quiet chuckle broke the silence.

"Well, Mr. Blackwell, I never pegged you for the religious type."

The voice came from the man seated to Alexander's left. His South African accent was unmistakable. A visionary, a disruptor, and one of the few men alive who could claim to have reshaped the world with his ideas—Elon Musk. His signature smirk played at his lips as he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. The ever-present glint of amusement in his eyes did nothing to soften the fact that he was among the most calculating men alive.

Musk, the man who had sent humanity to Mars, who had redefined transportation, artificial intelligence, and energy, was no stranger to risk. He had courted controversy and thrived on chaos, but even he had to admit—Alexander Blackwell was playing a game unlike any other.

"Faith has nothing to do with it," Alexander replied, his gaze steady. "I merely acknowledge a truth the weak refuse to accept—adversity is the architect of dominance. The collapse of an empire is merely the prelude to its resurrection. And in our case, gentlemen, resurrection is inevitable."

The other man in the room, who had until now remained silent, let out an impatient breath. He was perhaps the most instantly recognizable figure in the world, his distinctive hair and bronzed complexion making him impossible to mistake. The man who had once held the most powerful office on Earth, the forty-fifth president of the United States—Donald J. Trump.

Unlike Musk, Trump did not entertain philosophical musings. He was here for one reason, and one reason only.

"Can we get back to the actual reason we're here?" Trump's voice, deep and commanding, filled the room. "How to help me win the next election. That's why we're here, right? Let's focus on that."

Alexander did not immediately respond. Instead, he studied Trump, as if weighing the man's worth. Trump had been many things—business mogul, media icon, leader of the free world—but above all, he had been a survivor. A man who had withstood scandal after scandal, defeat after defeat, and yet refused to be erased from history.

Before Alexander could speak, Musk turned his attention to Trump, his expression unreadable. "Donald, your approval ratings are in the gutter. Let's be honest—forget the presidency, you wouldn't even win the primaries at this point. If we're going to be logical, your campaign is a corpse."

Trump's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "Well, I would very much disagree with that. Polls show I still have a massive following. It's not a lost cause like some of you might think." His voice carried the unmistakable tone of a man who had defied odds before and intended to do so again.

Everlyn watched the exchange with growing intrigue. She knew this was a room of predators, each man calculating how much power he could extract from the other before striking. It was a battle of egos, yes—but also a battle of necessity. They all needed something from this alliance. The question was, who would walk away with the most?

The air in the room was thick with tension, though Alexander Blackwell remained utterly unbothered. He sat, legs crossed, fingers steepled together, eyes dark as the void itself. Across from him, two of the world's most recognizable men sat in uneasy silence.

Elon Musk, the tech visionary, the man who prided himself on being the smartest in every room, leaned back slightly. He had faced opposition before, but never had he been spoken to quite like this. And those eyes—he had dismissed the media's obsession with them, writing it off as fear-mongering, but now, under their relentless gaze, he felt something foreign coil in his gut. A small, unfamiliar sensation: unease.

Beside him, Donald J. Trump scowled. The former president, once the most powerful man in the world, had become a political pariah. His name still stirred passion, still commanded loyalty, but within the halls of power, he was a relic, a risk, an unwelcome guest. The lawsuits, the January 6th fallout, the abandonment by his own party—he knew better than anyone that power was slipping through his fingers like sand. He just wasn't willing to admit it.

"Well, after January 6th and the lawsuits, I beg to differ," Elon finally said, his voice laced with uncharacteristic hesitance. "Honestly, I only came here to meet you, Mr. Blackwell, to discuss something else. As for supporting Trump to the presidency? I don't see that going well."

Trump's frown deepened. "January 6th was an unfortunate incident I had no connection to, and as for the lawsuits—"

Alexander silenced him with a look, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Your lawsuits are an unfortunate inconvenience, but one that is easily handled. I'll have my lawyers contact you."

Just like that. A statement, not an offer. Trump, for once, said nothing.

Alexander turned his full attention to Musk. "As for you, Mr. Musk, I called you here for one reason only—to secure your support in restoring the former president to his rightful place. I have no interest in any other topic. Not yet."

