THE INVISIBLE HEIR: $5 TRILLION EMPIRE

Chapter 7: Buying Reynolds Auto Group — Jake Loses Everything

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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? He was picking bottles last week!" Jake whined.

"He's bluffing! He's renting! No 18-year-old has $2.8 billion to buy a university! I checked — that Bugatti is probably a replica! Today I'll show Los Angeles who really has money!" Frank slammed the phone.

Just then, the entire dealership shook.

_BRAAAP! BRAAAP! BRAAAP! BRAAAP!_

Four engines roaring at once. Not normal car engines. Hypercar engines.

Every salesman, every customer, every mechanic stopped and ran to the glass windows.

A convoy was pulling into Reynolds Auto Group's private lot, like a military parade of luxury.

First: Matte black Bugatti Chiron Super Sport 300+ — $4.2 million — carbon fiber, low, screaming.

Second: Blood red Lamborghini Aventador SVJ Roadster — $800k — scissor doors up like wings.

Third: Black and gold Rolls Royce Phantom Mansory — $600k — silent and massive.

Fourth: White Ferrari 488 Pista — $450k — roaring.

All four cars parked in a perfect line, blocking the entrance to the Lamborghini showroom.

The Bugatti's door went up.

And Trenton Alex stepped out.

He was wearing a white Dior t-shirt that clung to his athletic, ebony chest, black Amiri jeans ripped at the knees, white LV sneakers, and a diamond chain that glittered in the sun. On his wrist, the Richard Mille RM 52-01 — $1.2 million. On his eyes, black Cartier sunglasses. 6'4, athletic, extremely handsome — looking like a young king who had just stepped out of a music video.

Behind him, a black Maybach pulled up and Michael Sterling stepped out with six lawyers in suits, all carrying briefcases.

Behind Michael, a tow truck pulled up with a flatbed. On the flatbed was Jake's silver Porsche 911 — the same car Jake used to brag about — now with a boot on its wheel.

The whole dealership was silent.

Jake's face went from white to green. "Trenton... what the hell are you doing here? This is my dad's property! You can't park here!"

Trenton took off his sunglasses slowly, revealing his dark, intense, handsome eyes. He looked at Jake, then at Frank Reynolds who had just stormed out of his office.

"Good morning, Mr. Reynolds," Trenton said calmly, his deep voice carrying across the lot. "Nice dealerships you have here. Three of them. I like them. So I decided to buy them."

Frank Reynolds laughed, a loud, fake laugh. "Buy them? Kid, do you know how much my group is worth? $85 million! You? You were picking up my customers' trash last week! You think you can buy my empire with your rental Bugatti? Get off my lot before I call the police!"

Trenton didn't argue. He just looked at Michael Sterling and nodded.

Michael opened his briefcase and pulled out a single black document.

"Mr. Frank Reynolds, I am Michael Sterling, General Manager of Convergence Group Holdings. As of 9:30 AM this morning, Convergence Group has acquired 100% shares of Reynolds Auto Group through a hostile takeover via the stock market and private debt purchase. Your board sold to us at $120 million, 40% above market value. Here is the wire confirmation and transfer deed."

He handed the paper to Frank.

Frank's hands shook as he read it. The bank confirmation. $120,000,000.00 credited to Reynolds Holding LLC. Signatures. Stamps. Real.

His knees buckled. He grabbed onto a Lamborghini for support.

"What... what... you can't... this is illegal! I didn't approve! I am the owner!"

"You owned 45%. Your partners owned 55%. They sold," Michael said coldly. "From this second, you are no longer the owner. Young Master Trenton Alex is."

The entire staff of the dealership gasped. Salesmen stared at Trenton — the 18-year-old ebony boy in a Dior shirt who used to collect their water bottles.

Jake screamed, "Dad! No! Tell him it's fake! Tell him!"

But Frank Reynolds was staring at Trenton like he had seen a ghost.

Trenton walked up to Jake, his 6'4 athletic frame towering over him, his diamond chain swinging.

"Jake, remember yesterday you offered me $500 to buy you condoms for you and Vanessa? And you said you'd break my legs if I came near her?" Trenton said, his voice low, only Jake could hear.

Jake was trembling, his sling shaking. "Trenton, bro, please... I was joking... we were drunk... please don't..."

Trenton smiled — that handsome, girl-falling-at-first-sight smile, but now it was cold.

"I'm not going to break your legs, Jake. I'm going to give you a job. Since you like telling people what to do, you can be useful."

He snapped his fingers. One of the lawyers brought a small bucket of soapy water and a toothbrush.

Trenton pointed at his matte black Bugatti, which was covered in a light layer of Beverly Hills dust from the drive.

"My Bugatti is dirty. Wash it. With that toothbrush. In front of everyone. You have one hour. If there's one speck of dust left, you're fired from your own dealership."

The entire showroom erupted in whispers. Phones came out. People started recording.

Jake Reynolds — the rich heir who had bullied Trenton for two years, who had made him buy condoms — was on his knees in his $2,000 Amiri shirt, washing a $4.2 million Bugatti with a toothbrush, while his father watched, bankrupt, and Trenton Alex stood over him, arms crossed, Richard Mille glinting, looking like a god.

Vanessa Cole arrived at that exact moment in an Uber, having heard about the takeover. She saw Jake on his knees washing Trenton's car, and Trenton standing like a billionaire.

She ran to Trenton, her tight dress riding up, tears already streaming.

"Trenton! Baby! I knew you would win! I always believed in you! Leave Jake! Be with me! I'll do anything! Anything you want! Let's go to your mansion! Let's go to your private spa! Let's party!" she begged, grabbing his arm, pressing her body against his athletic chest.

Trenton looked down at her — the girl he had once loved for two years — and gently pushed her away for the second time.

"Vanessa, you already had your chance when I had nothing. I don't date girls who only love Bugattis. I date girls who loved me when I had bottles."

He turned to Michael Sterling. "Have security escort Mr. Jake Reynolds and Miss Cole off my property. And tell detailing to bring my other three cars around. I'm taking the Lambo to the nightclub tonight. I feel like showing off."

As Jake scrubbed the Bugatti tire with a toothbrush, crying with humiliation, and Vanessa was led away screaming Trenton's name, Trenton slid into the blood-red Lamborghini Aventador SVJ.

He revved the engine so loud the glass windows of his own dealership shook, and floored it down Wilshire Boulevard, the scissor door still open, the LA sun hitting his ebony skin.

He had $5 trillion. He had sports cars. He had nightclubs waiting. He had private wellness spas and yachts. He had a university. And now he had an auto group.

And this was just Day 2 of being rich.