I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 136: Day Of Reckoning II

Inside the police precinct, the place buzzed with its usual chaos—officers bringing in fender benders, ticketing jaywalkers, and booking petty criminals. The scent of coffee and donuts filled the air, and the hum of chatter and occasional laughter created a deceptive sense of normalcy. But inside the highest office, normalcy had no place.

"Olivia, I'm telling you—you can't go there. I forbid you from going. If you do, you'll be suspended until further notice," the precinct commander, Mark, said, his voice sharp with authority.

Olivia, standing rigidly before him, crossed her arms. "Well, sir, I'm sorry to say this, but I don't report to you. I report to the deputy chief—and only him. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, turning towards the door, her voice steady despite the fury building inside her.

She had barely taken a step before she noticed it—the door was locked. Through the glass panel, she saw officers standing outside, forming a blockade. Mark had planned this. He was expecting her reaction.

Her eyes snapped back to him. He was seated behind his desk, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

"I knew you were going to do this the moment I heard what happened," he said, rubbing his temples as if dealing with a child throwing a tantrum. "I've already called your supervisor. He'll be here any moment. Until then, you're not going anywhere."

Olivia's jaw clenched. She whirled back to face him fully, her fists tightening at her sides. "Mark, what the hell are you doing?" she demanded, barely keeping her voice in check.

Mark didn't answer with words. Instead, a deafening bang shook the room as his fist slammed into the desk. Olivia flinched but held her ground. When she looked up, she was met with an expression she had never seen before—rage, disappointment, and something that almost looked like fear.

"What am I doing?" Mark bellowed, his chest rising and falling heavily. "No, Olivia, what are you doing? Have you lost your damn mind? What did you think was going to happen? Some woman walks in here accusing one of the richest, most powerful men in the world, and your first instinct is to grab your gun, slap on some handcuffs, and do what? Arrest him? Do you have any idea what you're stepping into?"

Olivia's breath was coming faster now, but it wasn't from fear—it was from rage. Seeing Mark, usually so composed, so rational, reacting like this only fueled the fire inside her.

"What did you expect me to do, Mark?" she shot back, her voice shaking with anger. "Turn around and pretend I didn't hear her? Just because he's powerful? Because he's rich? That gives him the right to do this?"

Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every fiber of his being. "Olivia—"

"No! You should've seen her, Mark! If you had, you wouldn't be saying this! You wouldn't be trying to stop me—you'd be helping me!" Olivia's voice cracked, but she pushed through, her hands shaking as she spoke. "She was his employee, Mark. She worked under him, and he used that. He took advantage of her! You should've seen her!" Her voice faltered for a moment, but she pressed on. "The bruises on her body, the way she shrank into herself like she wanted to disappear, like she was disgusted with her own body! And you want me to just walk away? Just because you're afraid?"

"Yes!" Mark exploded, his face red with fury. "Yes, Olivia, I am afraid! Because unlike you, I can see the bigger picture! Do you know who we're talking about here? Do you have any idea what will happen if we pursue this?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. "This is Alexander Blackwell we're talking about. One of the most powerful men on the planet. You think we can just bring him in like some common thug? Even if it's true, Olivia, do you really think we'll be allowed to do anything about it? Do you understand what's at stake? If we do this, we lose everything. Our careers? Gone. Our jobs? Gone. They will make an example out of us. Especially you."

Olivia froze.

"You know they don't want you here, Olivia," Mark said, his voice lower now, but no less intense. "You're already a pariah in this department. You think they'll hesitate to throw you to the wolves if you go after someone like Blackwell? This will be the end of you."

The words hung between them, heavy and suffocating. For the first time since she stormed into his office, Olivia felt the weight of what she was about to do.

But fear? No. That wasn't what she felt.

It was anger.

Mark exhaled sharply, his voice firm and unwavering. "I'm not saying we should let this go, Olivia. I'm not saying we should lie down and take it. But it doesn't always have to be you. Your deputy chief is on his way. When he arrives, he can take this straight to the chief of detectives himself. Hell, this will even reach the police commissioner, and the District Attorney will be involved too. That's how big this is. It's not a case for a regular detective or even a captain like me. Have you heard me? Just forget about all this." He let out a heavy sigh, his eyes searching hers. "I thought I even heard you had a new case. Focus on that, Olivia. Leave this one alone."

His voice was resolute, unwavering.

Olivia studied him for a long moment, then her voice came out barely above a whisper. "What if it was Faith?"

