I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 128: Counterattack? III

Ladies and gentlemen, that is what he said when we asked him—the richest man in the world—rejecting to spare a single cent for the elimination of world hunger."

The voice of the television echoed through the dimly lit room, carrying a heavy weight with each word. The statement was followed by a dramatic pause, the kind that news anchors used to let their audience stew in manufactured outrage. The sleek, wall-mounted television—designed to resemble a floating glass window—cast a faint glow over the otherwise dark space.

It had been seven days since the relentless attacks against her boss had started. Seven days of accusations, sensationalized headlines, and a media frenzy that showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, the firestorm was only growing stronger, feeding on itself, expanding like an unchecked inferno that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Stay tuned with novelbuddy

Evelyn sat on the edge of her bed, her arms resting against her thighs, fingers curled tightly as she watched the screen. Her usually sharp hazel eyes were dulled with exhaustion, deep shadows forming under them from the sheer lack of sleep. The room around her was pristine, yet it carried an undeniable sterility, like a futuristic hotel suite rather than a place of comfort. The walls were smooth, a seamless blend of white and silver, with subtle lighting fixtures embedded into the corners that illuminated the space with an artificial softness. A state-of-the-art touchpad rested on the nightstand beside her, controlling everything in the room—from the temperature to the self-cleaning glass panels that overlooked the island’s cityscape.

The attacks on Alexander Blackwell had reached new levels, and now, even global organizations were joining the outcry. The latest addition was Lisa Greene from the World Health Organization, appearing on FOX News—the one network that had taken a drastically different approach than the others. While many simply criticized Alexander, FOX had made it their mission to dehumanize him entirely. They weren’t just painting him as greedy; they were turning him into the very embodiment of everything wrong with capitalism, the poster child for corruption and unchecked privatization.

Evelyn’s grip tightened as she listened to the so-called expert spew venom. Lisa Greene spoke with a calm authority, but her words were anything but neutral. "Alexander Blackwell has rejected multiple opportunities to contribute to the end of world hunger. He had the chance to fund initiatives that could have saved millions, yet he turned his back. This is not just about greed; it is about a complete and utter lack of humanity. He has chosen himself over the world."

The broadcast cut to footage of a starving child, their ribs visible, their hands reaching out for food. The screen then transitioned back to Lisa, who shook her head, feigning deep sorrow before continuing, "How much is enough? How much does one man need before he decides to give back? The answer is clear—there is no limit to his selfishness."

Evelyn exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face.

For days now, this had been the cycle. Media outlets, podcasts, online forums—everyone was talking about Alexander Blackwell. The outrage machine had been set in motion, and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon. The public discourse had turned into a mob, one that wanted his head on a silver platter.

Yet, despite it all, despite the relentless assault on his name, Alexander had done nothing.

That was what disturbed Evelyn the most.

She had expected him to counterattack. To move with the precision of a tactician, dismantling his enemies piece by piece. She had seen him do it before. She knew he wasn’t blind to what was happening. He knew exactly who was orchestrating this. And yet…

Silence.

Not only him—her father, Sebastian, was quiet as well. No retaliation, no strategic response. Nothing. They had done nothing except fortify the perimeter of Blackwell Island, keeping the protesters at bay with high fences and private security.

Evelyn was growing more irritated by the second. "Are they just going to stand by and watch as they get destroyed?" she muttered under her breath, her frustration bubbling over.

She wasn’t naive. She understood how dangerous public perception could be. Yes, the Blackwells were still untouchable for now—their assets secure, their wealth flowing without disruption—but how long would that last? If the right people believed the illusion that they were vulnerable, the tide could turn. Deals could fall through, allies could become hesitant, and worse—rivals could see an opening.

And the Blackwells had no shortage of enemies.

Their rise to power had been nothing short of meteoric. In a matter of decades, they had achieved what other families had spent centuries trying to accomplish. They had bought their way into the elite circles, trampling over old money families who had long coveted that status. Those families had been forced to bite their tongues, to accept the Blackwells’ dominance in silence. But now? Now, if they believed there was blood in the water, they would attack with everything they had.

