Chapter 187: Mellon

Henry recognized those names, certainly not because he had idly investigated who the truly wealthy Americans were, in case he needed to knock on their doors in disguise to beg for handouts when hungry.

Rather, while accompanying Lady He Ben to New York for a fundraising banquet for UNICEF, he inevitably learned who the generous, philanthropic tycoons were within the charitable circle.

Certain names might not be on the invitation list, but because they were famous in the charitable circle, no one knew whether they might show up uninvited. Thus, the data investigated by the PR firm usually included these people's names.

And Henry demonstrated his capabilities as a super assistant at just the right moment, because he had firmly remembered the advice old Tom gave him in Alaska. In America, many channels are legal, compliant, and very convenient, provided one knows about them.

Regarding this matter of transportation, it was also simple: knowing the phone number of the United Airlines counter at Los Angeles Airport and booking tickets in advance.

Then knowing the phone number of the car rental company at Washington Dulles International Airport, similarly booking in advance and specifying the flight arrival time.

Two simple phone calls made their entire journey incredibly smooth, avoiding the need to queue at the airport counter or wait for the rental company to dispatch a vehicle upon arrival.

Givenchy had naturally contacted the other party beforehand, stating the approximate arrival time, and the other party naturally extended an invitation to dine together.

From this point, one could see how much clout this fashion tycoon possessed. Visiting the homes of those invisible tycoons was casual; one was always treated as an honored guest. Even Lady He Ben herself might not receive such treatment.

However, Givenchy had also invested heavily; he bought a bottle of French Cognac Louis XIII at the airport. Compared to good wine available for a few dozen dollars, this thing costing thousands of dollars made an inexperienced Kryptonian feel like he was trembling just holding it.

So, working a single shift on a crab boat, he couldn't even afford to drink a few bottles of this wine...

According to the estimated time, Henry drove to the Oak Spring Farm before nightfall.

There was no deployment of guards every three steps and sentries every ten steps as imagined. Instead, it was a farmstead that looked very ordinary and possessed a sense of history.

Most importantly, the architectural style was not that modern minimalist style, which claimed to emphasize design yet looked strange and was completely impractical.

Thinking about it, his stereotype of those large Western houses stemmed from South American drug lords in movies. People engaged in head-turning business naturally needed sufficient military force to protect themselves.

The owner here conducted legitimate business, not that life-threatening trade. Although there was a security team and not-so-subtle surveillance cameras, it was not the kind requiring constant armed guards on duty.

The Mellons stood at the entrance of the big house to welcome the distinguished guests. After the car stopped, naturally, a Mellon servant opened the door and welcomed Givenchy, the big shot of the fashion circle.

Henry looked left and right, not knowing where to park the car. Just as a Mellon person approached the driver's seat, Henry asked with a smile, "Hello, may I ask where I should park the car?"

"Mr., just hand the car over to us. No need to trouble the guest."

"Um, well, I am just an assistant. No need for such trouble." Henry did not quite understand the rules of such families. Although he occasionally saw them at fundraising banquets, the rules at banquets were different from the rules when visiting someone's home.

The Mellon servant politely said, "Once inside, you are all guests. Please do not worry, Mr." After all, this was the driver's seat, not the passenger seat, so they would not proactively open the door for the other party.

Henry, looking exactly like a bumpkin, got out of the car tremblingly and handed the car over to the Mellon servant.

In just this brief contact, Henry saw mutant characteristics on the other person. Strange scales were visible on the arms and the back of the hands; he did not know what the ability actually was. As for this mutant servant, he went off to park the car in the garage, leaving that aside.

Givenchy, who was chatting with the couple at the entrance, called out to the little assistant who had just gotten out of the car, "Henry, come over. Let me introduce you."

After the little assistant came forward, Givenchy introduced, "This is Mr. Paul Mellon, and this is Mrs. Rachel Lambert Mellon."

This old-money couple possessed a full aristocratic air, with not a shred of awkwardness inappropriate for their age, and certainly no sign of sloppiness or neglect of appearance.

Compared to traditional European nobility, they merely lacked titles. But regarding the abundance of their lives, it was likely that they surpassed them.

From their attitude and expressions toward others, one could see none of the arrogance of a young upstart like Tony Stark; there was only complete kindness. One could only say that living securely to such an age, if not becoming an immortal, one at least became a spirit.

"Good day, Mr., Lady. I am Henry Brown, assistant to Lady He Ben."

Henry did not proactively offer a business card or extend a hand to shake. The disparity in status between the two sides was too great, and he was the junior. When the elder made no move, one should not be self-indulgent.

Moreover, speaking honestly, Henry did not really want to deal with these old-money people. Power and nobility were both symbols of trouble.

The fact that he could stand here was, in the eyes of these people, merely that of Lady He Ben's agent. Givenchy was the level capable of conversing with them; he should just be a little invisible person.

Just like the principle Henry followed when accompanying Lady He Ben to those fundraising banquets: only listen, do not speak; before someone specifically asks a question, pretend you do not exist.

As expected, the attitude of the Mellons toward Henry, while not showing obvious contempt or disgust, had an aloofness that would not go away. It was as if two people of different classes had an unfathomable chasm between them.

Henry certainly had no objection to this; he was just the one driving and booking tickets for old man Givenchy, so what kind of onion did he count as?

Facing Givenchy, Paul Mellon eagerly said, "Come, let us talk at the dinner table. Knowing you were coming, I had our chef prepare thoroughly to treat you well."

"Hehe, I have had more than one friend say they could not stop praising your chef's skills. Today I will definitely taste them properly."

The two men walked ahead, and Mrs. Rachel Lambert did not neglect this little guest, Henry, but affectionately took his arm and led him inside. At the same time, she asked, "How is Lady He Ben's condition?"

He was unsure how far to take the conversation, but thinking that he had come with Givenchy to ask for help, the reason would eventually be revealed to them.

Henry honestly said, "The lady just completed surgery yesterday, which was very smooth. She is currently recovering at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center."

"Oh, what illness is it? Is it convenient to say?"

"It is a rare appendiceal cancer. Hospitals in Switzerland and New York could not find the cause of the disease. Fortunately, the doctors at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center skillfully applied their exquisite medical skills to solve the problem smoothly."

"God bless the good person." Mrs. Rachel Lambert, who was likely older than Lady He Ben but in better health, offered a prayer for her.

(End of this chapter)