After The Divorce, I Suddenly Inherited $100 trillion

The Shepherd family

Bruce picked up his last belongings in his room.

He didn't have a lot of possessions; only a few shirts and two worn out shoes that he had bought with his own pocket money.

Nobody came to see him off. Not his ex-wife, not his in-laws. The Griffin family were too busy celebrating the divorce to bother with him.

For all they care, he could drop dead.

Outside, rain poured mercilessly from the sky, drenching the small Griffin estate. The rain didn't stop Bruce. He couldn't bear to remain there for another second.

Opening his small umbrella, he stepped into the rain and began his slow walk from the Griffin estate.

He didn't look back.

The divorce was over. He had left immediately when that strange text message appeared on his phone.

"Could it be true?" He asked himself. "Am I truly the heir to the Shepherd conglomerate?"

The question echoed relentlessly in his mind.

There had been two messages that day. The second text was a location where he would be picked up.

Bruce followed it without thinking. His thoughts were so tangled that he barely noticed how long he’d been walking until he reached the destination.

Flints Street Bus Stop.

The area was deserted due to the rain. It was just Bruce and his umbrella under the rain.

He pulled out his phone, reading the second text once again.

Master Bruce, Be at the Flints Street Bus Stop at exactly 3:00 PM. A convoy will arrive to escort you.

Bruce checked the time. It was 2:58 PM. Just a couple of minutes left. He remained standing under the rain, his umbrella shielding him from the rain.

His hand tightened around his bag. His heart pounded. He hadn't questioned the text message. He hadn't verified anything.

Because he didn't want to believe it was all a prank. He had nowhere to go. No money, and no place to sleep.

Deep in his heart, he prayed this wasn't a cruel joke.

At that moment, the clock on his phone flipped to 3:00 PM.

Bruce waited.

One second passed. Then another.

Nothing.

The rain fell harder. No headlights. No engine sounds. Not even a passing car.

His shoulders sagged as he let out a disappointed sigh. Exhaustion washed over him.

"I knew it," he muttered, lowering his head. "This was just some stupid prank. I'm so tired. I can't do this anymore."

Just as he turned to leave, his ears pricked up at the roar of car engines.

Bruce slowly turned. He instantly froze at the sight before him.

A procession of luxury cars rolled into view. They pulled up beside the bus stop in perfect formation, water splashing beneath their tires.

At the front stood a matte-black Rolls-Royce Cullinan.

Flanking it were two blacked-out Mercedes-Maybach S-Class sedans.

Behind them rolled a pair of armored jet-black Chevrolet Suburbans.

At the rear, sealing the procession, was a black Mercedes G-Wagon.

The engines shut off simultaneously and the doors flew open at the same time.

The men who stepped out were ex-special forces. They were all dressed in tailored black suits and polished black shoes.

Dark glasses hid their eyes, and thin earpieces curled behind their ears. They moved towards him like soldiers as though they were protecting the president.

Bruce stood motionless beneath his umbrella, rain sliding off its edges, his heart hammering in his chest.

Then, to his shock, they bowed their backs, perfectly aligned at ninety degrees.

"Master Bruce," they chanted in unison. "We have come to take you home."

* * * *

The convoy of cars drove beyond the outskirts of the city into the open country.

Bruce stared out the window of the Rolls-Royce, his heart pounding. “What is this place?” he muttered under his breath.

Finally, the convoy reached the main boulevard leading up to a magnificent mansion overlooking the ocean.

Dozens of servants were already lined up on both sides of the stairs, hands folded neatly and posture straightened.

The cars pulled up before the mansion entrance.

The chauffeur stepped out of the Rolls-Royce and opened the rear door with a slight bow.

"We have arrived, Master Bruce."

Bruce stepped out of the car slowly. The moment his feet touched the stone pavement, every servant bowed deeply in unison.

“Welcome home, Master Bruce.”

Bruce froze, completely overwhelmed. He glanced around at the bowing servants, unsure what to do.

“Uh… hi?” he muttered, lifting his hand awkwardly.

The chauffeur gestured gently towards the entrance. "Please, go on ahead, Master Bruce."

Still dazed, Bruce walked forward between the two lines of servants. They were so immaculately dressed like they served royalty.

A servant held the massive front door open for him, a warm smile on his face.

The interior was nothing like anything Bruce had ever seen.

It was grand, with high ceilings supported by massive pillars.

Rare paintings worth millions of dollars lined up the walls. The furniture was so luxurious that Bruce was scared to sit on them.

At the center of the hall stood a man in a classic butler’s uniform, silver hair neatly combed.

"Welcome home, Master Bruce," he said warmly with a bow. "It is an honor to see you again."

Bruce approached him awkwardly. "Um... I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The butler chuckled lightly. "I doubt that. The last time I saw you, you were only but a baby."

Bruce felt a chill slide down his spine.

"This is real right?" Bruce asked. "I'm not dreaming, am I? I really am the heir to the Shepherd conglomerate?"

The butler straightened, nodding. "Yes indeed. This magnificent mansion, the house, the cars, the business empire—all belong to you. You inherited everything."

"Alright," Bruce swallowed hard, rubbing his temple. "I have a lot of questions. And I want answers."

The butler's smile deepened as if he had prepared himself ahead of time.

"Will do, master Bruce. Allow me to introduce myself," He bowed once more. "I am Oswald—Head butler of the Shepherd family.”