I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Chapter 109 School Meeting III

A few minutes after all the parents had arrived and the guards had been moved away, the entire school grounds had turned into a sea of gossip.

Students—normally composed, disciplined, and neatly seated—were now on their feet, clustered in groups, murmuring in excitement. Conversations overlapped, their hushed tones barely containing the energy buzzing through the air.

"Did you see that lineup? Just those seven alone are like a moving country—that's insane!"

"Dude, not just a country—a superpower!"

"Did you guys see David Morgan? Oh my God, he is so dreamy! Why can't the guys in our class be like that?"

"Well, did you also see that lady who came alone? If only you guys could be like them too, eh eh!"

"Did you guys see that Gordon Murray Automotive T.33? My dad tried getting that golden model last year—they said it wasn't available, that they had all been recalled. Guess they lied."

"No, they didn't lie. Your father just couldn't get them to overturn their decision. Blame his lack of influence, not the company."

"I heard that lady is Mr. Blackwell's wife. They look so good together."

"Good? Are you joking? She looked like the sun had taken human form, while Mr. Blackwell looked like cold personified. How do they even match?"

"My own is those guards. Did you see the white-armored ones? They looked like stormtroopers. Where can we get one?"

"Those are the guards of His Holiness, the Red Pope. It's blasphemy to even speak of them carelessly. Shut your mouth."

The chatter continued, each conversation laced with awe and speculation. But then—

"Wait... what's that?"

The question cut through the noise, drawing everyone's attention at once. Heads turned, eyes locked onto the scene unfolding outside.

They rushed to the glass windows, pressing against them to get a better look. A new convoy of cars was arriving, moving with the same imposing formation as when Ivan Romanov had arrived—sleek black vehicles, perfectly synchronized, security detail flanking them like shadows.

"Who do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure... all the major families already have a representative inside. Who else could it be?"

From their vantage point, they couldn't see much—guards had blocked the main view. But then, a man stepped out of one of the central vehicles. He wasn't young—his posture and the way he moved suggested he was in his late sixties. Yet, his presence alone sent a ripple of tension through the air.

The students strained to get a better look, but his face remained obscured by the guards surrounding him.

"Well? Who is it?" someone asked, impatience creeping into their voice.

The student who had first noticed the convoy kept staring, eyes darting, searching for an opening in the wall of security. He barely breathed, waiting for the moment when the man's face would be revealed.

As the figure neared the entrance, the school secretary emerged, approaching the guards. They exchanged a few words—at least, that's what the students assumed. Then, after a brief pause, the guards stepped aside, allowing the man to move forward.

And in that instant, the first student finally caught a clear view of his face.

His breath hitched. His eyes widened.

"That's... that's—"

But the words stuck in his throat.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

Inside the Headmaster building The voice came out

"That wouldn't be necessary."

The voice cut through the tension like a knife. It was familiar—so familiar that everyone in the room recognized it, though for some, it carried more weight than others.

David Morgan felt his breath hitch, his eyes widening as he instinctively turned slightly. His voice, usually steady, came out in a hushed murmur.

"Dad?"

Because this was no longer a meeting between a headmistress and concerned parents.

This was a meeting between the Montgomery family and the most powerful families in the world.

Author's Note / Satire my thanks to Peanut_Butter_2757 thank you so so much (non canon)

Alexander Blackwell, at the tender age of two, had no concept of wealth, power, or the cold realities of the world. What he did understand, however, was fun—and on this particular day, fun meant running through an entirely empty amusement park, one his father had bought out just for the two of them.

No lines. No crowds. No screaming children fighting over overpriced ice cream cones. Just him, his father, and the echoes of laughter bouncing off vacant rides.

Cassius Blackwell, a man whose name alone could send boardrooms into silent reverence, strolled leisurely behind his son, hands in his pockets, amusement dancing in his otherwise sharp, calculating gaze. He wasn't a man known for sentimentality, but today—just for today—he let himself indulge in his son's joy.

"Dad, Dad! Let's go see Mr. Peanut_Butter_2757 and his magic massage chair!"

Ah. Yes. That.

Cassius exhaled through his nose, the kind of restrained sigh that came with knowing he had made his own bed. He had told Alexander he could do whatever he wanted today, and naturally, his son had chosen this ridiculous request.

But, a promise was a promise.

So off they went, through the abandoned park, past eerily silent carnival games where the prizes stared blankly from the shelves, past a roller coaster that had no one to scream along its twists and turns, until they arrived at him.

Mr. Peanut_Butter_2757.

He was a man of legend, or at least that's how Alexander saw him.

Seated in the world's most advanced massage chair, the man—who looked suspiciously like he had been teleported from a gaming livestream—lounged in absolute bliss. His username, Peanut_Butter_2757, was proudly embroidered on his custom hoodie, because of course it was.

Cassius took one look at him and mentally filed this moment away as one of the strangest in his life.

But Alexander?

Alexander was in awe.

The chair hummed with an almost divine energy, pulsating in synchronized waves, delivering an experience so transcendent that Mr. Peanut_Butter_2757 could only let out a deep, soul-cleansing sigh.

"Yo, lil' dude," he said, eyes half-lidded from pure relaxation. "You wanna try?"

Alexander turned to his father, eyes huge with excitement. "Can I, Dad? Please?"

Cassius, a man who had closed billion-dollar deals with less thought, found himself nodding. "Go ahead."

With the solemnity of a chosen warrior receiving Excalibur, Alexander climbed onto the throne of bliss.

The moment he sat down, the chair enveloped him in a cloud of warmth, vibration, and sheer technological wizardry. His tiny mouth parted in shock. Then—

"Oh. My. Gosh."

Cassius raised an eyebrow.

"Dad... this... is the best thing ever."

For the first time in his life, the heir to Blackwell Investments had encountered something money couldn't quite explain—the magic of Mr. Peanut_Butter_2757's massage chair.

Cassius just stood there, arms crossed, watching his two-year-old son ascend to a new plane of existence.

"...Noted," he muttered, already making a mental note to buy three of these chairs before the day ended.

And as Alexander melted into pure euphoria, Mr. Peanut_Butter_2757 leaned over and whispered:

"Kid, you've got a bright future. But trust me—never underestimate a good massage chair."

Truer words had never been spoken.

Also special shoutout to VipeXGaming who gave me another Golden ticket thank you so so much bro like truly thanks