I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 64: Nvidia conclusion
The rest of the meeting was a blur of arguments over how the shares would be divided. When it finally ended, the first person to storm out without so much as a glance or a word was Jensen, the CEO. For the first time in a long while, he felt powerless. Without acknowledging anyone or offering a greeting despite the employees trying to talk to him which was highly unusual had he had been a kind and easy-going boss who talked to them regularly, he bolted out the door and into the private garage at the back of the company building. His mind was foggy, weighed down with uncertainty. His fingers fumbled through his phone, and there it was—the keys to his car.
As he walked toward it, the sound of someone shouting his name cut through the silence. He turned around to see his friend and co-founder, Henry Tsai, rushing toward him.
"Jensen!" Henry called out, his voice strained with emotion.
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Jensen stopped in his tracks and snapped, "What, Henry? What is it?"
Henry, usually the composed Senior Vice President of Technology, looked completely shaken. Gone was the confidence that usually radiated from him. His face was drawn, his eyes heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. Without caring about Jensen’s harsh tone, Henry asked quietly, "What are we going to do now?"
Jensen’s frustration was overwhelming as he finally snapped, "Weren’t you just in there with me? Didn’t you see what happened? What can we do? It’s over." His voice was raw, the weight of the meeting settling heavily on his shoulders.
Henry, still visibly shaken, took a step closer. "No, it can’t be. Can’t we call the SEC? Get them to do something? This has to be illegal in some way," he said, his words trembling as he grasped at any possibility of a solution.
Jensen just sighed, the exhaustion from the meeting pressing down on him. He slid into his car, rolled down the window, and in a voice that was both tired and dismissive, he said, "Henry, go home. Have a bath, eat, get some sleep. Today’s been a long day."
Henry opened his mouth to protest, to say something more, but Jensen had already started the engine. Before Henry could get another word out, the car roared to life, and Jensen zoomed off, leaving him standing in the empty parking lot.
Henry stood there, his thoughts swirling in a storm of anger and disbelief. The meeting had been a disaster for him—his shares had dropped from 0.5 to 0.1, all because of the dilution. He replayed the words of their fellow co-founder, Edward Lau, in his mind: "I hope you don’t regret it," Edward had said when he urged them to sell. At the time, Henry had called him a traitor, rejecting his advice. Now, those words echoed in his head, haunting him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Edward had been right all along.
Henry shook his head, walking toward his own car, the weight of the day pressing on him. From the back, you could see how isolated he felt, the burden of everything that had happened settling on his shoulders. It was as if the weight of the world was on him, and there was no escape from the crushing pressure.
Meanwhile, Jensen was driving in his custom-made Mercedes, the MBUX AI cockpit humming with advanced technology, equipped with a custom Nvidia chip. Despite the cutting-edge comfort, his mind felt heavy, a fog of frustration and exhaustion clouding his thoughts. He drove, barely aware of his surroundings, until he reached his street.
Pulling into the driveway of his modern mansion on San Francisco’s "Billionaire’s Row," a property he had bought for $38 million, he sighed. The mansion had been home to him, his wife, and two kids since 2017, a symbol of everything he had worked for.
He parked the car without even thinking to close the door, his mind still spinning from the meeting. With slow, mechanical steps, he walked inside. As he entered, he didn’t even register the simple motions—using his fingerprints to unlock the door and step inside. The moment he crossed the threshold, a wave of suffocation hit him. The space, usually comforting, now felt too tight, too stifling.
Jensen tugged off his signature black jacket, tossing it carelessly on the floor, his breath coming in short, labored gasps. He staggered a few steps further into the house, his chest rising and falling erratically. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread and unease that clung to him. It was as if the walls were closing in, and there was no escaping the crushing weight of his reality.
While all of this was unfolding, Jensen’s son, the Senior Product Manager at the company, was at home for a break. He was excited about a new idea he’d been working on, eager to tell his father about it. As he stepped out of his room, he saw someone enter, assuming it was his dad. He hurried into the living room, ready to share the prototype he had been carrying, but what he found stopped him in his tracks.
There, on the floor, was his father—someone who had always been a beacon of strength and power—shaking, breathing heavily, and coughing, clearly in distress. His father, the man who had always been unshakable, was now crumpled on the ground.
"Dad, what’s wrong?" he shouted, panic rising in his voice. Dropping the prototype machine he had been holding, he sprinted toward his father, his heart racing. "Dad, dad, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?"
His father couldn’t respond, his body still trembling. The son held Jensen in his arms, trying desperately to get him to calm down, but his father’s labored breaths made it clear that something was terribly wrong.
