I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Chapter 119 Attack/Protest

"Darren, are we sure about this?"

The voice was soft, uncertain, almost lost beneath the music playing from the old speaker on the nightstand. It belonged to a young woman, her fiery red hair catching the dim light in their cramped apartment. Freckles dusted her fair skin, and her wide, worried eyes remained fixed on the man she had just addressed. She couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest.

Their apartment wasn't much—just a small rented space with one bedroom, a tiny living room, and a single, often-problematic bathroom. The walls were thin, the furniture secondhand, and the air carried the faint scent of paint. That was because Darren had been at it for hours, creating banners, his hands and arms covered in streaks of color as he worked tirelessly on the bed, his lean, toned chest bare. He wore only a pair of loose sweatpants, his messy blonde hair falling over his forehead as he focused on his task.

The song Going Up the Country by Canned Heat blared through the speaker, nearly drowning out her voice. Frustrated, she called again, louder this time.

"Darren!"

This time, he looked up. As soon as his gaze landed on her, a broad, boyish smile stretched across his lips, his brown eyes lighting up with amusement. His voice, still caught somewhere between adolescence and manhood, carried both a lingering softness and the growing depth of maturity.

"What's it, dear?" he asked, the affectionate lilt in his voice making her heart clench.

Nora exhaled, crossing her arms, her stance firm despite the way his smile always made her weak. "I said, are we sure about this? What we're about to do... are we absolutely sure?"

Darren's smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew, teasing and playful. He set down the brush in his hand, the wet paint on his fingers forgotten as he walked over to her, his bare feet making soft thuds against the floor. His movements were fluid, confident, filled with a carefree ease that contrasted her nervous energy.

"Aww, baby," he cooed, his voice dripping with amusement as he reached for her, arms snaking around her waist. "Are you scared?"

She gasped as he suddenly pulled her close, his fingers digging into her sides as he began tickling her, his laughter warm and rich. "Is my baby scared, hmm?"

Normally, she would have been giggling, pushing him away playfully. But today, her nerves were too raw, her mind too cluttered with doubt. And Darren noticed.

His laughter faded as he felt her stiffness against him. He stopped tickling, pulling back slightly to study her face. His hands, still smudged with paint, had stained the fabric of her dress, but she didn't seem to care. Her expression was serious, her green eyes filled with concern.

"Darren," she said, her voice quieter now. "I'm serious. This is risky."

A sigh left his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, smearing a streak of blue paint across his temple before shaking his head. "I get why you're nervous, Nora. I do. But this will be quick. We have to trust Michael and the team. They know what they're doing. And this?"—his eyes gleamed with excitement—"this is our biggest one yet."

"That's exactly what worries me," Nora countered, folding her arms again. "Like you said, it's our biggest one yet. So why are we the ones starting it? Shouldn't we leave it to a more powerful group? And if there's backlash, we could be—" she hesitated, searching for the right word before finishing, "—litigated."

Darren let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "There's that Harvard talking in you." His grin widened mischievously. "Look at those big words."

She smacked his chest lightly, rolling her eyes. "I'm being serious, Darren."

His expression softened. Gently, he caught her wrists before she could pull away, his grip firm but warm. She looked up at him then, meeting those beautiful, full brown eyes that always had a way of making her feel safe.

His smile didn't fade, but it changed—less teasing, more earnest. "Baby, this is the big leagues. If we do this, we'll be everywhere. We'll reach people, open eyes, make an impact. Isn't that what we wanted? To enlighten the world together?" He lifted one hand, brushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "To make them see what they refuse to see? This is our moment, Nora. It's our chance to be heard. And I know you—you want this just as much as I do."

She swallowed, her gaze faltering. He knew she did. But fear still lingered at the edges of her heart.

Darren noticed. He reached for her chin, gently tilting her face up so their eyes met again. "Hey," he murmured. "Trust me, my love. Everything will go fine. You will be fine."

"I'm not worried about me," Nora whispered. "I'm worried about you."

A short chuckle escaped him before he quieted, studying her face with an expression so tender it made her breath hitch. Then, in a voice softer than before, he said, "I'll be fine, my love. I promise."

Nora exhaled slowly, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But Darren was unshakable, filled with a confidence that somehow made the room feel a little less suffocating. Finally, she allowed herself to smile—a small, hesitant thing, but a smile nonetheless.

"Okay, fine."

Scattered murmurs, a few heads turning, but not enough.

Louder this time: "I said, hello, everyone!"

A few more people looked up.

Michael's voice rang out with even more force, conviction lacing his tone: "I SAID, HELLO, EVERYONE!"

This time, silence spread across the gathering like a wave. All eyes were on him now.

And finally, they were listening.

Michael stood tall on the makeshift platform, his heart pounding as he gazed at the growing sea of faces before him. Hundreds had gathered, their eyes filled with fire, their hands gripping signs and banners, their spirits hungry for change.

He lifted the megaphone to his lips, the cold plastic trembling slightly in his grip—not out of fear, but from the sheer electricity of the moment. He took a deep breath, then let his voice ring out.

"People! You all know why we are gathered here today!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the murmur of the restless crowd. "We are gathered because we stand against injustice! We stand against corruption! We stand against a system designed to keep us down while the powerful rise higher on our backs!"

A ripple of agreement surged through the crowd, heads nodding, fists clenching. Michael took a step forward, his voice growing stronger.

"Look around you! Look at the world we live in! The price of homes has skyrocketed beyond reason, while wages remain stagnant! Families are being driven from their homes, children are sleeping in the cold while mansions sit empty! Homelessness is no longer a crisis—it is an epidemic! And why? Because the rich would rather hoard their wealth than lift a finger to help the very people who made them rich!"

A roar of anger spread through the crowd, voices rising, fists punching the air.

Darren, standing just beside the platform, clenched his fists, his body thrumming with energy. "YES!" he screamed, his voice raw with passion. "SPEAK, MICHAEL!"

Michael's eyes burned as he continued, his words carrying the weight of every person's frustration, every voice that had been ignored.

"We are here today because we refuse to be silenced! Because we refuse to let them strip us of our dignity! We refuse to watch our neighbors suffer while they drown in luxury! We are here because we are done waiting for change! Today, my people, we FIGHT for it!"

The crowd erupted, voices merging into one defiant battle cry.

Nora, lost in the sea of protesters, shouted with everything in her, her fear forgotten in the face of Michael's words. Beside her, Christiana simply lifted her fist in the air, her multi-colored hair wild in the wind, her silence just as powerful as any scream.

Michael let the energy of the crowd fill him, feed him, push him forward. Then, as the cheers reached a fever pitch, he suddenly lowered his voice, forcing them to listen.

"But today..." he said, his tone dark and deliberate, "we are not just going against anyone. No, my people. Today, we are taking our fight directly to one of the biggest benefactors of this corrupt system. A man who has built his empire on the backs of the suffering. A man who has profited while the world burned."

The crowd leaned in, anticipation thick in the air, their breath held as Michael delivered the final blow.

"Today, people of Earth, we are going against none other than the so-called richest man in the world..."

He took one last, dramatic pause, then let the name ring through the night like a war cry.

"We are going against Alexander Blackwell!"

The crowd erupted.

A storm was coming.

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