I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Alexander Blackwell was never one to hesitate after making a decision. Once his mind was set, he acted with precision and urgency. Turning to Sebastian, his trusted aide, he said, "Inform the company I'll be hosting a meeting tomorrow to discuss the future direction. For now, ready the helicopter; we're heading to the mainland. Get the team prepped. It's been a while since I've left the island, and I don't want any disturbances."

Thirty minutes later, Sebastian returned to the room. "Sir, the chopper is ready."

Alexander, engrossed in reading his father's notes, placed them down carefully and followed him outside. When they arrived at the helipad, four burly men stood waiting. Alexander greeted them with a nod, taking in their distinct appearances:

Liam Kane, the head bodyguard, was a towering figure with sharp, calculating eyes and a scar running down his left cheek, a testament to his years of service. Victor "Vince" Hayes stood broad-shouldered and slightly jovial, with a neatly trimmed beard and an ever-watchful demeanor. Dominic Reed, lean but muscular, had piercing blue eyes and a silent intensity that commanded respect. Finally, there was Grant Mullins, the youngest of the team, with a clean-shaven face, a buzz cut, and a subtle eagerness to prove himself.

Liam stepped forward, speaking with a calm authority. "Sir, we heard you're planning to get a car. Do you have a specific type or brand in mind? Knowing that will help us prepare."

Alexander paused, realizing that despite his extensive knowledge of cars—thanks to his father's strict upbringing—he had never considered what he truly wanted. For years, he had followed rigid rules, but now he was determined to live on his terms. With a smirk, he said, "Why choose just one? I've decided to build my own car collection, just like my father. But for now, let's start with a Bugatti. You can never go wrong with one, can you?"

The team chuckled, with Liam adding, "No, sir, you definitely can't." He then took out his phone. "Give us a moment to finalize the preparations."

Alexander nodded and took a seat in the helipad lounge, his mind already racing with possibilities.

Meanwhile, at Bugatti Manhattan—the premier dealership for Bugattis in the state and possibly the country—General Manager Paul Dunmot was having a typical day. Wealthy clients, from young millionaires to celebrity athletes, filled the showroom, admiring the luxury cars. Paul's work phone buzzed, and he answered in his usual polished tone, "This is Paul Dunmot, General Manager of Bugatti Manhattan. How can I assist you?"

A few minutes later, Paul ended the call, his face pale and his palms sweating. Without hesitation, he called his Sales Manager, Brian Kelly.

"Hey Paul," Brian answered, his voice upbeat. "You sure you don't want to come down? Dan Brizalia's here looking to buy a car. The guy's a riot. You'd love him."

"Send him out. Send everyone out. Now," Paul said, his voice unusually sharp.

Brian, taken aback, stammered, "What? We've got some big names here. We can't just ask them to leave."

"Do it," Paul barked. "No arguments. Clear the showroom."

Reluctantly, Brian approached the clients, starting with Dan Brizalia, who was flanked by two glamorous models. "Hey, Dan," he began hesitantly.

"Brian, my man! Is this the new Bugatti W16 Mistral? What's the damage on this beauty?" Dan asked, his enthusiasm palpable.

"I'm sorry, Dan, but we have to close the showroom for an inventory check. Could you come back another time?"

Dan laughed, assuming it was a joke. "Good one, Brian. Now, seriously, how much is it?"

"It's not a joke," Brian replied, his tone firm. "We need to close immediately."

Grumbling, Dan and the other clients eventually left, some not without protest. A young heir stormed out, shouting that he'd never return. Brian sighed as he headed upstairs, where he found Paul adjusting his tie in front of a mirror.

"What's going on, Paul? Do you know how much we just lost?"

Paul ignored the question. "Is my hair okay? Do I look presentable?"

"Everyone's gone," Brian confirmed. Paul pressed the intercom. "Fabian, bring out the collection. Be extra careful and set them up front."

Fabian's reply crackled through the speaker. "On it, boss."

Brian's jaw dropped. "The collection? Those are one-of-a-kind models. Who on Earth are we expecting?"

Paul smirked. "You'll see."

As the staff gathered outside, impeccably lined up, whispers filled the air. "Who is it?" "A politician?" "Maybe a billionaire?"

The unmistakable sound of a helicopter grew louder, and all eyes turned skyward. A sleek chopper descended onto the field behind the dealership. The tension was palpable as two of Alexander's bodyguards exited first, scanning the area with practiced precision. They opened the door, and a man dressed in a sharp black suit with hints of red stepped out, exuding power and wealth. Another bodyguard followed closely behind, his protective stance unyielding.

Paul led the team forward, his staff instinctively straightening their postures. When they reached the distinguished guest, Paul extended his hand. "Hello, sir. I'm Paul Dunmot, General Manager of this fine establishment, and this is Brian Kelly, our Head Sales Representative. We'd be honored to assist you today."

The man gave a curt nod, his voice smooth and commanding. "Alexander Blackwell. Happy to be here."

The name hit Brian like a freight train. Blackwell. As in the Blackwell family—a dynasty of unimaginable wealth and influence. Suddenly, everything made sense. His body tensed as he realized the gravity of the situation. This wasn't just any client; this was Alexander Blackwell, a man whose mere presence could redefine the dealership's history.