Mark's entire demeanor changed in an instant. His face hardened, his posture stiffening as the anger in his eyes was replaced by something colder—something raw. His voice dropped, dangerously close to a whisper. "Olivia… don't go there."

But she had already stepped over that invisible line. "No, no, I am going there," she shot back, her voice rising with uncontained emotion. "We all know how this works. If we tell the police commissioner and the rest of them, we know exactly what they'll do. They'll kill this case before it even breathes. He's a powerful man, Mark. And men like him? They have friends in powerful places. Friends like them." Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. "And yet, you're telling me you'd rather take it to them? You'd rather hand it over, knowing full well that we'd be sentencing that poor woman to live with the fact that we let her down?"

She took a step closer, her eyes burning with fury and grief. "So I ask again, Mark. If it was Faith—if it was your little baby girl—would you let this happen?"

Mark's jaw clenched. His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. "This and that are not the same thing," he said, but there was a slight tremor in his voice, betraying the emotions simmering beneath his hardened facade.

"But it is!" Olivia shouted, her voice breaking with grief and frustration. "Isn't that exactly what she complained about? How we shunned her? How we chose not to believe her? How we abandoned her?"

Her breathing hitched as she blinked back tears. "That's how she killed herself, Mark. She couldn't stand the shame anymore." Her voice was shaking now, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. "That's how our daughter died. And now we're failing someone else, again. Just like we failed her."

Her voice broke completely as she sobbed, her entire body trembling. "Our daughter, Mark! We failed our daughter! We killed her! I killed her!" Her grief poured out like a tidal wave, consuming every ounce of her being. Her hands flailed as she wept, her cries filled with pain so deep it was suffocating.

Mark moved quickly, pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed against his chest. He whispered into her ear, his voice soft yet urgent. "No, no, Olivia. You didn't kill Faith. You didn't do anything. You didn't know. I didn't know. This is not your fault."

But Olivia shook her head violently against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "No, no! It is! It is my fault!"

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him through tear-filled eyes. "But I know I can't change that now." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was something fierce in the way she spoke. Something unbreakable.

Mark held her tighter, as if trying to keep her from slipping away into the depths of her own pain. "Olivia—"

She gently pushed him away, shaking her head as she wiped at her tears. "But I can stop any other injustice," she said, her voice steady now, her grief transforming into something else—something stronger. "I may not have been able to protect my little girl, but I'll make damn sure no one else gets away with defiling a woman. I swore it on her grave. Rich man, politician, the president, or even the devil himself—I will take them all down."

She straightened her shoulders, her resolve unshakable. Then she looked at Mark, her gaze piercing. "Now, answer me, Mark. Are you with me on this?" Her voice didn't waver. "For the sake of our daughter?"

Mark stared at her, and for a brief moment, it was as if he saw Faith in her—his little girl, the daughter they lost. His throat tightened, and his lips parted, ready to speak—

The door to the office swung open abruptly.

One of the officers Mark had stationed outside stood there, his voice breaking the moment. "Sir, the deputy chief is here."

Mark exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Olivia didn't break eye contact with him as he moved to welcome the deputy chief into the room.

Minutes later, after explaining everything, Mark looked sideways at Olivia. She hadn't stopped staring at him, her gaze sharp, expectant. He let out a sigh, knowing there was no turning back now.

The deputy chief, having listened to the entire story, sat back in his chair, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice low but carrying weight.

"Yes, sir," Mark replied. "The woman filed the complaint just a few hours ago."

The deputy chief exhaled, running a hand over his mouth. "Oh, Lord. This is huge." A small, almost amused smile crept onto his face as he turned toward Olivia. "And the woman? Where is she? Is she still here? Can I speak to her?"

Olivia's eyes narrowed at the eagerness in his tone. Her voice was like ice. "She's not here. She was taken to the hospital already." She folded her arms, her expression unforgiving. "And sir, might I remind you that this is a serious matter?"

The deputy chief cleared his throat, feigning a cough as he straightened in his chair. "Yes, yes. Of course, I know that," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "So, we should assemble some men to—"

"What? No," he interrupted himself quickly. "This case is too sensitive. I need to speak with the DA first. Then the commissioner."

He turned to Mark, his tone shifting. "And because of that sensitivity, I want this case kept quiet. It doesn't leave this room, understood?"

Mark hesitated for a second before nodding. "Yes, sir."

