Chapter 484 - 317: Goodbye, Jose

Chapter 484: Chapter 317: Goodbye, Jose

Anya gritted her teeth, forcing out each word.

"Well," she said with a forced smile, "you can just ask Li Wei about that."

"But I’d still like to ask you," Elizabeth said with a smile. "Do you have any objections?"

Anya really wanted to say, ’I do,’ but on second thought, Liz *had* stood up for her this time.

"I don’t," she said. "You two have fun, and be safe."

She put extra emphasis on the words "be safe."

Hearing this, Elizabeth smiled with satisfaction. "Don’t worry," she said. "It’s just a standard party."

After hanging up, she couldn’t help but start humming her favorite piano piece.

The nail technician doing her manicure looked up, a little surprised. "You seem to be in a very good mood today, Miss Elizabeth Mellon."

"Oh?" Elizabeth smiled. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes," the technician said, enviously eyeing Elizabeth’s features and skin. "You only hum this piece when you’re in a very good mood."

"I see. It’s Chopin’s Ballade Number One," Elizabeth smiled. "Controlled Power. I’ve been quite fond of it lately."

"It’s beautiful," the technician said, offering a compliment even though she didn’t understand.

"By the way," Elizabeth said suddenly, "I’m planning on getting my nails redone at the end of the month. Do you have any recommendations?"

"What’s the occasion?" the technician asked.

"Hmm... a date, I suppose," Elizabeth said, looking at her freshly finished nails. "A first official date with someone I like."

「A few more days passed, bringing them to mid-March.」

By mid-March, New York was already showing signs of spring. The magnolia trees in Central Park could no longer contain themselves, their white buds swelling on the branches, looking from a distance like a clutch of hatching eggs.

Li Wei was lying on the sofa, engaged in a scholarly discussion with Anya via a screen about "what to eat for lunch today."

Li Wei suggested Chinese food. A new hot pot restaurant had supposedly opened in Flushing, and he heard it was pretty good.

Anya said that besides eating, she also had a mission today: to take photos in her favorite spring coat, which couldn’t pick up too many smells, or it would be a pain to clean.

Anya suggested Japanese food. Li Wei said the sashimi at the last Japanese place was just okay, and he didn’t feel like having sashimi.

Anya said they could try a different one. Li Wei asked which one. Anya said, "You pick." Li Wei said, "No, you."

Anya said she was about to get her period, and if he kept this up, she was going to use it as an excuse to throw a little fit.

Just as the lunch issue was about to escalate into a diplomatic incident, Don Quixote came swaggering back from outside, a cup of coffee in hand.

The esteemed Don Quixote Cervantes had been living quite comfortably lately.

Ever since the 150 million USD settlement from the NFL and Pepsi had arrived last week, Li Wei, without a second word, had kept his long-standing promise and directly deposited 4.5 million USD into Don Quixote’s agent account.

Adding his 380,000 USD commission from the Super Bowl bonus, Don Quixote’s personal bank account balance was approaching 6 million USD.

He had reached the point where he had to spend money just to avoid taxes.

So, on the first weekend after the money came in, Don Quixote bought himself a Mercedes-Maybach GLS 680 to get around in.

Li Wei thought the car looked a bit too "round" and suggested he just buy a Bentley instead.

But Don Quixote had a soft spot for Mercedes; the first car he ever bought with his own money was a Mercedes.

After picking up the car, Don Quixote set out from Manhattan, heading east along a North Shore parkway toward Long Island.

The scenery outside the car window gradually transitioned from the concrete and steel of Manhattan to the rolling hills and fir trees of Long Island’s North Shore. After a drive of nearly an hour, the Maybach GLS 680 turned onto a private driveway with no address marker.

The dark gray gravel road glistened coolly in the morning sun. The fir forests on either side were much greener than the last time he had visited.

Passing through the belt of trees, the manor that Li Wei had bought outright for 28 million USD came into view.

Don Quixote parked the car on the circular driveway in front of the main building.

The facade of the main building had been renovated. Its off-white limestone walls looked clean and sharp in the sunlight. The three-story building, paired with a dark gray slate roof, had an overall feel that was somewhere between an American manor and Nordic minimalism.

Don Quixote got out of the car and habitually glanced up at the rain gutters—it was an occupational hazard from his old days on construction sites in Queens. On any building, the drainage system was always the first thing to have problems.

The welding lines on the copper gutters were clean and precise. The elbows of the downspouts were smooth and rounded, with no burrs or excess welding slag.

He walked around to the side and ran his hand over the seams where the limestone blocks of the outer wall joined.

"Hmm..." He nodded in satisfaction and dusted off his hands.

’Looks like this kid is really good. The work is much more meticulous than before.’ He had been a little worried, but now it seemed his concerns were unfounded.

He pushed open the main doors, and a mixed scent of freshly sanded wood, plaster dust, and latex paint washed over him.

The main hall was beginning to take shape. Workers were installing the railings for the second-floor gallery.

A voice called out from the depths of the hall.

"That’s not right, listen to me," the voice said. "The cement-to-sand ratio is wrong. The plaster coat for the interior walls needs to be 1:3, not 1:2.5. It’s too thick, it’ll crack when it dries."

Don Quixote smiled. ’That’s exactly how I used to teach the guys on the construction site.’

