I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 172: Court

"Blackwell Investments is a $3 trillion-dollar conglomerate whose influence touches every cornerstone of our economy. In a time of global market instability, transparency and accessibility are paramount. And there is no greater step toward transparency than the act of going public. My client believes that offering Blackwell Investments to public shareholders will strengthen not only the company's integrity but the economy at large. It is time."

Judge Wexler listened silently, hands steepled beneath his chin, unmoved on the outside but scrutinizing every syllable. When Whittaker concluded, the judge simply replied, "And the legal standing for this motion?"

Another question Whittaker had expected — perhaps even welcomed.

He didn't shift his stance. "Mr. Desmond Blackwell is the joint-largest shareholder in the firm," he said clearly. "His stake is not symbolic. His father helped build the company from the ground up. The vision, the scaffolding, the legacy — it bears his fingerprints. My client's desire is not born of personal gain, but of duty. He believes, sincerely, that this company — his company — is better served under the scrutiny and participation of the public markets. This is about legacy, about governance, and ultimately about restoring accountability."

Just as he finished, another figure stood — sharply, deliberately. Harvey Lancaster, counsel to Elizabeth Blackwell, rose with that rehearsed confidence only the best attorneys possess.

"Objection, Your Honor," Harvey said with an edge of derision. "Counsel is grossly overstating both Mr. Desmond Blackwell's influence in the company and the historical relevance of his father's role. By any legal and corporate metric, Mr. Desmond's claim is overextended — and to place him in a position of fiduciary authority because of familial nostalgia is simply untenable." His voice, sharp as a dagger, sliced through the courtroom's silence.

Judge Wexler opened his mouth to speak, but Whittaker beat him to it.

"Withdrawn then, Your Honor," he said smoothly, not missing a beat. And then, with a flicker of something darker in his eyes, he added, "Let us not then speak of his father's legacy. Let us speak, instead, of his uncle's — a legacy corrupted and ultimately destroyed in the hands of the criminal Alexander Blackwell."

Gasps didn't echo — but they were felt. The words hung like smoke.

Harvey stood again, faster this time. "Objection! Again, Your Honor," he said sharply. "Mr. Alexander Blackwell has not been convicted of any crime. Under the laws of this country and the Constitution itself, he remains innocent until proven guilty. Counsel's language is inflammatory and without legal basis."

But Whittaker only smiled — not in arrogance, but in strategy.

"Withdrawn, then, my lord," he said politely, the old man bowing his head slightly. Then, in a subtle turn, he looked back toward Harvey — the two attorneys now locked in a silent battle of glances.

Harvey had won both objections, technically. But his frown said otherwise. Whittaker, the seasoned veteran, had planted seeds — and he knew exactly which ones would grow. For the first time since he entered the courtroom, he allowed himself a faint smile.

The battle had begun.

The war of words between the two brilliant legal titans had been anything but civil. From the very start, their exchanges had held the sharpness of seasoned swordsmen, the precision of master tacticians. One, Harvey Lancaster—charismatic, lethal, and endlessly eloquent—was the courtroom's renowned blade: sharp, fast, unforgiving. The other, Whittaker—stoic, ancient in wisdom, with the calm of a man who had stared down gods—was a wizard of law and logic, drawing strength from years of quiet brilliance and endless study.

To the common eye, it was a legal argument. But to those in that courtroom—senators, governors, war-hardened journalists, titans of business—it was myth. If a child could see it through the eyes of those gathered, they'd not see men in suits, but a mythical battleground.

In that vision, the swordsman—Harvey—sheathed his blade, took a single breath, and then exploded forward. He moved not like a man, but like a strike of lightning—shoulders low, sword flashing with intent, no hesitation. He wasn't aiming to injure. No. He was going straight for the kill. The wizard's throat.

"Your Honor," Harvey began, voice cutting through the room like a sword, "I must reject the claim that Mr. Whittaker so passionately defends. His argument is rooted not in the law but in a fallacy—a dangerous one. Mr. Blackwell's majority holdings, while now co dominate not forgetting my client holds the same portion of shares, do not afford him the unchecked power to arbitrarily decide the fate of Blackwell Investments without first presenting his case to the stakeholders. The doctrine of fiduciary responsibility is clear. According to Smith v. Whitmore, controlling interests do not inherently bestow absolute authority to override corporate governance structures or to bypass shareholder consent."

