I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 89: Cars III

Barbara stood there, wide-eyed, as the doors opened. What lay before her was nothing short of a miracle. That was the only word she could use to describe it—only God himself could have inspired a room like this.

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For a car enthusiast like her, this was heaven. The cars were arranged like a showroom, polished to perfection, each one a masterpiece. But two vehicles in the center of the room called to her, drawing her in like a magnet. She approached them, her breath catching in her throat.

The car before her was nothing short of engineering brilliance. Its sleek silver body gleamed under the soft lighting, its aerodynamic curves and gullwing doors exuding an aura of exclusivity. It stood apart from the rest—commanding, dominant, unmistakably iconic.

Bill, noticing her awestruck reaction, began, "That’s the 19—"

Before he could finish, Barbara whispered in a trance, "A 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupe." Her fingers hovered just above the smooth metal, as if touching it might shatter the illusion. "It’s the pinnacle of automotive engineering from the 1950s—so advanced for its time, capable of reaching speeds of 180 mph (290 km/h)."

Her mind raced, recalling everything she knew about the car. She had always been obsessed with sports cars, but this? This was the legend. The blueprint. One of the greatest inspirations behind modern sports cars. And then, another realization hit her like a lightning bolt.

"They only ever made two," she muttered in disbelief.

Yet here they were. Both of them. In the same room.

Paul, who also fancied himself a car enthusiast, grinned at her reaction. "I know, right? The first time I saw it, I nearly lost my mind. And when I realized the second one was here too? I almost died."

Bill chuckled at their excitement. "This one," he said, gesturing to the car on the left, "was bought by the boss three years ago—for 160 million dollars. One of his most expensive purchases."

Barbara barely processed his words before he pointed to the second car. "As for this one… even the boss won’t say how much he paid. Just said he got it in a private auction, and it cost him ’a pretty penny.’" Bill shook his head, laughing. "And Lord knows, if he says that, I don’t even want to imagine the price."

Tom, watching Barbara’s clear admiration, smirked. "Not every day you meet a woman who knows her cars like this."

Barbara, her eyes still locked on the vehicles, smirked right back. "Well, it is my job to know, isn’t it?" There was an unmistakable edge of triumph in her voice—one that reminded Tom of the time he had mocked her profession.

Tom coughed awkwardly and shifted in place, eager to divert the conversation. "Ehm… let me show you the 1962 Ferr—"

Before he could finish, Everlyn, who had been quiet until now, interjected. "Mr. Miller, I think we should get back to the task at hand and head to where Mr. Blackwell’s cars are kept."

Barbara, her gaze still darting around the room, suddenly frowned. "Wait… these aren’t his cars?"

Bill smiled knowingly. "No, they aren’t. These belong to the boss—Mr. Cassius Blackwell. Or rather…" His expression darkened slightly. "They were his." A flicker of sadness passed through his eyes before he continued. "They now belong to his former wife. She’s already made arrangements to have them moved to our Florida branch. Soon, all of this will be gone."

He glanced around, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. This showroom—his showroom—was something he had meticulously arranged, placing each car in the perfect position, ensuring everything was just right. Now, it would all be dismantled. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Barbara, noticing the shift in his expression, hesitated. "Oh…"

But Bill quickly straightened up, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm again. "But it’s fine! All of that is in the past now—it’s time for a new era. And let me tell you this…" His voice carried a spark of excitement. "While the new boss might not have the exact same taste as the old one, there’s no denying they’re cut from the same cloth. Follow me."

With a confident gesture, he led them toward the next destination.

As they walked, Barbara’s eyes refused to leave the showroom. She kept glancing left and right, taking in the breathtaking collection of cars—vehicles she was certain were worth more than her entire family combined. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to study each and every one of them, admire their craftsmanship, and commit them to memory.

As she gushed over the cars, another thought crossed her mind.

"Honestly… thank goodness these weren’t his cars. If they were, I wouldn’t have gotten the job."

She thought back to her final test—the car she had chosen. If the old boss had been the one picking, he probably would’ve gone for a Hennessey. That would’ve been the end of the road for her.

They reached an area sectioned off by a heavy curtain. Bill turned to them with a small smile. "And here it is—the collection of Mr. Alexander Blackwell." With that, he pulled the curtain aside.

