I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

I can guarantee you freedom of speech. It's freedom after speech that I can't guarantee. A line spoken by Idi Amin, the brutal authoritarian dictator of Uganda, as he sought to curb protests and revolts against his rule. It is a line that tells far more than it appears to, a phrase that extends beyond its immediate use as a threat to his adversaries. It is, in its essence, a paradox wrapped in simplicity—a contradiction that exposes the fragile nature of what we call freedom. In its sinister simplicity, the phrase holds far more weight than it first appears. What is freedom of speech if the consequences of speaking freely strip that very freedom away? Opening a paradox, a far more unsettling reality: freedom, in its rawest form, has never been absolute. If a man expresses himself freely, is he not merely exercising his rights? If a white man utters the N-word, can he truly be guilty of a crime when he is simply exercising his right to free speech? It does not matter in what context he says it or how it is received; the words leave his lips, and his right to express himself is fulfilled. But what happens next? If a Black man hears him and is filled with rage, if emotions coming from a single forbidden word uttered—one that carries the weight of history, oppression, and violence surge beyond control and he strikes the man down, is that not an example of what Idi Amin meant? Is that not a case of freedom of speech being granted, but freedom after speech being denied? Who, then, is wrong in this scenario? The obvious answer would be the one who resorts to violence over mere words. But then you look deeper. You open the Constitution the sacred pillar of democracy, that sacred text promising liberty, and you find that even in nations that pride themselves on free speech, there are limitations, boundaries placed upon what can and cannot be said. Words are not always free. There are phrases outlawed, speeches that can lead to legal consequences. Even private companies, employers, and social media platforms wield the power to punish, to banish, to silence those who cross invisible lines. So if freedom of speech is not truly without bounds, was it ever real? Was it always a grand illusion, the greatest deception ever sold to the masses? The idea that one is free to speak, yet subject to the arbitrary rules of an ever-changing system, is enough to shake the very foundation of belief. Is it true freedom of speech? If it is shackled by limitations and subject to punishment, was it ever real to begin with, or was it merely a comforting illusion? Some argue that while speech is free, morality should dictate its use. That consequences are necessary, that ethics should guide expression. That one should face consequences for violating moral boundaries. But who decides what is moral? Should a serial killer's sense of morality be given the same weight as that of a man who merely wants to live in peace? Should collective morality dictate what is acceptable? And if so, how is it enforced? Through trials, laws, social condemnation? Yet morality is not a fixed concept. What is acceptable today may be condemned tomorrow, and what was once taboo may one day be celebrated. The boundaries of expression shift not by law alone but by societal consensus—one that is fragile, fickle, and ever-changing. Whose morality reigns supreme? That of a pacifist or a warlord? Of the old or the young? Of a serial killer who sees no wrong in his actions or of a law-abiding citizen who clings to the idea of universal ethics? It shifts, bends, reshapes itself according to culture, religion, history, race, tribe. No universal moral code exists, and what was deemed unacceptable yesterday may be embraced tomorrow. And if that is the case, what happens to those prosecuted for actions that are later normalized? Humanity claims to evolve, to grow in intellect, in ethics, in understanding. Scientifically, yes, we progress. But morally? Historically? Do we truly advance, or do we merely cycle through variations of the same mistakes? Our morals are relics, handed down from generation to generation, shaped not by reason but by tradition. A parent to a child, a pastor to his congregation, an imam to his worshippers, a society to its members. Change does not bring unity; it breeds division. And yet, no one dares to question it. But should they? Should they not question everything? Or is there danger in thinking too deeply? And so, few ever dare to question. Because to question means to think, and as it has been said: "A person who thinks all the time has nothing to think about except thoughts, so he loses touch with reality and lives in a world of illusion." A saying, often repeated in jest, now reduced to memes and social media captions, its meaning lost on the masses. But in its final word lies the answer to it all: Illusion. If one begins to think too deeply about freedom, one will come to realize that it was never truly there to begin with. If speech has boundaries, if expression is dictated by the shifting tides of societal norms, then is freedom not a lie? If morality is shaped by forces beyond one's control, then is choice itself not an illusion? If speech is policed by unseen forces—by laws, by corporations, by the judgment of peers—then is there any true expression? If the individual is shackled by the morals of the many, then is anyone truly free? And what is today's definition of freedom? The ability to switch between a thousand television channels? To download explicit videos? To consume, to spend, to indulge without consequence? Is that freedom? Or is it simply a new form of slavery, where chains have been replaced by distractions? And humanity has embraced this notion. A notion that took decades, centuries, eons to instill. A notion that was burned into the psyche of every individual until it became truth. But then another idea was introduced: that a human being is not simply free by existence but must earn their freedom. That one must work, toil, accumulate wealth to buy their way into liberty. That from birth, an empty shell must be filled with purpose—a purpose dictated by a system that was designed long before their existence. And yet, they are happy. They work. They earn. They spend. They chase this fabricated concept of choice. They believe that they are free. But are they? Consider a runaway bride. She flees her oppressive fiancé, finds solace in the arms of another, and together they speed down an open road. The sun sets before them, the horizon stretching infinitely ahead. They reach an intersection, and her lover turns to her and says, "Left or right?" And in that moment, she feels it. The thrill of choice. The weight of freedom. She believes that she is deciding her own path. But did she? No. For she did not build the roads. The grandest choices in life were made long before her. The streets were laid, the system designed, the parameters set. She was given the illusion of choice, but the choices themselves were always predetermined. All of this—the cheers, the chants, the slogans, the subliminal messages, the symbols woven into history—was decided long before she, or anyone else, ever thought to question it. Are we, then, all trapped in an illusion? No. Because illusions do not form themselves. Someone must create them. And those who do, those who construct the framework of reality, exist beyond it. Not to delve too deeply into the nature of freedom itself, the question then arises: can freedom be obtained? It was said that Cassius Blackwell obtained freedom. But how? Through wealth? Through power? If freedom is something that can be purchased, then the more one earns, the more one can afford to break free. The higher one climbs, the more they see how little it all matters. The higher they ascend, the more apparent the chains become, wrapped tightly around those below. Money and power dictate the degree of freedom one can attain. Only those who reach the peak, who stand at the summit, can claim true liberty. And those who control this system? They are the same ones who once sat in a room, map spread before them, carving borders into existence, dictating which human belonged where, forging nations, creating divisions. They are the architects of nationalism, of control, of restriction. And they have always followed the same formula: Miracle. Mystery. Authority. And now, in the modern age, two members of that ruling class were at war. A battle between titans, a game where one played chess and the other played checkers. One aggressive, one calculated. And the battleground? The citizens. The people. The ordinary masses who believed they had a stake in the conflict, unaware that they were merely collateral damage in a game they could never hope to win. "When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers." An African proverb, timeless in its wisdom. And now, it applied once more. Nathaniel Rockefeller had declared war on Alexander Blackwell. Two giants, two forces beyond comprehension, prepared to clash. And when they did, it was not they who would suffer. It was the little people. The ones who never truly had freedom to begin with. Because freedom? Freedom is nothing but a carefully constructed illusion. Special shoutout to VisineAnt for giving me another Golden Ticket—thank you so much! I'm so happy you're still here, reading along. If you can, please consider donating Power Stones and Golden Tickets! Your support means the world to me. Also, leaving an honest review would really help! Don't forget to vote in the fandom thanks. And if you'd like to give me a little extra freedom, you can also send gifts my way. Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! I could keep going, but it's time to get back to the main plot. Thanks for reading—love you all! 💖