Elon blinked. He wasn't used to being dictated to. He was the one who made demands, who set the tone, who decided the rules of engagement. But here he was, being spoken to like a mere participant rather than a leader. And those eyes—

He had laughed when he first read about them, the psychologists claiming there was something fundamentally different about Blackwell, something inhuman. Theories ranged from extreme sociopathy to something more…unsettling.

But now, as he looked into those bottomless black voids, he found himself questioning something he never had before.

Alexander Blackwell didn't just want power.

He wanted everything.

Elon pulled himself together. He was a rational man. A logical man. He cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. "Alright then, Mr. Blackwell, but I think we're backing the wrong horse. It would be smarter to support a new candidate. Trump has followers, sure, but he has no structure, no backing, no legitimate power. He's a gun with no bullets."

Trump grumbled but said nothing. He couldn't argue with the truth. The Republican Party had distanced itself. The donors had scattered. His influence, once undeniable, had been reduced to noise. The kind that could be ignored.

Alexander's lips curved into something resembling amusement. "Then that is simple. If there is no power, we create it."

Trump's eyes lit up. "And how do we go about that, Mr. Blackwell?"

Alexander leaned forward slightly, his voice smooth, unwavering. "Power is a funny thing, gentlemen. It is intangible. It is not real."

Musk's eyebrows twitched. "Power is very real, Blackwell."

A chuckle, dark and low. "Is it?" Alexander tilted his head. "What is power? Is it money? Influence? Titles? No. Power is belief. It is the collective delusion of the masses. It exists only because people agree that it does. A king is just a man in a chair until enough people kneel. A president is a nobody with a title until millions choose to listen."

He let the words settle, let them sink into the minds of the men before him.

"Power is where people believe power is. And belief, gentlemen, can be manipulated."

Trump straightened. Musk was silent.

Alexander continued, his voice dark and velvety, wrapping around the room like a serpent. "The illusion must be crafted carefully. A few well-placed rallies. Carefully staged events with overwhelming crowds. Online narratives that spread like wildfire, suggesting that Trump is rising again. Not just among his die-hard fans, but among moderates. Among the undecided. A shift in perception, a whisper in the ears of those who abandoned him. 'Does Trump really have a chance?'

That's all it takes. A question. A seed planted in the minds of men who hold real power. Senators, congressmen, donors—they don't need certainty. They need possibility. They need to think that backing Trump might be to their benefit."

Musk exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're talking about fabricating momentum."

"I am talking," Alexander said, "about creating reality."

A pause.

"Once the idea takes root, it spreads. They start to believe. They start to follow. And once they follow, it becomes real." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only certainty. "The illusion becomes the truth. And then, gentlemen, we will not be discussing if Trump will win. We will be discussing how we choose to wield him."

Elon Musk tapped a finger against his chin, processing.

Donald Trump grinned.

And Everlyn, standing behind them all, felt something cold slither down her spine.

Let it begin.

Author's Note:

First and foremost, I want to apologize to those who downloaded the previous chapter. I've tried changing and updating it, but for some reason, it hasn't reflected the changes. I deeply apologize for this—it's been really frustrating, and I feel so, so bad if you had already downloaded it. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience and appreciate your patience and understanding.

To those asking about Alexander, yes, he's no longer on the defensive—he's now on the offensive. From this moment forward, he'll be taking steps that may seem convincing, but rest assured, it's all part of his strategy. He's also going to be visiting plenty of countries, and let's just hope those countries are still okay when he leaves. I apologize in advance if any country is portrayed in a way you might not like—please know that I won't be holding back.

Also, thank you all so much for the past month—your gifts, the golden tickets, and all the support! If you've noticed, I've stopped writing these author notes here, but that's not because I'm less grateful. Some people told me that it costs you extra money, so from now on, I'll include them in the author's note. You all mean so much to me, and I can't thank you enough.

While we didn't reach the 500k fandom votes, we did hit 350k, up from the 220k of last month. That's a huge achievement, and I'm so grateful. My golden tickets have now grown to 37—thank you all so much for that! I'm truly humbled. Also, a huge thank you to those who have already donated—someone has donated 3 golden tickets already, and I'm beyond appreciative.

Special thanks to Joke_tuase, Kristoffer_Santos, Samuel_Ndemuweda, Glenn_Bailey, and VipeXGaming—your contributions have been amazing!

Next chapter is coming soon, so stay tuned! I love you all!