Barbara held her breath. If the previous showroom was that spectacular, what would this one be like?

The curtain parted, revealing a space just as grand—but entirely different in atmosphere. While the previous room exuded a classic, almost nostalgic charm, this one felt futuristic, sleek, and cutting-edge. Everything was pristine white, a stark contrast to the warm-toned arrangement of the vintage cars.

And instead of dozens of classic automobiles stacked neatly across the room, only six cars sat here.

But what a sight they were.

Barbara instantly understood what they had meant when they said Alexander Blackwell’s taste was different from his father’s. The older Blackwell had clearly adored vintage cars—classics with deep history and sentimental value. But his son? He was a man of the future.

And honestly? So was she.

There was a reason these modern machines were called supercars. Decades of innovation had gone into refining every inch of them, pushing the boundaries of speed, performance, and design. They weren’t just cars—they were masterpieces, testaments to how far technology had come.

Yes, vintage cars carried nostalgia, heritage, and sentimental value. But if you dropped one of these modern-day beasts into the past, every single collector from those eras would set their beloved classics on fire just for the chance to drive one of these.

Because nothing could compare to the thrill of driving a supercar.

The way the engine purred, a low, velvety growl like a beast waiting to be unleashed. The way the tires gripped the road, every movement precise, every turn an extension of your own will. And the speed—oh, the speed. The kind that made your heart race, your skin tingle. The kind that turned the road into a blur and made you feel like you were defying gravity itself.

It wasn’t just driving. It was flying.

And Alexander Blackwell knew exactly what he wanted.

Three Bugatti’s. A Pagani. And even the Lamborghini she had chosen. They were all here, lined up in their striking glory. The only odd one out was the Rolls-Royce—her then-competitor’s Hennessey choice.

Barbara gasped, unable to contain herself. ’What do they even need me to modify? These cars are already perfect’.

Just as she was about to ask, a sharp ringtone cut through the air.

Everlyn, who had been standing off to the side, watching her boss’s latest acquisition with mild disinterest, suddenly froze.

This is my personal line, she thought, her brows furrowing. Only a handful of people had this number.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. The name on the screen made her eyes widen slightly.

She answered immediately. "Hello, Dad."

Everyone in the room fell silent, subtly watching as her expression shifted.

"He’s going? Really?"

A brief pause. Her grip on the phone tightened.

"What now?"

A few seconds passed as the voice on the other end spoke. Then, with a nod of finality, she responded, "Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll take the helicopter to the strip. Meet me there."

As she ended the call, Everlyn let out a small sigh before straightening her posture. "Sorry, everyone. I need to leave now," she said, her tone clipped but composed. Then, turning to Barbara, she added, "These are the cars that need modifying. Make sure they meet the boss’s standards." With a curt nod, she turned on her heel, ready to leave.

Bill immediately stepped forward. "Let me lead you out," he offered, falling into step beside her.

Barbara, still reeling from what had just been dumped on her, quickly blurted out, "Wait—what modifications? What exactly am I supposed to do?"

Everlyn sighed, clearly impatient, and turned back slightly. "The boss’s friend mentioned something about—" she paused, as if recalling, then said, "Mansory. You should know what that means."

Barbara’s brows furrowed. "I do know Mansory, but what exactly—"

Everlyn’s head snapped around sharply, her gaze locking onto Barbara’s with an intensity that made her throat go dry.

"Remember," she said, voice low but firm, "you work for the Blackwells now. Whatever you do must be perfection. Do. Not. Screw. Up."

Barbara swallowed hard.

Without another word, Everlyn turned and strode out, Bill escorting her as they disappeared beyond the showroom doors.

And just like that, Barbara was left standing surrounded by two silent men and millions of dollars’ worth of cars.

Her mind raced, frustration bubbling up. ’Mansory? Okay, fine. But what exactly does he want done? A custom kit? A full interior overhaul? Performance tuning?’

She clenched her fists, biting back a groan.

"What the fuck. Nothing she said is going to help me."

She screamed internally, both angry and completely overwhelmed.

This chapter is dedicated to TW_MIRAGE and VisineAnt.

Thank you both so much! I truly appreciate your support. I’ll do my best to update again today to show my deep gratitude.