Caroline Blackwell sat in her usual spot at the corner of the classroom, her perfectly manicured fingers scrolling lazily through her phone. The irony wasn't lost on her. The classroom, outfitted with state-of-the-art technology—a sleek interactive board, biometric desks that adjusted to each student's preferences, and ambient lighting—was a sharp contrast to the gothic castle-like architecture of Crownleigh Academy. Only six students occupied this exclusive space, each representing the future of their influential families the only occupants of Montgomery Hall.
Across from Caroline sat Daphne Morgan, the poised daughter of Patrick morgan head of the morgan family founders and owners of JPMorgan chase. Her black hair framed a sharp, calculating face, and her piercing green eyes rarely missed anything. To her left was Paul Orsini, heir to an Italian banking dynasty, who carried himself with a quiet confidence that contrasted with his soft features. Noah Dantana Tinubu, the charismatic son of a Nigerian oil magnate, lounged in his seat with a grin that promised mischief. Li Wei, a reserved but sharp-minded student from a powerful Chinese political family, sat near the window, his dark eyes focused on the teacher as though mentally dissecting every word. Lastly, Ekaterina Romanov, a girl whose icy demeanor matched her Russian oligarch roots, leaned back in her chair, casually inspecting her polished nails as though the class discussion was beneath her.
The teacher, a stern woman in her forties named Dr. Evelyn Thatcher, stood at the front of the room, her tailored gray suit as sharp as her intellect. She was a world-renowned expert in finance and global politics, and her classroom demanded attention—even from students who weren't easily impressed.
"Ms. Blackwell," Dr. Thatcher's voice sliced through the soft hum of Caroline's scrolling. "Would you care to rejoin us in the realm of world finance? Or is your phone more pressing than the intricacies of geopolitical market trends?"
Caroline looked up with a flash of irritation, her black eyes cool as she placed her phone down on the desk. "Of course, Dr. Thatcher," she said with a slight drawl, though the reluctance in her tone was evident.
Satisfied, Dr. Thatcher turned back to the holographic chart projected at the front of the room. "Now, as I was saying, the shifting dynamics of global trade alliances require a nuanced understanding of economic dependency. Let's consider the hypothetical scenario where—"
Noah's hand shot up, a grin spreading across his face. "Ma'am, instead of hypotheticals, why don't we use real-world examples? Something someone in this class is very much… familiar with." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced toward Caroline.
The room tensed. Even Ekaterina paused mid-inspection of her nails.
Dr. Thatcher raised an eyebrow but gestured for him to continue. "Go ahead, Mr. Tinubu."
"What would happen to Blackwell Investments if the sister wins her claim to half the shares?" Noah's tone was casual, but the weight of his question was anything but.
Daphne muttered under her breath, "Fool," while shooting him a withering look.
Dr. Thatcher's eyes narrowed as she studied the students. Before she could interject, Li Wei adjusted his glasses and spoke up, his tone measured and analytical.
"Actually, I'd like to know as well. Under New York corporate law, particularly given the trend toward equity and fairness, it's likely the court could rule in favor of the sister. If both parties hold equal shares, it creates a scenario of dual control. This could lead to gridlock in decision-making, destabilize confidence, and potentially invite hostile takeovers over their existing shares. Moreover, considering the scope of Blackwell Investments' portfolio, any prolonged conflict could result in—"
Li continued, listing potential legal and financial ramifications with the precision of a seasoned analyst. His calm delivery contrasted sharply with the growing tension in the room. Caroline's knuckles whitened as her grip on the desk tightened.
Sensing the atmosphere, Dr. Thatcher cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should shift focus to a different topic."
Paul Orsini, ever the diplomat, spoke up, his voice smooth and nonchalant. "Ma'am, why don't we discuss the case of the 2024 Eurobond defaults instead?"
Paul's suggestion was deliberate, his gaze flickering toward Caroline with a hint of concern. He was clearly trying to diffuse the situation. But before Dr. Thatcher could respond, Caroline stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the polished marble floor.
"You all really underestimate my grandfather," she began, her voice steady but laced with quiet fury, "and, by extension, his heir—my father."
She looked around the room, her black eyes locking onto each of her classmates. "Just know this: Blackwells never lose."
Grabbing her designer bag, she walked out of the classroom, her heels clicking against the floor with a determined rhythm. As she exited, she collided with someone in the hallway.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" the girl exclaimed, steadying Caroline with a light touch. She had a bright smile and warm brown eyes. "Hi, I'm Clara Hill. How are you?"
Caroline hesitated, studying the girl with a mix of suspicion and curiosity before nodding curtly. "Caroline Blackwell."
Clara's smile widened, and she extended a hand. "Nice to meet you."
Caroline didn't take it. Instead, she adjusted her bag and walked past Clara without another word.
The scene shifted to New York, where the courtroom buzzed with subdued energy. The heavy wooden doors opened, and a tall man strode in with an air of effortless confidence. The man exuded charisma. His tailored suit emphasized his broad shoulders, and his sharp features seemed almost chiseled. Every step he took commanded attention.
Taking the witness stand, He raised his right hand and swore the oath with a practiced ease. Gregory Baldwin wasted no time.
"Mr. Richmond Blackwell," Gregory began, his tone courteous but firm, "I'd like to ask you a few questions…"