The Trillionaire Son-in-Law: God-Level Choice System

Three-Branch Inquisition

The Song Family Villa sat on the hillside of the North District, a sprawling estate of faux-European architecture that screamed "new money." Iron gates, marble lions, and a driveway long enough to tire a horse.

Usually, this place made Chase feel small. For three years, he had only been allowed to enter through the side door, the one reserved for servants and deliveries. He had scrubbed the driveway on his hands and knees. He had trimmed the hedges until his fingers bled.

Tonight, the Rolls Royce Phantom glided through the main gates like a phantom shark entering a koi pond.

"Chase," Bella whispered, her hand gripping the leather armrest until her knuckles turned white. "My right eyelid is twitching. That means disaster. Maybe we should turn back."

Chase reached over and covered her hand with his. His palm was warm, calloused, but steady. "Turn back? We haven't even had tea yet."

"This isn't tea," Bella said, looking at the brightly lit mansion. Shadows moved behind the curtains. "Look at the cars. Uncle Bob’s Mercedes. Aunt Sarah’s BMW. Even Cousin Henry’s Porsche is here. All three branches of the family are present. This isn't a reunion, Chase. It’s a tribunal."

"Good," Chase said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I hate having to repeat myself. It’s better to tell them all to shut up at once."

The car stopped. The driver opened the door.

Chase stepped out, ignoring the chill in the night air. He straightened his cheap grey T-shirt. It was a ridiculous contrast—the billion-dollar aura, the luxury car, and the outfit of a construction worker.

"Let's go," Chase said.

The Living Room.

The atmosphere inside was heavy enough to crush a man's lungs.

The massive crystal chandelier was fully lit, casting a harsh, interrogation-room glare over the gathered clan. The furniture had been rearranged. The plush sofas were set in a semi-circle, facing a single, wooden stool in the center of the room.

At the head of the room sat Grandma Song. She sat on her rosewood "Dragon Chair," clutching a dragon-head cane. Her face was a map of wrinkles, each one etched with greed and calculation. She didn't look like a grandmother; she looked like an Empress Dowager presiding over an execution.

To her left sat Uncle Bob, the eldest son. He was a rotund man in a tight suit, tapping his fingers on his knee, his eyes darting around like a rat looking for cheese.

To her right sat Aunt Sarah, a woman whose face was so tight from Botox she could barely blink. She was whispering furiously to her son, Henry.

And standing in the middle, wailing into a handkerchief, was Adams.

"Mother! You have to believe me!" Adams sobbed, pointing at the door as Chase and Bella walked in. "I didn't know! I thought he was just joking! If I knew he had stolen a credit card, I would have called the police myself! He’s trying to drag our family into prison!"

The room went silent as the heavy oak doors closed behind Chase.

Twenty pairs of eyes locked onto him. Scorn. Fear. Greed. Suspicion.

"Kneel," Grandma Song said.

Her voice was quiet, raspy, but it carried the weight of forty years of matriarchal rule.

Bella flinched. Instinctively, her knees buckled. She had been conditioned to obey this voice since birth.

Chase reached out and caught her arm, holding her upright. He stood tall, looking straight at the old woman.

"My knees are bad, Grandma," Chase said calmly. "I prefer to stand."

"Insolence!" Uncle Bob jumped up, slamming his hand on the armrest. "Chase Lu! Do you know what you’ve done? You committed grand larceny! Fraud! Identity theft! You bought a hotel for three hundred million with a stolen card!"

"Stolen?" Chase raised an eyebrow. "Who did I steal it from?"

"How should we know?" Aunt Sarah screeched. "Maybe you murdered a foreign tycoon! Maybe you hacked a bank! It doesn't matter! What matters is that the police will trace it back to us because you are—unfortunately—our son-in-law!"

"Divorce!" Adams screamed, suddenly stopping her fake crying. She rushed over to Bella. "Daughter, sign the papers now! We need to cut ties before the SWAT team arrives! If we divorce him, we can say he acted alone!"

Bella pulled her arm away from her mother. "Mom! Stop it! Chase said... Chase said it was an inheritance."

"Inheritance?" Uncle Bob laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound. "Bella, use your brain. His parents were factory workers who died of overwork. His ancestors were farmers. What inheritance? Did a Nigerian Prince email him?"

"It’s true," Cousin Henry sneered from the corner. "I checked the dark web forums. There’s a new hacking device that clones black cards. He probably bought one. That money isn't real. It’s a digital glitch. When the bank realizes it, they’ll come for blood."

Grandma Song thumped her cane on the floor. Thud. Thud.

"Enough noise," she commanded.

She looked at Chase with cold, reptilian eyes.

"Chase," she said slowly. "You have been in our family for three years. We fed you. We housed you. We gave you a purpose."

Chase almost laughed. Purpose? You made me a slave.

