Chapter 388 - 250: A Game at the Dinner Party
"Go on," Alister said, his tone turning a little more serious as he took his feet off the desk. "What kind of terms are you offering?"
Timothy Mellon looked at Alister. "Alister, I know those entertainment companies under your name have been losing money for years. You’ve been relying on the Foundation’s off-the-books accounts to cover for you."
He looked at Alister, whose expression had soured. "If you support me during the vote, I’ll transfer a 200 million USD ’Arts and Entertainment Support Fund’ directly from the Foundation to your accounts. It’ll be enough to clear all your bad debts."
Alister rested a hand on the table and propped up his chin. "Keep talking."
Timothy knew this was far from enough to sway Alister. "I’ll let you keep your board seat. You’ll get your full share of the dividends without having to lift a finger."
Alister raised his eyebrows, his body relaxing slightly without him realizing it.
A risk-free bailout of 200 million USD was, for him, a significant temptation.
He knew he had no chance of inheriting the entire Foundation. Besides, not all of the Foundation’s 2 billion-plus USD in mandatory annual expenditures could be pocketed. A cash sum of 200 million USD was practically a windfall.
This was, after all, 200 million USD in cash. All he had to do was nod.
Seeing his opening, Timothy immediately turned to Beatrice and played another card he believed to be highly enticing. "Beatrice, you’re cultivating Zheng Zhi’s network in Florida, and you need a great deal of campaign funding. Just give me the word, and for the next three years, I’ll divert 30% of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation’s political donation quota to the candidate you support. That includes the gubernatorial reelection campaign you’re so fixated on."
The tapping of Beatrice’s fingers on the tabletop ceased.
Thirty percent of the political donation quota was no small sum. It was a terrifying amount of resources, enough to sway the political landscape of a state—or even a good portion of the United States of America.
A brief silence fell over the conference room. Alister and Beatrice exchanged a glance.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want the top spot for themselves, but they knew the chips they held were nothing compared to those of the legitimate heir apparent standing before them.
Timothy Mellon was Alexander’s eldest son.
That title alone was enough to crush them.
In the face of the benefits their elder brother promised, bowing their heads for a moment was nothing to be ashamed of.
"Two hundred million USD," Alister stressed. "Lump sum, no installments."
"The authority over the political donations must be put in writing, black on white, in an agreement," Beatrice added, stating her own condition.
"You have my word." Timothy was ecstatic, but he kept his expression stern, appearing perfectly composed.
He stood up and surveyed the room like a newly crowned King, only then realizing he had overlooked Elizabeth, who had been sitting silently in the corner the entire time.
"Liz, what are your and your father Phoenix’s thoughts on this?" Timothy asked.
In his eyes, Phoenix, from the family’s second branch, was a coward who spent his years hiding amongst a pile of antiques, and Elizabeth was just an inexperienced girl.
She might have just gotten 1 billion USD from Richard, but aside from the single vote Phoenix held, she had no influence over him whatsoever.
Phoenix had long been detached from the board’s core decision-making circle and always abstained from voting. Timothy figured this time would be no different.
"Even though Phoenix isn’t here, you’re still a member of this family," he said. "Once I’ve stabilized the situation, I can cut you in on some of the art-derivative businesses Charlie used to manage."
Timothy continued making his empty promises to Elizabeth, arranging everything as he saw fit.
"Your proposal is very tempting, Uncle," Elizabeth said slowly, neither agreeing nor refusing. "But, after all, there’s been no final word on Grandfather’s condition."
Timothy nodded. "Of course. I’m merely preparing a contingency plan."
Outside the door.
The Jester’s Skull faithfully relayed everything from the conference room to Li Wei.
Time ticked by, second by second.
Just as Li Wei was on the sofa in the next room, listening with great interest as they carved up the pie, the heavy oak door of the antechamber was once again pushed open from the outside.
Even without looking out the window, the snowflakes that swirled in when the door opened were enough to tell that a blizzard had begun to sweep across New York.
A tall, but somewhat gaunt, middle-aged man walked in. He wore a tweed overcoat with a distinctly European style. His brow was prominent, his expression was solemn, and his eyes bore a slight resemblance to Elizabeth’s.
Just then, Timothy and the others happened to be coming out of their meeting.
When Elizabeth saw the man, she went to greet him, saying softly, "Father."
Phoenix stopped and looked at Elizabeth, smiling warmly. "Liz, you look well."
"This is Li Wei," Elizabeth said, turning slightly. "My... friend."
"Mr. Phoenix Mellon," Li Wei said, stepping forward to shake his hand. "Li Wei."
"I’ve read about you in the papers," Phoenix Mellon said. "I hope you aren’t just another empty shell corrupted by money. This house has more than enough of those already."
"Father!" Elizabeth whispered in a warning tone.
Phoenix then noticed Timothy and the others, who had also just seen him.
Perhaps because no immediate interests were at stake, the reunion between the siblings was not marked by the hysteria of bitter jealousy, nor the tearful emotion of a long-overdue reunion. There was only an awkward silence.