Chapter 11: Tax II
As the Blackwell team settled into their seats, the weight of the moment pressed on them like an invisible force. The room was silent, each member still reeling from the sudden shift in their surroundings. They had just landed on Blackwell Island, an estate so grand it seemed to stretch beyond the limits of reality. Now, they found themselves face-to-face with Alexander Blackwell, a man who could turn empires into dust with the mere flick of his hand.
It was Karen, the assistant, who spoke first. Her voice broke through the silence, though it wavered slightly with awe. "I have to say, Mr. Blackwell, you're... you're an idol to all of us," she began, her eyes wide with admiration. "In just two short years as CEO, the progress you've made—it's nothing short of impressive."
The team shifted uncomfortably in their seats, unsure whether to join her in the praise or remain silent. Alexander, ever the picture of calm authority, nodded in acknowledgment, his expression as stoic as ever. "Thank you," he said simply, his deep voice carrying a quiet weight. "But that's not why you're here. We have business to discuss."
His words cut through the admiration in the room like a sharp blade. With a small gesture, he signaled for the discussion to begin.
"First things first," Alexander continued, folding his hands in front of him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "I need to sort out the taxes from my inheritance. There's quite a bit to address, starting with the Blackwell estate, which includes the island and everything on it. You're looking at assets worth about four billion dollars—five helicopters, and more. And I'll need you to handle the tax filings for those."
The team looked at each other, their jaws slightly agape. The numbers were staggering—beyond anything they'd ever dealt with. George Busman, ever the professional, adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath.
"Four billion?" he repeated under his breath, though his voice trembled with disbelief. He'd never imagined anything like this. None of them had.
Alexander didn't seem fazed. He was used to such reactions. "Then there's the main account at JP Morgan—my father's account, which now belongs to me. That alone holds three hundred and forty-five billion dollars." His words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, the weight of them sinking in slowly, painfully.
The room fell into complete silence. The figures were incomprehensible, beyond the wildest dreams of anyone in the room. These people were already high earners—executives who regularly handled millions, even billions. But this… this was in a completely different league.
Alexander leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. "But that's not all. My company shares are worth nearly three trillion dollars. 2.976 trillion, to be precise." His eyes scanned the room, watching their reactions carefully. A couple of executives exchanged stunned glances, while others tried—unsuccessfully—to mask their shock.
"Then there's my daughter," Alexander continued, his voice colder now, more clinical. "She inherited a private plane worth three hundred million dollars, a yacht worth a billion, and an offshore account in Panama holding 2.8 billion dollars." He paused, letting the silence hang in the air.
The executives' heads were spinning. They had heard rumors of the Blackwell wealth, but nothing prepared them for this—this level of financial power.
"And my mother," Alexander added, his voice laced with a mix of indifference and pragmatism. "She owns a home in the Hamptons worth seventy-five million, a private art collection valued at two hundred and eighty-nine million, and a fleet of cars worth a total of four billion dollars."
At this, one of the executives couldn't help but let out a soft laugh of disbelief, which was quickly followed by an awkward cough. Karen, who had been visibly shaken, cleared her throat, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is... this is incomprehensible."
George was the first to recover, albeit slowly. "Mr. Blackwell, with all due respect, the scale of these assets—it's beyond what we're accustomed to. Are we expected to—"
"Yes," Alexander cut him off, his voice final. "I expect you to manage them all. No mistakes. I need this sorted out immediately."
The team fell silent again, the enormity of their task slowly sinking in. For the first time in their careers, they felt like mere ants before a towering giant. And it was clear from Alexander's unwavering gaze that he expected nothing less than perfection. The figures he'd shared with them were not just numbers—they were an empire to be protected, preserved, and grown.
And now, they were the custodians of that empire. They had no choice but to rise to the challenge