American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

"Oh, my God, look who it is," Alister was the first to break the silence. "Isn’t it our family’s moral paragon? Phoenix, welcome home, brother."

Phoenix gave him a somewhat stiff hug and said nothing.

Beatrice also stepped forward. "Phoenix, whatever the circumstances, Father will surely be happy that you could come back for the reunion."

"Where is Father?" Phoenix asked. "I received a notice saying he had something very important to announce."

Timothy opened his mouth, but he didn’t know where to begin.

Phoenix hadn’t appeared before them in a very long time—so long that he was practically absent from their daily lives.

Just as he was about to say a few words in his capacity as the eldest brother, the doors to the front hall opened once again.

"What the hell?" He whipped his head around. "There’s more—"

The person who walked in this time was not a blood relative of the Mellon Family, but a mature blonde woman with her hair in a meticulous bun and a powerful aura—Silvia.

Following behind her were several senior members of the family trust’s board of directors.

The air in the front hall froze at the sight of this group.

"Silvia? What are you all doing here?" he asked. "Today is a private family Christmas dinner, not the foundation’s quarterly meeting."

Silvia replied, "Good evening, Mr. Timothy Mellon. We are here at Mr. Alexander’s invitation. We will be present for the next three days."

Alister and Beatrice quickly exchanged a look of shock and uncertainty.

A legal team? Senior members of the foundation’s board?

This all but confirmed it. This was no family dinner—Alexander’s health must really be failing. He was going to formally announce his retirement in front of all his direct blood relatives and legal witnesses, and then sign the final inheritance and power-transfer documents worth 50 billion USD.

A tingling sensation shot up Timothy’s spine, and he felt completely suffused with an intoxicating sense of power.

He felt himself getting hard, ready to fuck shit up.

The manor’s old butler took in the scene, gave a slight bow, and headed for the second floor.

Everyone waited in the front hall.

About five minutes later, the old butler came back down.

"Everyone, the Family Head has rested well," he said. "He is in excellent spirits. He has instructed that the Christmas dinner will proceed as planned. Please make your way to the grand dining hall. He will be along shortly."

Guided by the servants, the group proceeded through a pair of four-meter-tall solid wood doors. Before them lay a gigantic, twenty-meter-long oak dining table.

The servants moved with clear purpose, pouring wine, setting silverware, and serving dishes in an orderly fashion. Crystal chandeliers on the ceiling cast a brilliant light, the table was covered with a stark white silk tablecloth, and sterling silver cutlery was paired with Baccarat crystal glasses. It was a perfect match for what Li Wei had always imagined a great, wealthy family’s dinner party to be.

The fire in the fireplace had also been lit.

Suddenly, the sound of steady, powerful footsteps came from behind them.

CLACK, CLACK, CLACK.

Everyone turned to look. Approaching them was the dictator of this branch of the Mellon Family’s foundation—Alexander Mellon.

He wore a warm, dark-striped cashmere sweater, his hair was combed back meticulously, and he held his chest out straight.

Though he was already eighty years old, his steps were not the least bit hesitant or unsteady, and he still possessed eyes as sharp and cold as a falcon’s.

The rapturous arrogance that had not yet faded from Timothy’s face instantly froze, as if he’d been doused with a basin of ice water in the dead of winter. He shuddered, and his back, which had been ramrod straight, bent involuntarily.

The customary sneer on Alister’s lips also stiffened. He subconsciously pulled back his leg, which had been propped up mid-air, and stood as straight as a pole, like a child being punished.

Beatrice couldn’t help but take a step back and swallow hard.

They looked nothing like the people who, just moments before, had been ready to carve up the family fortune.

Alexander walked up to them and swept his gaze across the group.

"What’s wrong?" he said slowly. "Why so surprised?"

His gaze was fixed squarely on Timothy Mellon.

"N-no, you misunderstand, Father," Timothy stammered. "I’m just... I’m just very happy to see you again."

"There have been many rumors about you circulating," Beatrice spoke up. "We were all very worried."

"Is that so?" Alexander said faintly, not responding to their words.

He glanced at Phoenix Mellon, who was standing at the back without a word, and then completely lost interest in him.

At that moment, Li Wei was standing beside Elizabeth, no more than three meters away from the most powerful figure he had ever met.

He focused his attention on Alexander, carefully observing his breathing and movements.

’His heartbeat is heavy and very irregular.’

At the same time, a system prompt refreshed before Li Wei’s eyes:

[You have encountered the ’Weakened King’]

[The hard-line King is still infatuated with power and expansion. With the help of an Alchemist and a Mage, he has recovered his health. He feels fantastic and is preparing to make his move once more.]

A flash of understanding passed through Li Wei’s mind.

"Since everyone’s here," Alexander said faintly as he turned around, "let’s all be seated."

Everyone took their seats in order. Alexander, without question, sat at the head of the table. Timothy and Phoenix, as the eldest and second sons, sat on either side of him, with the rest of the party arranged down the line.

Li Wei and Elizabeth were seated in relatively junior positions further down the table.

"Merry Christmas!" Alexander said with a relaxed smile. "To all of us being gathered here today!"

"Merry Christmas!" the others echoed.

After setting down his glass, Alexander was the first to pick up his sterling silver knife and fork. Only after he had personally cut the first piece did the others begin to use their cutlery.

Li Wei also cut a piece of the Beef Wellington in front of him. It tasted fine, but nothing special.

Alexander cut a piece of steak, chewed it twice, and swallowed. Then, he picked up his napkin, dabbed the corner of his mouth, and looked at the others, who all had their heads lowered.

As he watched them, his gaze suddenly traveled past the long table and landed on the nearby fireplace.

Beside the fireplace stood a tall Christmas tree.

"Timothy," he said suddenly.

Timothy, who was sitting ramrod straight, tensed up, nearly dropping his fork. "Yes, Father."

"Look at that Christmas tree," Alexander said unhurriedly, setting down his cutlery and resting his hands on his stomach. "Tomorrow is Christmas. Tell me, Timothy, for this family... am I not your Santa Claus?"

For a second, it felt as if the air in the entire dining hall had frozen solid.

Timothy couldn’t quite figure out his father’s game, but he instinctively felt that something was wrong.

He forced a respectful smile and said, "Of course, Father. You are the one at the helm of the foundation. Everything we have... is a gift from you."

"Very good," Alexander nodded leisurely, his eyes fixed on Timothy. "Then, haven’t I taught you before what kind of children Santa Claus gives presents to?"

Timothy’s Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty. He suddenly felt a knot tighten around his heart, making it hard to breathe.

"Honest children, Father," he said with difficulty. "Santa Claus only gives presents to good, honest children."

"A perfect answer."

Alexander suddenly smiled, but the smile on his face was utterly cold.

He leaned forward slightly and asked in a slow, deliberate tone, "Since you’re such a good, honest boy, then tell Santa Claus right now, out loud—what is it that you want most?"