"Good." The deputy chief nodded approvingly. "And when the woman gets out of the hospital, make sure she talks to no one. Keep her in a room—no press, no leaks. Better yet, I'll send two of my guys to 'help' her. Make sure she's safe."

His voice held something that made Olivia's stomach twist.

He stood up, turning to leave, then suddenly paused. "Oh, and Mark—"

Mark straightened. "Sir?"

The deputy chief chuckled. "No need for all that formal stuff. Honestly, when you called me, I thought you were in trouble again." He smirked. "But this—this is a good job, Mark. Good job."

With that, he gave him a casual salute and walked out, almost colliding with someone about to knock at the door.

John stepped in, glancing back at the retreating figure. "Wow. Was that the deputy chief of detectives?" He whistled as he watched the man leave the precinct.

Mark's head snapped up the moment the door swung open, and his eyes narrowed as he saw who had just entered. "John, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice laced with impatience.

John hesitated for a second before stepping forward. "Sorry, sir. I was looking for Olivia. They told me she was in your office."

At that, he turned to Olivia, who stood off to the side, seemingly lost in thought. "Olivia, come with me. It's about our case—there's been a development."

His voice was urgent, but Olivia didn't move, her expression distant, as though she was listening to something only she could hear. John frowned before gesturing toward the door again. "Olivia, let's go."

Mark, watching the exchange, folded his arms across his chest. "What development?" he asked, his voice sharp with authority.

John hesitated. "Ehm… it's nothing, sir. Just a minor issue."

Mark's eyes narrowed. "Detective John, answer me. What issue?"

John glanced at Olivia again, noticing how she still seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. Letting out a small sigh, he finally said, "It's the suspect's brother-in-law. He's a lawyer, and he's here. He's demanding the suspect's release."

Mark scoffed. "And? Since when is that a big deal? It's not like this is the first time you've dealt with a lawyer even if you aren't good with them just stall him she is coming soon."

John shifted uncomfortably. "Well… it's not just any lawyer. It's… Carter Litt."

Mark's entire demeanor changed in an instant. His expression darkened, his posture tensed, and his voice shot up an octave. "What?!" He turned sharply toward Olivia, anger flashing in his eyes. "The suspect is Carter Litt's brother-in-law, Olivia?! Why the hell didn't you tell me that?!" He took a step closer. "I hope to God you didn't do anything illegal, because if you did, you—"

"Wait." Olivia's voice cut through the room, firm and unwavering. It was the first time she had spoken in a while, and both men froze at the sheer force behind it.

John and Mark turned to her, both caught off guard.

"What?" Mark asked, frustration evident in his tone.

But Olivia didn't answer him. Instead, she moved quickly, reaching for the remote control on Mark's desk. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed the button, and the television mounted in the top right corner of the room flickered to life.

The screen displayed a live news broadcast. The camera focused on a female reporter standing in front of a chaotic scene—thick, dark smoke billowed into the sky from what appeared to be a burning port.

The reporter's voice came through, loud and urgent. "Early this morning, authorities were alerted to a massive fire at the Blackwell Island Port. This is no ordinary port—it connects directly to Blackwell Island, the same location where last time fatal shooting took place. Officials are still trying to determine the cause of the fire, but the situation has already escalated. One body has been found in the rubble, completely unrecognizable due to severe burns."

The camera panned slightly to the left, capturing the growing unrest among the gathered crowd. Protesters flooded the streets, holding up signs, shouting, their faces contorted with anger and grief.

The reporter continued, her voice slightly strained, "As you can see behind me, a sea of protesters has taken to the streets, many of them convinced that the victim was one of their own. Speculations are already spreading, and the authorities have yet to release an official statement. However, it has not gone unnoticed that protest leader Michael Zeller is absent from the demonstration today. Given that he was last seen talking about retaliating after the last incident near the port before the fire, some fear the worst. Could he be the body found in the wreckage? We'll keep you updated as more information emerges."

The broadcast ended abruptly as Olivia switched off the TV.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Mark's gaze flickered between the now-blank screen and Olivia. "Olivia… wait," he said cautiously, sensing the tension radiating from her.

Updat𝒆d fr𝑜m freewebnøvel.com.

She turned, her expression unreadable.

"Where are you going?" Mark asked, his voice laced with concern.

She inhaled sharply. "Didn't you hear? Carter Litt is in the building. It won't do any good to leave him alone. We don't need any legal issues."

Then she turned to John. "Let's go. We have a lawyer to meet."

Without another word, she strode out of the room, John following close behind.