In the midst of the chaos, Jensen’s wife, Lori Huang, who had been married to him since 1987, came rushing down from upstairs, hearing the commotion. "What’s wrong? Why all the shouting?" she shouted, her voice laced with alarm. But when she saw her husband, her face went pale with shock. She screamed, "Oh no, what’s wrong?" and dashed forward.
As she ran, she stepped on something sharp on the ground, wincing in pain. "Ouch!" she gasped, but she didn’t even look down to see what she had stepped on. If she had, she would have seen her son’s prototype device, the one he had been working on for months, lying discarded on the floor. It had been meant to impress his father, but now, in the midst of the panic, it had been forgotten.
Ignoring the sharp pain in her leg, Lori rushed forward, her focus entirely on her husband. She dropped to her knees beside him, cradling him in her arms. "Jensen, breathe, breathe," she murmured, her voice trembling with fear. She shouted to her son, "Go get water, fast, fast!" Her son nodded quickly, sprinting off to fetch the water.
A few minutes passed, and Jensen’s breathing began to stabilize. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, but he was no longer gasping. Lori kept her arms around him, soothing him as she murmured calming words. Their son hovered nearby, holding a half-filled bottle of water in his hand.
"Dad, what happened? Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?" he asked, worry etched on his face as he crouched beside them.
Lori quickly shot him a look, her protective instincts kicking in. "Leave your dad alone, don’t ask so many questions," she scolded, gently tapping her husband’s back, urging him to keep breathing. "Breathe, Jensen, breathe."
It took another minute or so, but finally, Jensen’s breaths became steadier. His wife’s comforting presence and her steady instructions had helped him regain control. Slowly, he managed to sit up, and with her help, he stood. His body still felt shaky, but the worst had passed. The weight of the moment lingered, but at least, for now, he was still standing.
Jensen’s wife clung tightly to him, unwilling to let go. "I’m okay, I’m okay," Jensen said softly, trying to reassure her. But Lori wasn’t convinced. "What happened? Do we need to go to the hospital?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
Jensen’s mind drifted back to the disastrous meeting, his expression darkening. Gently but firmly, he pushed his wife aside. He began muttering under his breath, his words tinged with bitterness. "It’s over. Those bastards won. They fucking won."
"Who, Dad?" his son asked cautiously, stepping closer. Lori looked at her husband, her instincts telling her to comfort him again, but before she could move, Jensen suddenly erupted.
"Those bastards!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the expansive room. With a fury that seemed to boil over all at once, he began destroying everything in sight. Priceless antiques worth hundreds of thousands of dollars were shattered to pieces. Paintings were ripped from the walls, and couch pillows were torn apart as Jensen rampaged, screaming, "Those Blackwell bastards! All of them! Those fucking bastards! My company—everything I’ve built, everything!"
Lori hesitated, torn between fear and love, but as she inched forward, her son grabbed her arm, holding her back. "Mom, don’t," he said, his voice trembling. "You could get hurt."
But Lori shook her head and pushed his arm away. "He’s my husband," she said firmly. Without a second thought, she ran toward Jensen, determined to reach him, even as his destruction continued.
When Lori reached Jensen, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, whispering soothing words. Her touch and steady voice began to calm him, and slowly, the storm within him subsided. His breathing steadied, though his body still trembled slightly.
A few minutes later, the front door opened, and a young woman stepped inside. She looked strikingly similar to Lori Huang—her mother. It was their first child and only daughter, a confident and accomplished figure in her own right. As the Director of Production Marketing and a member of the company’s board, she had always been a strong presence in the family.
Her confidence wavered as she took in the scene before her. The house was in shambles—pictures were torn, expensive decorations smashed, and the air was heavy with tension. She froze for a moment, her heart racing at the sight of the destruction. Then her gaze shifted to the living room.
There sat her family. Her brother stood, looking despondent, while her mother cradled her father, holding him tightly. Jensen’s face was buried in his hands, his body language one of exhaustion and defeat. But when she caught a glimpse of his eyes, something about the emptiness in them struck her deeply.
She hurried forward, her voice trembling slightly as she asked, "What happened?"
Her brother quickly explained the situation, recounting the fallout from the meeting. She listened carefully, her expression growing more serious. When he finished, she turned her gaze to her father, who still hadn’t spoken a word.
"Dad," she began, her tone firm yet compassionate, "I know how horrible you must feel right now. But this isn’t the time to break down. A Paul Brown has requested a board meeting for tomorrow."
At her words, Jensen slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. The despair that had consumed him moments earlier seemed to recede, replaced by something else—an intensity that burned deep. For the first time since the meeting, his gaze felt sharp, almost alive.
While Jensen and Henry were reeling from the fallout, they weren’t the only ones affected by the aftermath of the day’s events. even people not related to the case were beginning to feel the weight of what had happened.
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