American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

Inside a private spiritual club in TriBeCa, Manhattan.

The sound of a singing bowl vibrated slowly through the air, which was filled with the indescribable scent of agarwood.

"Let us breeeeathe in... and breeeeathe out..." said a bald man in a white robe, sitting on a platform. "Feel the energy of the mystical chakras, and let our consciousness connect with the universe."

"DA-DA-DA-DA DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA—"

Suddenly, the default iPhone ringtone blared out, shattering the carefully crafted atmosphere. Everyone’s eyes snapped open as they searched for the source of the sound.

"Whose phone is that?" The bald man opened his eyes, his face showing his displeasure. "Please silence your phone."

"Oh, my bad, my bad," a man said, raising his hands. "It’s probably my ex-girlfriend reminding me to take my syphilis prevention pills. I’ll turn it off right now. You go on."

Snickers and chuckles erupted from the crowd.

The bald man took a deep breath, suppressing the temper that was about to erupt, and closed his eyes to strike the singing bowl again.

However, not even thirty seconds later, the ringtone went off again.

The bald man’s eyes flew open, and he glared furiously at Alister Mellon.

Alister Mellon brazenly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Instead of hanging up, he swiped to answer and said loudly:

"Hey! You’d better have some good news for me," he said. "Or else I’ll chop you into little pieces—"

"Enough!"

The bald man couldn’t take it anymore. He shot to his feet, pointed at the door, and roared, "Get out!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t be mad, don’t be mad," Alister immediately raised his hands in surrender. "But this is a really important call, I have to take it—"

"Out!"

The bald man, seething with anger, took two steps forward, trying to force him out.

"Alright, alright, Master Gu Yi is angry," Alister said, springing up from his meditation cushion like a jack-in-the-box. He clapped his hands together. "I’m leaving. This fifteen-hundred US Dollar meditation session isn’t even as effective as a joint, anyway."

With that, before the bald man could react, he swaggered out of the meditation room and put the phone back to his ear.

"Keep talking... The Manhattan Art Center?" His eyes lit up. "Uh-huh... Wait, I need to hit the restroom first—no, no, no, don’t hang up, keep talking."

「Meanwhile, in Miami, Florida, in the Bricker District.」

In a French restaurant with a strict dress code, Beatrice Mellon was listlessly prodding a lamb chop smothered in black truffle with her fork. Sitting across from her was Parker, a senior policy advisor to Governor Ronald and her colleague.

"So, about next quarter’s ’Excellence in Sports and Community Integration Initiative’—if we route the funding through the state education foundation’s accounts, we can at least avoid media scrutiny over that twenty million medical subsidy," Parker said, cutting his lamb chop. "Ronald’s poll numbers are rising steadily, but this is going to require more money."

"I don’t care about that. I only care whether Ronald can make a dent in the Democratic Party’s stronghold in South Florida before next year’s midterm elections," Beatrice Mellon said, taking a sip of Romanee-Conti. "You all can handle the implementation details."

Parker wanted to use this rare opportunity to impress Beatrice Mellon a little more, but then he noticed the phone she’d placed on the table begin to vibrate.

Beatrice picked up her phone right in front of him and started checking her messages.

Parker felt slightly offended, but he didn’t say a word, simply watching Beatrice with a smile on his face.

[BREAKING: Onyx United Building’s dual ledgers leaked, exposing massive power-for-money transactions!]

[EXCLUSIVE: Manhattan Art Center Turned Into a Money Laundering Tool? Mellon Family Core Member Charles Mellon Implicated!]

[Over 3GB of complete ledgers released online, rocking New York’s political and business worlds with the biggest earthquake in a decade!]

Beatrice Mellon froze, the smile on her face suddenly turning rigid.

"What’s wrong, Beatrice?" Parker asked, noticing the change in Beatrice Mellon’s expression. "Did something happen to Ronald?"

"It has nothing to do with him," Beatrice Mellon said, her smile returning. "It’s just my good-for-nothing nephew."

She quickly tapped the link, casually scrolling through the screenshots of the ledgers that were now going viral. ’If I remember correctly,’ she thought, ’this is what I was going to have Li Wei and Elizabeth do.’

But even with her expectations, she never imagined Li Wei would do such a thorough job!

They not only followed the trail to find the complete ledgers, but they also escalated the situation by leaking everything to the public, completely flipping the table.

’Charles Mellon will definitely face internal family punishment, and his father, Timothy, won’t escape either. Now the old man, Alexander, will have to reconsider his choice of heir.’

’To kill with a borrowed knife, to win without shedding blood—this was exactly what she, Beatrice Mellon, had planned to do.’

"Is there a problem?" Parker asked, carefully observing Beatrice’s expression. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, there’s no need, Parker," Beatrice said, turning off her phone screen. "It’s better than good news."