"I am a benevolent matriarch," Grandma Song continued. "I will not see you rot in jail without a chance. Hand over the card."

Chase tilted his head. "Excuse me?"

"The Black Card," Grandma Song extended a withered, trembling hand. "Give it to Uncle Bob. We will put it in the Family Trust. We will hire the best lawyers to... negotiate with the bank. We will tell them you found it. We will mitigate the damage. If there is any money left legally, we will manage it for you, since you are too uneducated to handle such wealth."

Chase looked around the room. He saw the hunger in their eyes. They didn't believe he stole it. Or maybe they did. It didn't matter. They just wanted to hold the card. They wanted to swipe it. They wanted the power.

"So," Chase said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You want to confiscate my inheritance to 'protect' me?"

"It is for your own good!" Uncle Bob said, stepping forward, his eyes glued to Chase’s back pocket. "Give it here. Now. Before the police sirens start wailing."

[Ding!]

[System Detected: Hostile Extortion Attempt.]

[Triggered Event: The Family Tribunal.]

[Please make a choice:]

[Option A: Slap Uncle Bob immediately. Reward: $1 Million Cash. (System Note: Too easy. Low satisfaction.)]

[Option B: Hand over the card willingly. Reward: Title 'The Idiot' (Intelligence -50). The Family will take the money and kick you out.]

[Option C: Keep the card, toss it on the table, and provoke them to call the Police. Reward: Unlocks 'Law Enforcement Immunity' Token + 500 System Points.]

Chase smiled. It was the smile of a hunter watching a rabbit walk into a trap.

"You want the card?" Chase asked.

"Yes!" Adams yelled. "Give it to your Uncle!"

"Okay."

Chase reached into his back pocket.

Uncle Bob’s eyes widened. He licked his lips. He was already imagining the cars he would buy, the debts he would clear.

Chase pulled out the Centurion Black Gold Supreme Card. Under the crystal chandelier, the matte black surface seemed to absorb the light, the geometric etchings glowing faintly.

He didn't hand it to Bob.

He flicked his wrist.

Clatter.

The metal card spun across the polished mahogany coffee table and came to a stop right in the center, equidistant from everyone.

"There it is," Chase said, crossing his arms.

Uncle Bob lunged forward.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," Chase said softly.

Uncle Bob froze, his hand hovering inches from the card. "W-Why?"

"Because," Chase said, his voice calm and deadly. "That card is registered to my biometrics. But more importantly... if you take it, you are accepting liability."

"Liability?" Aunt Sarah frowned.

"You all think I stole it, right?" Chase looked at them. "You think it’s a fraud. You think the police are coming. Well, if you take possession of 'stolen goods,' you become the accomplice. Actually, you become the prime suspect."

Chase pulled out his phone and tossed it on the table next to the card.

"Go ahead," Chase challenged. "Call the police. Tell them Chase Lu is here with a stolen black card worth ten billion dollars. Let them come. Let them investigate."

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Grandma Song.

"But remember this. If the police come, and they find out the card is real... and they find out you were trying to extort it from me..."

Chase let the sentence hang in the air like a guillotine blade.

"Take it," Chase whispered. "Who wants to be the first to go to prison? Uncle Bob? You look eager."

Uncle Bob’s hand trembled. He looked at the card. It was right there. Infinite wealth. But Chase’s confidence was terrifying. Why wasn't he scared? Why was he daring them to call the cops?

Is it a trap?

"I..." Uncle Bob pulled his hand back as if the card were made of red-hot iron. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. "I... we need to verify it first."

"Coward," Chase sneered.

"I am not a coward!" Uncle Bob roared, his face turning red. "I am being prudent! Mother! Look at his attitude! He is bluffing! He knows we are too scared to call the police because of the scandal!"

"Then call them," Chase said. "I'll wait."

The room was deadlocked. The card sat there, a black monolith of temptation and terror.

Grandma Song’s eyes narrowed. She had lived eighty years. She had seen liars, and she had seen truthful men. She couldn't read Chase. And that terrified her.

"Adams," Grandma Song hissed.

"Yes, Mother?" Adams squeaked.

"Call the police," the old woman commanded. "Report a grand larceny. Let the authorities decide if this trash is a billionaire or a criminal."

Adams hesitated. She looked at Chase. Chase winked at her.

"Call them, Mom," Chase said cheerfully. "Maybe they'll give you a ride in the cruiser."

Adams’ hands shook as she dialed 9-1-1.

[Ding! Choice C Selected.]

[Reward Unlocked: Law Enforcement Immunity Token.]

[System Note: The Host cannot be arrested by local authorities. The Global Banking Alliance has been notified of your location.]

Chase sat down on the wooden stool, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.

"I hope you have good tea," Chase said. "It’s going to be a long night."