Chapter 545 - 353: Who is the Mole

Chapter 545: Chapter 353: Who is the Mole

Leaving Manhattan, the Cullinan headed south along Broadway Avenue, passed through Wall Street, and arrived at the location Elizabeth had sent to Li Wei.

He pulled up to an old ferry terminal that looked somewhat dilapidated. The verdigris ironwork gleamed in the sunlight. Though the paint on the exterior walls was mottled, the intricate patterns suggested it was intentionally designed to look vintage.

He parked at the main entrance, where a valet hurried over to greet him. Li Wei pulled out a 20 USD tip and handed over the car keys.

"Mr. Li Wei, welcome to Casa Cipriani. I’m a huge fan of yours," the door manager said, his face lighting up with pleasant surprise as he recognized him. "Are you here to dine?"

"Yes, and to discuss a few things while I’m at it," Li Wei said with a smile. "Is this a members-only establishment?"

"It is," the manager replied. "May I ask—"

"He’s with me."

Elizabeth Mellon, dressed in a tailored blue suit, walked over and naturally slipped her arm through Li Wei’s.

"Miss Mellon." The manager’s demeanor instantly became a degree more respectful as he offered a slight bow. "Please, follow me."

The interior decor was a completely different world from the outside. Dark, lacquered mahogany wall panels stretched from the floor to the nearly four-meter-high ceiling, with warm yellow sconces nestled in recessed alcoves. Hand-painted motifs adorned the ceiling. The entire hall seamlessly integrated with the pier’s architectural design, giving it the ambiance of a first-class cabin on a century-old ocean liner.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end, both the steel cables of the Brooklyn Bridge and the silhouette of the Statue of Liberty came into view, while a ferry slowly glided across the river.

The tables in the restaurant were generously spaced apart. Glancing around, Li Wei noted that despite it being the lunch hour, only three tables were occupied.

Beatrice Mellon sat at one of them in a crisp white shirt, a cocktail resting on the table in front of her.

"Ms. Beatrice."

Li Wei pulled out a chair for Elizabeth before taking a seat opposite Beatrice and offering her a nod.

"No need to be so formal," Beatrice said, setting down her glass. She looked Li Wei up and down, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You can just call me Aunt Beatrice, same as Liz."

Elizabeth smiled. "Don’t listen to her," she said.

"I’m not interested in your personal relationship," Beatrice retorted. "As long as it doesn’t affect the operations of the Free Port, I don’t care."

"I know what I’m doing," Elizabeth shot back without hesitation. "Speaking of personal relationships... Aunt Beatrice, have you finished signing that prenuptial agreement with your fiancé? Did he review the infidelity clause? It’s honestly hard to believe a man would sign such a wildly unbalanced contract. You get a free pass to cheat, while he’s contractually bound to stay faithful—"

The more she spoke, the darker Beatrice’s expression became.

Just as Beatrice was about to lose her temper, Li Wei let out a cough, cutting off her impending outburst.

"Ms. Beatrice," he interjected, "didn’t you have a matter to discuss?"

"Hmph." Beatrice rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her steepled fingers, deliberately ignoring Elizabeth. "Mr. Li Wei, given that your interests are rather deeply intertwined with the Mellon Family and the Free Port, and considering you might possess some unique connections in the media, I’ve decided not to ask you to excuse yourself."

She paused. "Investigative journalists at the New York Times have acquired solid intel on how the Mellon Family controls the Free Port in Delaware.

"They plan to launch a special feature and run an in-depth exposé."

The color instantly drained from Elizabeth’s face.

"How is that possible?" she hissed. "Do you know how many layers of isolation were built into the Free Port’s ownership structure? There are four layers of shell companies alone, and the ultimate beneficial owner is structured out of Liechtenstein. Even if the US Securities and Exchange Commission came knocking with a Supreme Court subpoena, they’d only be able to pierce through to the third layer!"

"And why would the New York Times risk offending the Mellon Family to pursue a story like this?" Li Wei asked.

He wasn’t particularly panicked himself. His corporate entity within the Free Port was perfectly legal and compliant—in fact, the Free Port itself was a completely lawful operation. However, the caveat to all this was that Ronan Mellon could never find out. If he did, a full-blown war would inevitably erupt between the main family line and the branch families.

"Information of this caliber isn’t something an outside journalist could just dig up from public records," Beatrice said, taking a sip of her cocktail.

"Could it be that... that call girl Uncle Alister brought along?" Elizabeth asked.

"It wasn’t her," Beatrice said, shaking her head. "I had her investigated."

Right at that moment, a mild commotion broke out near the entrance of the restaurant.

A man of less-than-imposing stature strolled casually through the hall. A waiter trailed behind him with a pained expression, pleading with him every step of the way.

"I’m sorry, sir, but your membership has been—"

"Then reinstate it!" the man shot back flippantly. "Are you incapable of understanding plain English?"

He unceremoniously plopped down into the seat next to Beatrice, casually swiped her cocktail, and downed it in one gulp.

"Your membership here was revoked, Alister." Beatrice waved the frantic waiter away. "Did you forget about the last time you got drunk on the upstairs terrace and started jerking off in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge?"