"Since this is a moment for celebration," Parker said, his Adam’s apple bobbing unconsciously, "why don’t we have a drink to celebrate?"

However, Beatrice Mellon merely glanced at Parker and flashed the ring on her hand.

"I’m engaged, Parker," she scoffed. "Our story ended a long time ago."

"Just see that the plan proceeds as scheduled," she said, standing up. "Also, I need to head back to New York right now. You know... to take care of some family business. I’m leaving first."

With that, she turned and left the restaurant on her high heels without a backward glance.

...

「Late at night, outside a bar in Lower Manhattan.」

Charles Mellon had just finished a wild party. With his tie slightly loosened, he staggered drunkenly toward the exit.

"Have a good night, Mr. Mellon."

"Stay safe, Mr. Mellon."

Charles Mellon, drunk and feeling rather smug, acknowledged the doormen’s words.

’Mr. Mellon,’ he thought with a snort. ’Hmph.’

Just hearing that title brought an irrepressible smile to Charles Mellon’s face. Even the champagne and whiskey that had tasted merely average a moment ago now seemed infinitely more delicious.

It wouldn’t be long now. Once his grandfather, Alexander Mellon, stepped back, his father and eldest son, Timothy Mellon, would take over, formally assuming control of the massive Mellon Family foundation. And he, Charles Mellon, would be the undisputed crown prince.

A staggering fortune worth tens of billions of USD.

He had never considered any other possibility.

His second uncle was far from the center of power, with only that clueless girl, his daughter Elizabeth, not knowing her place. She didn’t have many cards to play, just coasting on their grandfather’s guilt toward her father to get a small piece of the action.

His third uncle, Alister, was a complete and utter waste. His aunt, Beatrice, might as well have been exiled; he barely saw her more than a few times a year.

No matter how he looked at it, the only one left was his father, Timothy Mellon.

And when that time came, his future, the future of Charles Mellon, would be truly limitless.

Lost in these thoughts, he walked down the steps and, with a smile, handed the attendant who opened the door for him a 100 USD tip.

"You’re too generous, Mr. Mellon." The attendant took the tip, looking overwhelmed by the gesture.

"What did you call me?"

Charles Mellon stopped and turned his head to ask.

"M-Mr. Mellon, sir," the attendant stammered, glancing at Charlie and the bodyguards behind him. He swallowed hard. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no, no, no," Charles Mellon said with a smile. "You said it perfectly. Say it again."

"Mr. Mellon," the attendant repeated tentatively.

Smiling, Charles Mellon pulled out another 100 USD bill and handed it over, making the attendant’s eyes nearly pop out of his head.

"Say it again," he said, shaking the wallet in his hand. "Keep saying it until I’m satisfied, and all this money is yours."

The attendant swallowed, his eyes fixed on the thick wad of US Dollars. He immediately began chanting Mellon’s name over and over, until his tongue grew numb and his words started to slur. Only then did Charles Mellon nod in satisfaction. He casually pulled several thousand US Dollars from his wallet and, under the attendant’s longing gaze, lightly placed the cash on top of his own leather shoe. Then he just looked at the attendant.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the attendant dropped to his knees and stuffed the money into his coat.

"Thank you, Mr. Mellon," he repeated. "Thank you, Mr. Mellon."

Charles Mellon looked at the kneeling attendant and burst out laughing.

"Merry Christmas, a little early," he said, pushing the door open. "Buy yourself a decent Christmas present."

With that, he stepped out smugly, not even having a chance to adjust to the dim light of the street when—

"CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!"

An endless barrage of blinding flashes, like a New York blizzard, slammed into him. A dozen reporters who had been lying in wait all night rushed him from all sides. The forest of microphones, like long guns and short cannons, was nearly shoved into Charlie’s nostrils, and the harsh glare of the lights made it impossible for him to open his eyes.

"Mr. Charlie! Do you have any comment on the leak of Onyx United Building’s dual ledgers?"

"Were you aware of the allegations that the Manhattan Art Center was being used as a tool for money laundering?"

"Mr. Charlie! The ledgers show that over one hundred million US Dollars in project funds were funneled into your private account in the Cayman Islands. How do you explain the whereabouts of this money? Was this sanctioned by the Mellon Family?!"

Charles Mellon hadn’t yet grasped the situation, but the moment he heard the words "Onyx" and "one hundred million US Dollars," the smugness was wiped clean from his face.

"What... What nonsense are you talking about?" Like a cornered, enraged beast, Charles Mellon instinctively shoved at the camera lenses in front of him, knocking the closest one to the ground.

The crowd took two steps back. Charles Mellon suddenly exploded with rage, viciously stomping the camera on the ground to pieces.

However, instead of stopping the reporters from filming, his actions only made the situation worse.