--- Trenton sat in the $25,000 leather chair on the 27th floor of Convergence Tower, staring out at Los Angeles. From up here, the city looked small. The traffic on the 110, the tiny people on the streets, the Hollywood sign in the distance — everything looked like it belonged to someone else. Five trillion dollars. The number kept repeating in his head like a broken record. It didn't feel real. Michael Sterling slid a black wooden box across the marble desk. "Young Master, these are yours now." Trenton opened it slowly with his large ebony hands. Inside were two cards. Both matte black. Both heavy — made of real metal, not plastic. No numbers on the front. No expiration date. Just his name engraved in silver: TRENTON ALEX. "The first is the Black Card from JP Morgan Reserve. There is no limit. You can buy a $5 coffee, or you can buy a $500 million b

---Trenton Alex woke up at 6:30 AM and didn't recognize the ceiling.It wasn't cracked. It wasn't stained with mold. There was no dripping sound.It was high, white, with recessed LED lights and a massive crystal chandelier that looked like falling stars. The bed he was lying on was a California King, so big he could roll three times and not fall off. The sheets were Egyptian cotton, cool and soft against his ebony skin.He sat up. His 6'4 athletic frame looked small in this room.This was the master bedroom of Villa Azure, a $52 million mansion in Beverly Hills that Michael Sterling had transferred to his name at 2 AM last night with one phone call."Young Master, you need a proper residence. The Inglewood motel is... not suitable for your status. Villa Azure is now yours. Staff of twelve. Garage for eight cars. Please enjoy."Trenton had laughed when he first walked in. Then he had walked around for an hour, touching

---10:00 AM. Beverly Hills. Reynolds Auto Group.Reynolds Auto Group was three massive dealerships on Wilshire — Porsche, Bentley, and Lamborghini. Floor-to-ceiling glass, marble floors, and cars worth $20 million on the floor. Old man Frank Reynolds, Jake's father, had built it from nothing and loved to brag that he had denied a billionaire entry to his club once.This morning, Frank Reynolds was in his office, yelling."What do you mean the assassin failed? You sent a woman to a massage parlor and she couldn't kill an 18-year-old college kid? Are you idiots?" he screamed into the phone, his face red. He was a fat man in his 50s, wearing a $5,000 suit that was too tight.Jake sat in the corner, his arm in a sling from last night when the bouncers at The Emperor Club had "escorted" him out a little too hard. His silver Porsche 911 was parked outside with a dent in the door."Dad, that guy Trenton... he wasn't normal. He bought Westwood Elite! He has a Bugatti! Where did he get money?

---Westwood Elite University had never seen a student like Trenton Alex buy a building before lunch and still show up for Business Law at 2 PM.He did both.At 11:47 AM, he signed the papers for Convergence Group Holdings to take 51% of Westwood Elite. At 1:58 PM, he walked into Professor Alvarez's class in a black Tom Ford suit, white shirt open at the collar, Richard Mille on his wrist, and a $2 notebook in his hand.The class went silent.Dr. Elena Alvarez, 32, Latina, ex-prosecutor turned Business Law professor, looked up from her podium. She was known for failing billionaires' sons. She wore a sharp navy blazer, no smile."Mr. Alex," she said, her voice crisp. "Nice of you to join us after buying the school. Do you plan to buy the exam answers too?"A few students laughed. Sophia Reed, in the second row, brown ponytail, pure face, didn't. She looked worried.Trenton sat in his usual seat, second row, not the back where owners sit. His 6'4 athletic frame folded into the small des