Gasps rippled through the room. Even seasoned lawyers leaned forward.

But the wizard did not flinch.

Whittaker's eyes barely blinked. And when the sword reached his throat—it stopped. Not because Harvey faltered, but because it met something unseen.

A forcefield. Brilliant, transparent, ancient. A whisper of unyielding law. The blade halted, humming in tension as if defying the very air around it.

And then—

Whittaker raised a single hand, placing it against the sword's edge, palm to steel. In an instant, blinding light burst forth. A crackling pulse erupted. In the fantasy of the room, the swordsman was thrown back—soaring through the air, crashing across the courtroom floor. His armor smoked. When the smoke cleared, part of his side was exposed, flesh charred, bone showing through. A hush fell.

"Your Honor," Whittaker began, his voice as cold and resolute as the unyielding stone of a fortress, "the motion stands unchallenged in its core purpose. My client, Mr. Desmond Blackwell, is not seeking dominion. He seeks responsibility. Responsibility to this company, responsibility to the nation, and most critically, responsibility to the future. To argue otherwise is to ignore not only the demands of modern business but the imperative of national economic stability."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing, his gaze sharp, focused.

"Blackwell Investments, as it stands today, is not merely a private enterprise— it is a foundational pillar in the economic infrastructure of this country. To keep such an entity sealed behind the walls of exclusivity, away from public scrutiny and engagement, is not only a dereliction of its responsibility, but a direct violation of the principles of corporate governance as outlined in Barker v. Amalgamated Corp.. The precedent is clear: Public offerings are not a mere option for companies of this size and influence; they are an obligation, one that enables transparency, fortifies shareholder interests, and facilitates sustainable growth for the greater economy."

Whittaker's tone was deliberate, each word calculated to evoke the gravitas of the case.

"The Federal General Corporation Law under section 251(b) explicitly provides for the rights of shareholders in such matters, ensuring that decisions of this magnitude must be made with careful deliberation and adherence to fiduciary duties. Mr. Blackwell's proposal to take Blackwell Investments public is not the reckless ambition my colleague seeks to portray. It is an evolution of the company's corporate structure, one that aligns perfectly with the evolving global market and the demands of modern capitalism. In fact, a public offering would bring with it an infusion of liquidity, broaden the company's investor base, and, most importantly, democratize access to the tremendous value Blackwell Investments represents."

He glanced briefly at Harvey, then refocused on the judge, his voice now imbued with the authority of precedent.

"Moreover, Your Honor, let us consider the implications of Mr. Blackwell's vision in light of the Rheinhold v. Veritas Industries ruling, which made it abundantly clear that when a company's value reaches a certain threshold—such as the $3 trillion valuation of Blackwell Investments—the fiduciary duty extends beyond mere profitability. It extends to ensuring that the company's benefits are distributed equitably across the nation, not hoarded in the hands of a few. This public offering would fulfill that obligation, ensuring that the wealth created by Blackwell Investments benefits not only its current shareholders but the nation as a whole."

Whittaker's words rang with confidence, unwavering in their conviction.

"Thus, Your Honor, this is not a matter of personal power; it is a matter of national necessity. A public offering is not a calculated risk—it is a strategic imperative. Mr. Blackwell seeks to do what is right, what is lawful, and what is in the best interest of the nation, its citizens, and its future. The motion stands, and we request the court's full support in moving this process forward."

Murmurs flooded the room again, louder this time, carried by tension and awe.

And yet, the drama did not end there.

Harvey, still scorched, blood pooling beneath him, coughed once. And then... he smiled.

A grin.

Mad, defiant. The kind only a man who had seen through the fog could wear. And then—

Whittaker—who moments ago floated in triumph, the air around him still charged with residual force—suddenly staggered.

He wobbled mid-air. The confidence gone. His breath caught in his throat.

"What—" he stammered, turning his gaze downward in confusion. Panic flickered in his eyes.

His arm.

It was missing.

Or rather—it was in the hands of the swordsman below.

Harvey held it. Clenched. Gripping it like a trophy.

Whittaker's breath caught. For the first time, fear crept into the edge of his composure.

