I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Chapter 116 Calm Before The Storm II

"Thank you, sir."

The words left his mouth smoothly, almost mechanically, as though they had been rehearsed. The voice of the former chairman of Switzerland's second-largest bank was steady, devoid of any tremor, yet beneath that forced composure, his entire world had collapsed.

His head hung slightly, weighed down by the crushing burden of defeat, yet his lips stretched into a hollow, practiced smile—a smile that never reached his eyes. It was a mask, a final act of dignity before he walked out of the room, leaving behind the remnants of a legacy that had taken a lifetime to build.

He had just lost everything. His business, his reputation, his purpose. All of it—gone. And for what? $3.1 billion.

To some, that amount would seem like an unfathomable fortune, a sum so vast that most of the world's population could sell everything they owned—their homes, their possessions, even themselves—and still never come close. But to him? To a man who had once commanded one of Switzerland's most powerful financial institutions?

It was an insult.

There had been a time when his bank stood tall, valued at $20 billion, even surging beyond $21 billion at its peak. Yes, trouble had come knocking. Yes, the storm had begun to brew. But never, not in his worst nightmares, had he imagined the downfall would be this brutal.

The Chinese investors had been ready to buy it for $9 billion—a far cry from its former glory, but at least a respectable number. Even JP Morgan's initial offer had been $10 billion. That was before the pressure began, before the threats, before the walls started closing in.

And then, in just two days—Two simple days—Everything had been stripped away.

The final number? $3.1 billion.

A fire sale. A robbery. A mockery.

He stepped out of the grand residence, his mind disoriented, his breath coming slow and uneven. The cool Swiss air hit his face, but he barely felt it. His feet moved forward, but he had no idea where he was going.

He had no wife. No children. No family waiting for him.

For years, that had never seemed like a loss. His work had consumed him, and he had welcomed it. He had built empires, controlled fortunes, shaped financial markets. He had been a man of power, influence, and purpose.

But now?

Now, he was just a man with nothing.

A hollow shell of who he once was. A broken figure wandering through the cold Swiss night, no longer a titan of industry—just another forgotten soul, lost in the shadows of his own downfall.

Inside the opulent office, Frédéric Zeller, the President of the Swiss Confederation, sat comfortably, his lips curved into a wide, satisfied smile. He was ecstatic—and why wouldn't he be?

Two of America's most elite families had just poured a massive investment into his country. And not just any two families—the Morgans and the Blackwells.

The Morgans were more than just a banking dynasty; they were an institution. For generations, their name had been synonymous with power, prestige, and financial supremacy. They had shaped the very foundation of global finance, their influence stretching across continents, dictating the rise and fall of economies. Their presence alone in Switzerland was a statement—a declaration of trust in the Swiss banking system.

Then there were the Blackwells. They didn't have the centuries-old legacy of the Morgans, nor did they need it. What they had was something far more potent—pure, unrestrained wealth. Not just wealth in the conventional sense, but nation-building wealth, the kind that could shift economic landscapes, influence global policies, and dictate the future of entire industries. Their fortune was not measured in mere billions; it was the kind that rivaled the reserves of small countries.

Stay updated with My Virtual Library Empire

And now, a piece of that fortune was going to be parked right here, in Switzerland.

Zeller could already see the ripple effects. The economy would surge, confidence in the financial sector would skyrocket, and the presence of such capital would act as a magnet for more high-net-worth individuals and institutional investors. The mere fact that the Blackwells and Morgans had chosen Switzerland would solidify the nation's status as the premier financial safe haven of the world.

The money didn't even need to be spent. Just having it sit in Swiss banks would generate billions in liquidity, strengthening the country's financial institutions, bolstering the Swiss franc, and reinforcing the nation's reputation as a fortress for the world's elite. More investments would follow, more deals would be made, and more wealth would pour into the country.

For this, Zeller had been willing to sacrifice one of the largest Swiss banks. He had been willing to push aside one of the country's wealthiest men like a mere inconvenience. In his mind, it wasn't a betrayal—it was a calculated move, a necessary step for a greater reward. And that reward?

A legacy.

By the time history wrote his name, he wouldn't just be another Swiss president. He would be one of the greatest. The man who secured Switzerland's financial future, who opened the doors to an era of unprecedented economic dominance.

And Asia? It was the true battlefield. The Americans had managed to carve out the Middle East as their foothold, but beyond that? The strongholds of China, Japan, and India remained locked away, fiercely guarded.

That left Europe as the ultimate prize. And until now, only three American families had managed to gain a true foothold in it.

The Rockefellers were one of them. But the Morgans?

They had been shut out.

For decades, it had been a stain on their legacy. A family as powerful as theirs, with influence that shaped global finance itself—yet they had been unable to break into Europe. Their hands-off approach had cost them dearly in this regard.

But now?

Patrick exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the document.

Now, the Morgans owned Credit Suisse.

Now, they had secured their place in Europe.

And it was him—Patrick Morgan—who had made it happen.

A slow, satisfied smile crept across his face. The shame of being left behind, of watching other great families plant their flags while the Morgans remained in the shadows— that was gone now.

This was their entry point. Their foundation.

And they had gotten it for a fraction of its worth.

His gaze flickered across the room and landed on a figure sitting silently across from him—Alexander Blackwell.

The young man sat there, composed, unmoving, his black hair slicked back, his cold black eyes scanning the room with an unreadable, calculating expression. Unlike Patrick's son, who still simmered with barely-contained frustration, Alexander was perfectly still. Detached. Indifferent.

It was then that Patrick let himself acknowledge a truth he had been avoiding.

No, he hadn't done this.

He hadn't won this war. He had simply been handed the victory.

Because the one who had truly orchestrated all of this?

Alexander Blackwell.

And knowing Alexander's father, Patrick understood something else, something that sent a small shiver down his spine.

This wasn't done out of kindness.

The Blackwells didn't give—they positioned. They moved pieces.

And Patrick had just become one of those pieces.

Massive shoutout to Gideon_Harmse for sending me 1 Golden Ticket—thank you so much! ????

Also, please don't forget about the goals, the fandom voting, and setting a new record for Golden Tickets. I really need your support! I want to show that I'm reaching people far and wide, and every bit of help counts.

Your support means the world to me! You can also contribute with Power Stones or even gifts.

Thank you all so much—love you guys! ???? See you soon!