THE INVISIBLE HEIR: $5 TRILLION EMPIRE

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Los Angeles.

The afternoon sun was baking the campus of Westwood Elite University. It was the kind of university where the parking lot looked like a luxury car showroom — Teslas, G-Wagons, Porsche 911s parked carelessly by kids who had never worked a day in their lives.

And then there was Trenton Alex.

He was 18 years old, 6'4", with an athletic, broad-shouldered build that looked like it belonged on a Division I basketball court. His skin was deep ebony, smooth and flawless, his jawline sharp, his eyes dark and intense. He was the kind of handsome that made girls stop mid-sentence. Extremely handsome, the type girls fell for at first sight.

But today, that handsome face was hidden under a sweaty, faded light blue t-shirt. His jeans were worn out at the knees and frayed at the cuffs, stained black from grease. His sneakers were once white, now a sad grey.

Trenton walked slowly across the main quad, his eyes scanning the ground. Not because he was shy. Because he was looking for bottles.

Every plastic bottle was five cents. Ten bottles was fifty cents. Fifty bottles was dinner.

Students gave him a wide berth. Whispers followed him.

"Isn't that the fine Black kid from Econ 101? Why is he picking up trash?"

"Yeah, I heard he lives off-campus in some motel. So broke."

"Such a waste of good looks. He could be a model if he wasn't... you know."

Trenton heard everything. He had been hearing it for three years, ever since his parents died in a car crash when he was fifteen. The Alex family in Atlanta had been comfortable, not super-rich, but stable. After the accident, his uncle took everything. Trenton was left with nothing and told to "be a man."

He had learned to be deaf to whispers.

He spotted a discarded Aquafina bottle near a bench and bent his tall frame down to grab it.

"Ring! Ring! Ring!"

The sharp, old-fashioned ringtone of his cracked iPhone 6 cut through the air. A few girls giggled.

Trenton pulled out the phone. Unknown number.

"Hello?" he said, his voice low and calm.

"Is this Trenton Alex? Young Master Alex?" A deep, steady, middle-aged man's voice came from the other end. The tone was incredibly respectful, almost reverent.

Trenton frowned. "I'm Trenton Alex. But I'm not a Young Master anything. You got the wrong guy, man."

"Young Master Alex, there is an inheritance you need to claim. Do you have time today to come to the Convergence Tower?"

Trenton let out a short, humorless laugh. "Look, bro. I have $25 in my bank account. My rent is three months late. My parents are dead. I don't have any inheritance. Stop playing."

"Young Master, I understand this sounds—"

Trenton hung up.

Scam. Definitely a scam. These inheritance scammers were getting creative. They probably targeted broke college kids.

He shook his head and reached for the bottle again.

His phone rang again. Same number.

He hit decline without a second thought. He was worried if he wasted time, the old Mexican janitor who also collected bottles would take it.

"Snap!"

Just as his long fingers were about to close around the bottle, a red Louboutin high heel stepped right on it, crushing it flat.

Trenton paused. His hand stayed in mid-air. Slowly, very slowly, he looked up.

First, he saw long, tanned, perfectly smooth legs. Then a designer denim mini-skirt that barely covered anything. Then a tight black crop top that pushed up a full chest. Then a face with perfect makeup, blonde highlights, and lips that were currently curled in disgust.

Vanessa.

Vanessa Cole. His girlfriend. Or, well, his girlfriend for the last two years.

"Trenton? Are you serious right now?" Her voice was loud enough for everyone around to hear. Her pretty face was twisted with cold anger. "Picking up trash again? In front of my friends? Do you have any idea how embarrassing you are?"

Trenton slowly stood up to his full 6'4" height, towering over her. Even in her heels, she had to look up at him. For a second, her eyes flickered — that old attraction to his handsome face, his build. Then the disgust came back stronger.

"Vanessa, what are you doing here?" he asked quietly.