"Jose," he called out.

Jose started and whipped his head around.

"Mr. Don Quixote!"

Jose put down his trowel and hurried over, his sun-darkened face beaming.

"Jose!" Don Quixote embraced him, patting his shoulder. "How’ve you been? You’ve certainly bulked up."

The illegal immigrant from Mexico who once worked on a construction site in Queens while his heavily pregnant wife had to walk the streets was completely different from the man he used to be.

He was darker than before and much sturdier. His once-thin frame was now a size wider.

"Heh heh, Carmen’s been cooking too much lately," Jose said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "She forces me to eat every day. Won’t let me go to bed until I finish everything."

Don Quixote grunted with a laugh. Carmen was Jose’s wife. Don Quixote had even visited her in the hospital after she gave birth. Back then, she had been as thin as Jose, holding an equally tiny baby.

"And the baby?" Don Quixote asked. "How’s the little one?"

Jose’s eyes lit up instantly.

He pulled his phone out of his work pants pocket, opened the photo album, wiped the mud specks off the screen with his short sleeve, and proudly handed it to Don Quixote.

On the screen was a chubby child, a little over one, maybe close to two years old. He had Jose’s features, but his big eyes and small mouth were adorable. He looked like a completely different person from when Don Quixote had first seen him.

In the photo, the child was sitting in a high chair, holding a plastic spoon, his face smeared with carrot puree, drooling as he laughed.

"This is my son, Diego," Jose said proudly. "The first time I saw him, I knew. He’s my blood."

"Yes," Don Quixote said with certainty. "He’s your son."

"Mr. Arthur helped us with the asylum application, and our work permits came through," Jose’s voice softened. "Carmen has legal status now, too. She found a job as a childcare worker at a nearby preschool."

He paused and swiped to another photo.

This one was a photo of their family of three, with a small but tidy living room in the background.

Jose was wearing a clean plaid shirt, with Carmen leaning on his shoulder, holding Diego. All three of them looked to be in high spirits; the joy on their smiling faces seemed to radiate right through the phone screen.

"We moved to Richmond Hill in Queens," Jose said. "The rent is 1,600 USD a month for a one-bedroom. It’s not big, but it has heating, hot water, and a kitchen. Diego has his own little bed now, too."

He scratched his head and smiled. "I actually made that bed for him, using the skills you taught me."

Don Quixote patted Jose’s shoulder.

"Mr. Don Quixote, I..." Jose put the phone back in his pocket and looked at him. "I’ve been wanting to find a chance to tell you something, but every time, I don’t know how to start."

"That time when you stuffed all 1,200 USD into my hands—"

"That’s all in the past," Don Quixote said, waving his hand. "Jose, you—"

"No!" Jose interrupted him, his tone firm. "It’s not in the past for me."

"That 1,200 USD meant Carmen didn’t have to walk the streets during her last month," he said earnestly. "She didn’t miscarry, and Diego was born safely. You know that."

Don Quixote nodded. Jose had told him, and he had even found the time to visit Carmen once.

"Later, you were the one who encouraged me to get clean. You vouched for me and got me a job..." Jose said. "I know Susan didn’t want to hire me back then, but you guaranteed me to her."

"I remember all of it," Jose said, taking a breath. "You told me, ’You have to live long enough to pay me back.’"

He took an envelope from an inner pocket of his work pants and held it out to Don Quixote.

"I’ve been carrying this money with me. 1,200 USD, not a cent missing," he said. "I started saving it from my very first paycheck. It took me nine months."

Don Quixote reached out, took the envelope, and stuffed it into his coat pocket without a glance.

"Good kid. Keep up the good work," he said, pointing to the facade. "I just checked it out. You’re doing a great job."

Jose scratched his head. "If it weren’t for you, my family would have been dead long ago. I was terrified I wouldn’t do a good job."

"You’re doing a beautiful job," Don Quixote said, giving him a thumbs-up. "I was right to recommend you for this."

"Some of the workers are hard to manage," Jose said with a chuckle. "I stay late every night to go over everything at least twice myself, just in case there are any problems."

He thumped his chest and said, "I bet even the guys working on the president’s residence wouldn’t be more careful than me."

Jose was now a subcontractor for a legitimate construction company. Don Quixote had contracted him for the facade and the interior hard construction of the manor.

"Good," Don Quixote said with a sigh of emotion, then smiled. "When can you finish? This month?"

"No problem," Jose nodded. "The soft furnishings can come in at the end of March."

"Good," Don Quixote said. "Drinks tonight?"

"Come to my place," Jose said with a smile. "Carmen’s been wanting to thank you in person."

Don Quixote nodded. "I have to go back to Manhattan first. Give me a call tonight."

...

Seeing Don Quixote looking as content as if he’d been bathed in a spring breeze, Li Wei sat up and casually replied that Japanese food was fine.

"What’s got you so happy?" he asked. "Manor renovation going smoothly? Jose doing a good job?"

"Extremely good," Don Quixote said, placing his coffee on the table. "Also, on my way back, I heard some news about you. See if you’re interested."

"Oh?" Li Wei’s interest was piqued. "Good news or bad news?"

"Should be good news," Don Quixote said with a smile. "It’s from Hollywood."