Evelyn clenched her fists. "Why is he doing this?" she whispered. "Is he trying to destroy his own family? That can’t be… I know him. Or do I?" she muttered confused on alexanders inactiveness.

Her thoughts were chaotic, clashing against one another like a storm.

She needed to make a move. She needed to act before it was too late.

Her phone vibrated beside her, pulling her out of her downward spiral.

She picked it up, her expression darkening as she read the message:

Turn on Channel 4.

Evelyn exhaled sharply, grabbing the remote and switching to the channel. The screen flickered, revealing two women standing at a podium, preparing to speak at a press conference.

Evelyn’s frown deepened.

Barbara Klein and Laura Hayes.

Trouble. That was the only word that came to mind.

Barbara Klein was the head of IRS taxpayer compliance, a woman who, by political chatter, had a more than seventy percent chance of becoming the overall head of the entire IRS in the near future. And Laura Hayes? The current Governor of New York, still in her first term but already wielding significant influence.

Evelyn’s breath hitched.

Why were they here? Why were they involved?

Her heart pounded as she read the headline floating across the screen. The press conference was about to begin.

And she already knew—this was about Alexander Blackwell.

This was about war.

The grand stage was set, illuminated by dazzling lights that cast long shadows over the assembled crowd. The press conference had drawn a significant audience—reporters with cameras flashing, microphones poised, and civilians eager to witness what was being heralded as a landmark political moment. The air buzzed with anticipation as a hush fell over the space, all eyes fixed on the stage as the Governor of New York, Laura Hayes, stepped forward.

She carried herself with the poise of a seasoned politician—sharp, articulate, and exuding confidence. Clad in a deep navy power suit, she adjusted the microphone before flashing a perfectly measured smile.

"Good evening, everyone," she greeted, her voice smooth yet authoritative, the embodiment of a leader who had long mastered the art of public engagement. "It is always a pleasure to stand before the great people of New York—a city that has always been a beacon of progress, equality, and resilience. Our state has led the charge on so many critical issues, and under my tenure, we have continued to push forward for a fairer, more just society."

Polite applause echoed through the crowd. She nodded slightly before continuing.

"Since taking office, I have fought tirelessly to make sure that every New Yorker—no matter their background—has a fair shot at success. And part of that means ensuring that our economic system works for everyone, not just a privileged few. We have pushed for progressive tax reforms, closed loopholes that allowed corporations to evade their responsibilities, and invested in programs to lift up working-class families."

Her words were met with murmurs of approval, some in the crowd nodding in agreement.

"But," she said, her voice now carrying a harder edge, "in a city that houses the highest concentration of billionaires and millionaires in the world, we must acknowledge an undeniable truth: The wealthiest among us must pay their fair share."

The words ignited a cheer from pockets of the audience. Reporters leaned in closer, anticipating what was coming next.

"That brings me to the reason we are gathered here today," she continued, her expression now solemn. "I trust that I do not need to go into much detail, as his name has been on the lips of every New Yorker, every American, and even the world in recent weeks. I am, of course, speaking of the one and only Alexander Blackwell."

At the mention of his name, cameras clicked furiously, and hushed whispers rippled through the audience.

"In recent times, we have intensified our fight to ensure that those who sit at the very top of our financial system contribute to the society that allows them to thrive. But despite these efforts, there remain individuals who have manipulated the system, avoided their dues, and continued to amass unimaginable wealth while ordinary citizens struggle."

She paused for effect, letting the weight of her words settle before continuing.

"And that is why I stand before you today, alongside an incredible ally—someone who has worked diligently to ensure tax compliance across this country. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Miss Barbara Klein."

She turned slightly, extending a hand in the direction of a woman now striding toward the podium.

Barbara Klein moved with purpose, her tailored charcoal blazer emphasizing her sharp features. She was a woman of precision, known for her meticulous nature and unwavering stance against tax evasion. As she took her place, the crowd erupted into another wave of applause—some in support, others watching with thinly veiled intrigue.

"Good evening," she began, her voice measured yet firm. "My name is Barbara Klein, and I am the Head of Taxpayer Compliance at the IRS. For the past several months, my team and I have been conducting an extensive investigation into Mr. Alexander Blackwell and his financial practices."

