The Young Student Trillionaire

Chapter 14

His mother's mansion stood elegant, as it had always been.

Sprawling and silent enough to hush down the heaviest of secrets.

Chance stepped out of the Bentley, the polished black exterior of the car reflecting the long pillars of his mother's house.

This was where he grew up.

He did not need to be directed to where he was going.

He knew the way.

The staff greeted him respectfully and with new eyes.

He was not the teenager who walked out of the house angrily some years back.

He had grown into something much more.

He is now at the helm of the affairs of a large business empire.

His mother was waiting for him in her study.

She was seated behind her small desk, looking through some campaign papers on her table.

A little light was coming into the room through the ventilations.

She had her glasses as she looked through the paper with an unreadable expression.

She looked up the moment Chance stepped into the room.

She removed her glasses and put them in the desk.

Looking at him, she said.

“It appears you have been busy,” 

Chance shut the door behind him and stretched his hand towards a chair across from her.

“You called me here. I had assumed it was something very urgent.” He replied.

“Of course it is.” She replied as she folded her hands and rested them on the desk.

“But I have also been watching you.” She said again.

He did not reply to her. He only looked at her

His mother let out a breath.

“The Sanders are now bankrupt. The Warrens also gave back a $3 million bag with trembling hands. Rickon Sanders is out of school. And now, one of the school beauty queens, Courtney Wiley, is being dragged across the university's social media for kneeling to beg you for a ride,” she said.

Chance still did not say anything in response.

“I must admit, they are rather quiet moves, but they are resounding loudly as we speak.” She added.

Again, he did not say anything.

He did not need to defend himself or his actions.

Not to her.

She sat back in her chair, looking at him.

“Do you still remember what we discussed the last time you were here?”

At this point, Chance's jaw flexed a bit.

“You told me to finish school and also maintain a low profile.”

“Is that all?”

“You also said the world needed to be reminded who the O’Connors were and our influence.”

“Good. I'm glad you still remember.” 

She then leaned forward again.

“The reason I called you here now is because it's now time to start doing that.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asked as he raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to go public about my identity?”

“Quite the opposite.” She answered quickly.

“It's not yet time for that. But the campaign is gaining traction daily. And I have already arranged for things that do need a heavier hand to handle. I need you to begin showing support towards it, so it will take me through the election.”

“I already said I would,” Chance replied calmly.

Julia gave a small nod. 

“You did. But it’s time for action now, not words.”

She opened her drawer and pulled out a file.

It was very thin.

It looked exotic and covered with leather straps.

“These are the super PACs we have tried to secure so far. Many of them were too easy to get. Mostly favors from old friends and other loyal campaign allies. But there are some places I do not have significant control and influence. And that can only happen if there is solid money to spend. Money that you own.”

Chance collected the file and perused it.

He continued flipping the pages in silence.

The numbers looked good.

He could clearly see the gaps in it.

She needed his input right away.

“You do not need to be active in the campaign process.” She continued talking.

“I also don't want you playing dilly-dallying around. I want you to start operating to the full extent of your power. Behind the scenes. Back me up. Ensure the playing field is tilted to our favor.”

Chance closed the file and looked up. 

“And what do I get in return?”

“First, your mother becomes the president of the United States of America. The most powerful woman in the world.” She said.

“That does not appear enough,” Chance replied with a faint smile.

“Yes, it's not. Which is why I'm allowing you to have full control. Any deal that is gotten from this campaign, be it corporate, private, or institutional, you are in control of it. Also, any leverage we get from this process will be yours alone. And when it's over, I will be sitting in the Oval Office. But you now have control over the empire we would have recovered.”

Now he leaned back, slowly.

That was the real offer.

Not just political support. 

But access. Gateways. 

Channels of control that would outlast the campaign itself. 

This wasn’t about helping his mother win. It was about restoring the dynasty his father built. 

And his mother was handing him the keys.

“All right,” Chance said at last. “I’ll move.”

Julia relaxed a bit. “Quietly, for now.”

“I know,” he said.

“And don’t let the school drama distract you.”

His lips twitched. “It’s not a distraction. It’s strategy.”

She gave a small laugh. “You enjoy it.”

“I enjoy justice.”

Julia’s gaze held his for a long moment. 

“I just want you to understand that legacy is power, not how you get revenge on some enemies. What you chase after now will determine who will bow before you later.”

“Noted, Mum,” he said as he stood up from his chair.

“One more thing. Michael Goodman will be working directly with you. He already has full access to the O’Connor private fund movements and will report to both of us. If you need to push a deal, stabilize a market, or buy out an opponent, he’ll make it happen.”

Chance nodded once.

“I’ll keep him close.”

Julia stood with him. “Then we’re aligned.”

He gave her a rare, quiet look. “We always were.”

As he turned to leave, she called after him. 

“Chance.”

He paused in the doorway.

“I’m proud of you.”

He said nothing, but the corner of his mouth curled slightly before he stepped out and disappeared down the hall.

That evening, he was standing on the balcony of his apartment as he held the campaign file open beside him, while his phone was pressed to his ear.

“I want to donate fifty million to my mother's housing funds for the campaign. I want it to make the headlines by Friday.”

He said into the phone.

Michael Goodman was the one on the other end of the line.

“Okay,” he replied.

“Do we grease it with a community health grant?”

“That seems like it. Make that ten million. Let it look good.”

Make it clean.”

“Understood. And ESU?”

Chance looked out toward the glowing silhouette of the school on the hill.

“Let them chase hashtags.”

Michael chuckled. 

“Noted. Is there anything else?”

With a dark voice, Chance said.

“I want you to get the names of everyone connected to Roy Brown's family business. And let me have it by tomorrow.”

“Done.”

Then, he ended the call.