As they walked through the precinct, John shook his head. "So Michael Zeller is dead? That's insane. And by fire again? Damn… these rich people don't play, do they?" He let out a bitter chuckle before continuing, "What do you think? Was it an accident, or did someone make sure he didn't make it out?"

His words hung heavy in the air, but Olivia didn't respond.

John sighed, glancing around. That was when he finally realized where they were heading.

"Wait… what are we doing here?" he asked, stopping in his tracks as they arrived at the precinct's parking garage.

Olivia turned around briefly before climbing into the driver's seat of the unmarked police car. "John, I want you to handle Carter. I have something important to do."

John's eyes widened. "What? No. No, no, no, no. I can't do that. You know I'm not good with lawyers—especially one like Carter. You started this mess. You finish it."

But Olivia had already turned the ignition. She met his gaze through the window, her voice firm but not unkind. "I know you can handle this. I really have to go."

Before he could argue further, the tires screeched against the pavement as she sped off, leaving John standing there, dumbfounded.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Fuck, man."

The air was thick with smoke, a dense, choking veil that wrapped around the burning port like a sinister shroud. Olivia Kensington. stepped out of her car, her sharp eyes scanning the chaotic scene before her. Firefighters dashed in all directions, their reflective suits illuminated by the blaze still smoldering in the background. The acrid scent of charred wood and fuel clung to the air, stinging her nostrils. The roar of emergency sirens blended with the shouts of onlookers, journalists, and first responders, creating an overwhelming cacophony.

The massive crowd of protesters, their banners and signs lifted high, surged against the barricades, their chants echoing in the smoke-tainted night. News reporters were stationed in clusters, cameras rolling, capturing every flicker of the tragedy unfolding before them. Olivia pulled her coat tighter around her, her expression unreadable as she moved toward the crime scene.

A uniformed officer, standing just beyond the police tape, spotted her approaching. "Ma'am, this area is restricted—" he began, stepping forward to halt her.

Olivia smoothly reached into her coat, pulling out her badge and flashing it before his eyes. "Special Detective Olivia Kensington.," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the officer's protests like a blade.

The officer's eyes widened in recognition, and he quickly stepped aside. "Oh, sorry, ma'am. Go ahead."

As she crossed the police line, her presence did not go unnoticed. The moment she stepped past the barricade, a sudden burst of camera flashes nearly blinded her. The harsh, artificial light cut through the haze, casting stark shadows over the ground. The next thing she knew, a swarm of reporters had rushed toward her.

"Ma'am, are you a police officer?" one journalist called out, a microphone thrust in her direction.

Olivia, caught off guard for a second, blinked at the blinding lights before steadying herself. "Yes, I'm a detective."

That answer only seemed to fuel the reporters, their voices overlapping as they hurled questions at her.

"Detective, is the body found in the rubble that of activist Michael Zeller?"

"Has the fire been ruled as arson, or was it an accident?"

"Do you have any suspects yet?"

Their voices bombarded her from all angles, but Olivia remained unshaken. She lifted a hand, silencing them with a calm but commanding gesture. "I don't have answers to those questions right now," she said evenly. "I'm not here for that."

The moment she said it, the interest in her presence seemed to wane. Reporters, eager for information about the fire and the deceased activist, started looking elsewhere. But one journalist, a young woman with sharp eyes, tilted her head in curiosity. "Then, detective, what did you come here for?"

Olivia turned her gaze to the woman. There was no hesitation in her voice when she spoke next. "I came to arrest Alexander Blackwell."

The words struck like a gunshot, sending shockwaves through the gathered crowd. The reporters, who had been losing interest just moments ago, collectively gasped. Microphones shot toward her, cameras zooming in, capturing every detail of her impassive expression.

"What?" one reporter blurted out, incredulous. "But I doubt Alexander Blackwell would be involved in this fire—are you saying he's behind it?"

Olivia remained calm, shaking her head. "No, I already told you—I'm not here because of the fire."

Her gaze locked onto the nearest camera, her voice as steady as steel as she made her declaration.

"I came to arrest Alexander Blackwell for raping his employee, Barbara Longbottom."

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. And then, as if the world had been waiting to catch up with her words, chaos erupted.

Author's Note

This chapter is dedicated to VisineAnt for sending me another golden ticket—thank you so much! I truly appreciate your support.

Also, consider joining my Patreon using the link below for exclusive updates on this book, voting opportunities, and a chance to support my work i also have a book there and another one on the way. Your support means the world to me—thank you! /David_Adetola