"Your Honor," Harvey began, his voice as cold as the steel walls of a vault, each word carrying the weight of a man who had thought ten steps ahead. "What we are witnessing here is not a case about corporate evolution, but a dangerous distortion of corporate principles. Mr. Whittaker's arguments are couched in the rhetoric of responsibility, but beneath that thin veneer lies a far more insidious agenda—one of personal consolidation of power and the manipulation of this court's trust."

He paused, his gaze locking with the judge's as he took a deliberate step forward.

"Let us speak plainly, Your Honor. The case my learned colleague presents, while dressed in the language of national stability, is nothing but a well-crafted distraction. Mr. Blackwell's so-called vision for Blackwell Investments is not driven by a sense of duty to the nation, the employees, or the broader economy. It is a calculated power grab, disguised as corporate reform. The truth is, Mr. Blackwell is not seeking to 'democratize' his company—he is seeking to entrench his grip on it, to ensure his position as the unrivaled authority, untouchable and unaccountable."

Harvey's voice dropped an octave, the sharpness of his words now cutting through the courtroom like a blade.

"Mr. Whittaker would have you believe that a public offering is a noble act of transparency, a step toward fulfilling the company's national obligations. But let us not be misled by such lofty ideals. The law—and, more importantly, the fundamental nature of corporate governance—does not serve the nation, or the consumers, or even the employees. It serves one entity, and one entity only: the shareholders. The sole purpose of any corporation, no matter its size, is to act in the best interest of the shareholders. That is the bedrock of corporate law."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, and the courtroom seemed to grow colder with each word.

"The Dodge v. Ford Motor Co. case, a cornerstone of corporate jurisprudence, is clear and unambiguous on this point, Your Honor. In that case, the court established that the value of a company, regardless of how vast or powerful it may be, exists solely to serve its shareholders. Not the nation. Not the employees. Not the consumers, even if they benefit. The shareholders are the sole constituency that matters. And it is this principle, this simple truth, that Mr. Blackwell has conveniently ignored in his quest to reshape Blackwell Investments for his own personal gain."

Harvey turned to face Whittaker, his voice cutting through the air with chilling precision.

"Mr. Whittaker attempts to frame this as a matter of national importance, as if Mr. Blackwell's proposal is some altruistic act to benefit society at large. But the facts tell a far darker story. Mr. Blackwell's motion is not about increasing shareholder value or ensuring corporate transparency. It is about consolidation. It is about cementing his position of power, ensuring that the company remains a personal fiefdom, one that can be manipulated for his benefit at the expense of the very shareholders whose interests he is obligated to protect."

Harvey's tone grew even colder, as if the temperature in the room had dropped with each word.

"Let us not forget the Rheinhold v. Veritas Industries case, which Mr. Whittaker conveniently brings up to bolster his argument. But that case, Your Honor, emphasizes an entirely different principle—that a fiduciary's duty extends to the shareholders alone and requires actions that serve their long-term interests. It does not, under any circumstances, permit an individual to push forward with a public offering for their own personal enrichment."

Harvey's eyes hardened, his voice unwavering.

"This court, Your Honor, must not be swayed by the romanticized notion that a public offering serves the greater good. The truth is that a public offering at this juncture would serve no one but Mr. Blackwell himself. It would destabilize the very foundation of Blackwell Investments, expose the company to the volatility of public markets, and create opportunities for external forces to manipulate the company to their own advantage. This is not a step toward corporate growth—it is a step into chaos."

He let his words hang in the air for a moment, then finished with the cold, unyielding certainty of a man who knew the law inside and out.

"Mr. Blackwell may claim that he is acting in the interest of the company, but the law—and the Dodge v. Ford ruling—are clear: no action, however grand or noble it may seem, can be justified if it strays from the singular purpose of serving the shareholders' interests. And in this case, Mr. Blackwell's motion serves only one shareholder—himself."

He stepped back, allowing the finality of his argument to settle over the courtroom.

The room broke into quiet whispers. Even the judge leaned slightly forward now, breath shallow, as if witnessing something irreversible.

Whittaker, his face twisted in disbelief, clutched his wounded side. The pain was visible, but it wasn't just physical—it was humiliation.

He had been lured out. Masterfully.

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The wizard, now grounded, stood opposite the battered swordsman. The chamber seemed to hum with the tension between them. Both were injured. Both had drawn blood. Both knew this wasn't over.

Their eyes met—gazes sharpened like blades. A silent understanding passed between them.

They had each found a worthy opponent.