I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Chapter 112 Leaving Switzerland

The parents had gathered outside on the veranda, a breathtaking open space that blended seamlessly with the surrounding landscape. The flooring was polished stone, cool underfoot, reflecting the soft glow of the evening lights. Lush greenery framed the area, a manicured lawn stretching into the distance, meeting a row of perfectly trimmed hedges. Beyond them, the open field extended like a painter's masterpiece—rolling hills in the background, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. The soft breeze carried the scent of fresh grass and distant flowers, the air crisp and clean, adding to the tranquil beauty of the space.

Guards stood at attention behind their respective employers, their presence silent yet imposing. Among them, the Blackwell security team formed a quiet but unmistakable wall around Everlyn, their posture unreadable, their expressions mirroring the cold efficiency they were trained for.

Standing close by, Susan Beaumont shifted uneasily, her arms crossed, her face tight with concern. The absence of Alexander Blackwell and Caroline from the gathering gnawed at her, an unfamiliar sense of worry creeping up her spine. Unable to suppress it any longer, she turned slightly, directing her concern toward Everlyn, Alexander's ever-composed assistant.

"Why do you think he wants to talk to her?" Susan asked, her voice edged with unease.

Everlyn, who had been standing still with the same impassive expression as always, turned her head slightly. Her dark eyes met Susan's, cool and unreadable. When she spoke, her tone was straight and matter-of-fact.

"I don't know, Miss Beaumont. Whatever Mr. Blackwell has to say to his daughter, I figure it would be important."

Susan let out a quiet sigh, shifting her weight. She bit the inside of her cheek before muttering, almost to herself, "I just hope he doesn't scold her. According to the meeting, she didn't even do anything wrong."

Her words hung in the air between them, and just as she was about to speak again, something caught her attention.

Her gaze had already been fixed on the entrance of the hall, her eyes lingering there with a quiet sort of anticipation. But now, movement.

Someone stepped out.

And it was not someone she could ever forget.

No one who had ever met him could ever forget him.

It was none other than Alexander Blackwell.

The father of her child.

Even after all these years, nothing about the way he carried himself had changed. His walk—controlled, deliberate—radiated a natural dominance that made the very air seem to shift around him. He moved in a way that demanded acknowledgment, a man whose mere presence commanded respect.

But that wasn't what made Susan's stomach tighten.

No.

For all his aura, for all his presence, Alexander Blackwell was not the one she was worried about.

It was the fact that he had come out alone.

Caroline was nowhere in sight.

A ripple of unease coursed through her.

"What happened?" The words formed in Susan's mind before she even realized she was moving. In her worry, she didn't notice that among the four guards stationed nearby, three had already moved, instinctively falling into formation behind Alexander. It was a practiced motion, something so seamless it seemed second nature—because for them, it was.

As Alexander approached, Susan didn't wait for him to speak. The moment he stopped walking, she fired her questions.

"Where is Caroline? What did you say to her? I hope you didn't do anything." Her voice was sharp, urgent, spilling over with concern.

Alexander showed no reaction. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Calm. Controlled. Unreadable.

"She's fine," he said evenly. "She just said she didn't want to come out."

Susan exhaled, her frustration evident. "You probably said something." She muttered the words under her breath, already moving past him, determined to go check on her daughter herself.

But before she could step past him—he didn't move.

Her eyes snapped to his face. His presence was like a wall.

"Yes, sir."

After Alexander finished explaining what he needed her to do, Everlyn gave a small nod, her response immediate.

"Right away, sir."

She turned, already pulling out her phone as she walked off to make the necessary call.

With that handled, Alexander shifted his focus elsewhere. His sharp gaze swept across the open field, taking in the scene before him. The parents stood in small groups, each with their respective children, engaged in quiet conversations.

At first glance, one might assume they were just ordinary families. But they were far from it.

These were individuals who controlled massive corporations, billion-dollar businesses, and, in some cases, outright nations. Their power was immeasurable. The only indication of their status was the silent presence of their heavily armed guards, positioned strategically around them. If an ordinary person even wished for a meeting with one of them, it could take a lifetime—and even then, it was unlikely they would ever breathe the same air.

But Alexander Blackwell was not an ordinary person.

And today, he intended to use this rare opportunity to speak to someone he had been meaning to meet for a while.

His eyes continued scanning the area until they landed on the man he was looking for.

Standing alongside his son, engaged in a quiet conversation, was the very person Alexander had come here to see.

Without hesitation, he began moving toward them. As always, his guards followed.

The approach did not go unnoticed.

The father and son duo spotted him almost immediately. It was impossible not to.

After all, when a man proclaimed the richest in the world starts walking toward you—flanked by four armed guards—he commands attention. Even in a place like this, surrounded by people who were within his social bracket, Alexander Blackwell stood out.

The casual discussion between the father and son halted. Their own guards subtly shifted, fingers tightening on their weapons, their minds flashing back to the earlier tension in the break room.

As Alexander and his guards reached them, the natural instinct of the other security personnel kicked in—they immediately stepped in front of their employer, forming a protective barrier.

That was until a calm, authoritative voice cut through the air.

"Let him pass."

The command came from the very man Alexander had come to meet.

With reluctant nods, the guards stepped aside, allowing Alexander to step forward.

He regarded the duo for a brief moment before extending his hand, his voice smooth and deliberate as he spoke.

"Mr. Tinubu, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

His words were polite, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—revealed that this was no casual greeting.

The Nigerian businessman and politician took his hand in a firm grasp, his face composed but his mind working quickly, adjusting to the sudden encounter.

As they shook hands, Alexander observed the man carefully.

Outwardly, nothing seemed amiss. But beneath the surface, Alexander could tell—Mr. Tinubu was already assessing the situation, already thinking.

Good.

This would make things easier.