Another round of camera flashes went off, reporters scribbling notes frantically.

"Mr. Blackwell, a man who inherited a fortune worth trillions, has failed to contribute what is rightfully owed to the American people. We have uncovered extensive evidence indicating that he has systematically utilized tax loopholes, loopholes that the ultra-wealthy have long exploited at the expense of the working class."

The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and murmurs. Some clapped in agreement, while others seemed to weigh the implications of her words.

"For far too long," Klein continued, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces, "we have allowed the richest individuals in this country to operate under their own set of rules—hoarding vast sums of wealth while the average American is left behind. That ends now."

She straightened her posture, her expression one of unwavering resolve.

"We will ensure that Alexander Blackwell is held accountable. We will make certain that he pays his fair share. No longer will the elite manipulate the system to their advantage while the rest of the country shoulders the burden."

The energy in the room shifted, building into a fervor. Reporters shouted questions, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of inquiries.

"Miss Klein, do you believe Blackwell will fight these allegations?"

"Governor Hayes, do you expect legal action?"

"Will you be pushing for criminal charges?"

Neither woman immediately responded, exchanging a knowing glance before turning back to the audience.

"This is just the beginning," Klein stated, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "The era of unchecked financial privilege is coming to an end."

The crowd roared in response, a mix of exhilaration and anticipation electrifying the air. The press conference had only just begun, but the message was clear: Alexander Blackwell was now public enemy number one.

Elsewhere, high above the city in a lavish penthouse, Nathaniel Rockefeller sat in his home office, reviewing a set of documents under the soft glow of his desk lamp. His office exuded power—sleek glass walls, dark oak furniture, and an expansive view of the city skyline. He barely glanced up when a knock came at the door.

"Enter," he said smoothly, not pausing from his work.

His assistant stepped in, her heels clicking lightly against the polished floor. She held her phone in one hand, a knowing expression on her face. "Sir, the governor and Barbara Klein have begun their attack, just as per your instructions."

Nathaniel hummed in acknowledgment, still not looking up. "That’s good."

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "And… as for her? She has finally agreed, sir."

That made him pause. Just for a moment. Then, with a small smirk, he nodded. "Good, good."

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his fingers slightly before tapping them against the desk. "By the end of this week, I want all of this over. Alexander finished."

His assistant nodded, but he wasn’t done.

"I’ve met with the other families. Most have pledged their hands to this reckoning," he said, his tone laced with quiet finality. Then, with a smirk edged in poetic cruelty, he murmured, "Like Icarus, they soared too close to the sun, mistaking fleeting fortune for immortality. Now, the wax melts, and the Blackwells plummet into the sea."

He straightened, the softness in his voice evaporating into sharp command. "Make sure everything goes according to plan. Initiate Phase Two."

"Yes, sir."

A crooked smile stretched across his lips as he finally stopped working, clasping his hands together. "Oh, Alex," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "What look do you have on now?"

On Blackwell Island, inside the grand estate’s opulent office, Alexander Blackwell sat in his leather chair, absorbed in a book. His surroundings were elegant and futuristic—high-tech screens embedded in the glass walls, touch-sensitive panels controlling the lighting, and a sleek, minimalistic design that reflected his wealth and intellect. The large, flat-screen television on the wall was indistinguishable from a window when turned off seeing as they were the same, blending seamlessly into the space.

Yet, despite the firestorm raging in the outside world, Alexander remained unmoved. His fingers traced the pages leisurely, his expression indifferent. Standing beside him, ever-loyal Sebastian observed him with quiet patience.

Then, Sebastian finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Sir, it’s about time."

Alexander stilled, his grip on the book tightening ever so slightly before he finally placed it down, his movements deliberate and slow.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

The air in the room grew heavy, and when he finally spoke, his voice dropped to a low, commanding whisper.

"Let’s begin."

This chapter is dedicated to each and every one of you who has been following this journey. Your time, support, and enthusiasm mean the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of this story. Another chapter is on the way—stay tuned, and once again, thank you so, so much!