"What am I doing here? I came to tell you it's over! We're done! I cannot be with a loser who picks up garbage for a living! You are a worthless, broke, trash picker!"

Her words were like slaps. A small crowd was already forming. Phones were coming out. Westwood Elite loved drama.

"I..." Trenton started.

"Don't 'I' me! What's there to explain? You think I want to spend my life in some roach motel with you? Look at you! Look at your clothes! You can't even afford to take me to Nobu! You think you deserve me?"

Trenton stared at her. This was the girl who used to say she loved him because he was real, because he was different from all the fake rich boys. She was the only reason he had endured the humiliation of this campus for two years.

"I thought you were different," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but his dark eyes were burning.

"I AM different! I finally woke up! I deserve better!"

Just then, a guy stepped out from behind her and put his arm around her waist.

He was white, average height, average looking, but wearing a $2,000 Amiri shirt and a Rolex Submariner. Jake Reynolds. Junior. His father owned three car dealerships in Beverly Hills.

Jake looked Trenton up and down, his lip curling.

"Yo, Vanessa, babe, why are you still talking to the help?" Jake said loudly, making sure everyone heard. "I thought you dumped the janitor already."

Vanessa instantly melted into Jake's arms, her voice turning sweet and fake. "I did, baby. I was just telling him it's officially over."

Jake grinned and looked at Trenton. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and peeled off five hundred-dollar bills. He held them out, waving them in Trenton's face.

"Here, bro. I heard you do anything for money, right? Here's five hundred bucks. Do me a favor, go to CVS and buy me and Vanessa a box of condoms. We're gonna need them tonight. Consider it your last job for her."

A collective gasp, then laughter erupted from the crowd.

"Oh my god, he did not!"

"That's so savage!"

Trenton's handsome face was stone cold. His fists clenched at his sides. The veins on his ebony forearms bulged. Every instinct in his martial arts-trained body — a secret his mother had taught him since he was six — screamed at him to break Jake's jaw.

But he knew Jake. Jake had friends in a local gang. If he fought back, he would be expelled and maybe end up in jail. And he had no money for bail.

More importantly, the most humiliating part wasn't Jake asking him to buy condoms.

It was that for a split second, Trenton actually thought about taking the money.

Because his rent was $900 overdue. Because he hadn't eaten since yesterday.

He looked at Vanessa one last time, at the girl who had never even let him kiss her properly, now clinging to Jake.

"Vanessa, I hope you never regret your decision today," Trenton said, his voice deep, calm, and terrifyingly cold.

Vanessa scoffed. "Regret? Regret breaking up with a poor loser like you? Please. The only thing I regret is wasting two years."

Trenton didn't say another word. He turned his tall, athletic frame around and walked away, his back straight, his head high, disappearing from the crowd of laughing students.

He walked all the way back to his tiny, 150-square-foot studio apartment off-campus near Inglewood. The walls had mold. The AC didn't work.

He lay on his thin mattress and stared at the cracked ceiling. He felt empty. For the first time since his parents died, he wondered what the point was.

"Ding!"

A text message notification.

He picked up his phone lazily. It was from Chase Bank.

He opened it and froze.

`CHASE ALERT: Your checking account *4521 has been credited with $5,000,000.00. Available balance: $5,000,037.50`

Trenton sat bolt upright. His heart hammered so hard he could hear it in his ears.

Five... five million dollars?

His hands were trembling. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The number was still there. Five million.

His phone rang again. Same unknown number.

This time, with a shaking hand, he answered.

"Y-Young Master Alex... did you see the money I transferred to you?" The middle-aged man's voice was still respectful, but now with a small, knowing chuckle.

"Who... who are you? Why are you giving me so much money?" Trenton's voice was hoarse.

"Young Master, my name is Michael Sterling. I am the General Manager of Convergence Group. If you have time, please come to Convergence Tower, 27th Floor, Downtown LA. I will explain everything in person. About your inheritance. About the five trillion."

Five... trillion?

Trenton's mind went blank.