"So what?" Alister threw his hands up, speaking with righteous indignation. "Everyone has thought about jerking off in public at least once. It’s completely normal."

"Except you pulled your pants down in full view of a sightseeing boat packed with tourists!" Beatrice grabbed at her hair in sheer frustration. "Do you have any idea how much effort it took for me to muzzle the media and clean up your mess? Act like an adult for once, would you?"

Alister let out a pathetic, dog-like whimper. Whatever argument he was brewing rolled around in his throat a few times before finally tumbling out as a subdued, "Thank you, I know."

"Next time, I’ll be faster," he said, flipping Beatrice the bird. "I’ll blast off before they even have a chance to pull out their phones. PEW, PEW."

Beatrice took a long, deep breath and shoved the cocktail glass Alister had just chugged from as far away as possible.

"I called you here to discuss real business," she said with a heavy sigh. "If you want to delve deeper into your premature ejaculation issues, you’ll have to find a doctor."

"Fine," Alister relented. "What’s the situation? You said you had something to tell me?"

Beatrice leaned back in her chair and brought him up to speed on the entire ordeal.

This crisis clearly struck at the very core of Alexander Mellon’s family branch. Upon hearing the details, even Alister sat up straight.

"Can’t you do something about it?" he asked, looking at Beatrice. "Use your political influence? You’ve got plenty of connections in the media, right? If all else fails, can’t we just throw money at them? Or feed them some other juicy scoop to divert their attention?"

"Do you honestly think I haven’t tried?" Beatrice rubbed her temples, feeling a physical headache coming on. "My assistant reached out to the editor in charge of this feature the moment we caught wind of it.

"Historically, whenever they’ve dealt with sensitive exposés targeting major legacy families, they tend to play it safe. Usually, we just toss them an alternative, more sensational lead, or we bring the hammer down with our legal team to make them reevaluate the liabilities of publishing.

"But this time was different. The New York Times has taken an incredibly hardline stance. Their editor literally threw my assistant out of the office."

"And then what?" Alister asked.

"And then," Beatrice said, throwing her hands up as she looked around the table, "his exact words were: ’If the Mellon Family attempts to interfere with our freedom of the press, we would have zero qualms about turning your attempts to kill this story into a front-page feature of its own.’"

Alister blinked, momentarily stunned.

"Well, then..." he lowered his voice and made a slashing gesture across his neck. "Could we just—" He gestured again, shooting a pointed look toward the river outside.

"Use your brain for once, Alister," Beatrice sighed. "That’s just treating the symptoms, not the disease. Has it occurred to you to wonder why the New York Times has suddenly grown a spine?"

"Didn’t you just say that specific editor was taking a hardline stance?" Alister replied instinctively. "Wouldn’t getting rid of him solve the problem?"

"A story has to pass through at least four levels of editorial approval before it even gets the green light," Beatrice sneered. "That means everyone from the desk editor all the way up to the editor-in-chief has already signed off on this. Do you honestly think ’handling’ one editor is going to make a damn bit of difference?"

"And more importantly," Elizabeth chimed in, agreeing with Beatrice, "who gave them the nerve to dig into this in the first place? I mean, yes, the Free Port is highly classified, but it’s hardly the kind of sensational, front-page scandal that sells papers. The vast majority of the American public doesn’t even know what a Free Port is."

"Unless someone specifically pointed them in that direction?" Li Wei interjected.

Elizabeth, Beatrice, and Alister all froze simultaneously, turning to look at him.

Right then, the [Jester’s Skull]—visible only to Li Wei—began bobbing up and down enthusiastically in midair.

[Hehehe! My Knight Master, your brain—previously filled only with swordsmanship and Power—has miraculously sprouted a seed of wisdom!]

[A Minstrel never strums his lute and sings beneath the city walls for no reason, unless someone has tossed Gold Coins into his hat!]

[But that begs the question: where did the hand that tossed those Gold Coins come from?]

[Let me take a sniff... Ah, wait, I have no nose. Let me take a look... Oh, my eyes rotted away ages ago... Let me feel it out, then.]

[Fascinating... I sense the auras of more than one individual.]

As if responding to the [Jester’s Skull]’s ramblings and becoming influenced by it, the system suddenly issued Li Wei a new quest:

[You have triggered a temporary quest: Arsonist]

[Someone has lit a beacon fire outside the city walls. Once a beacon is seen, its flames cannot be extinguished. However, if you can identify the arsonists who lit the fire before it spreads across the continent, you will seize the initiative.]

[Quest Objective: Confirm the identities of the arsonists.]

[Quest Reward: +0.2 free attribute points]

"By the way, why isn’t Timothy here?" Alister suddenly asked, looking at Beatrice. "Didn’t you invite him?"

"Think about it, Alister," Beatrice said darkly. "If this whole operation is exposed and Ronan Mellon finds out, what do you think he’ll do?"

"He’ll round us all up," Alister said flatly. "Toss us into a prisoner cart, drag us to the town square, and chop our heads off."

"Or worse," Beatrice countered. "He’ll force our father to hand over power and install a puppet in his place."

"Are you talking about me? Because I’m incredibly obedient," Alister chimed in.

"Oh, God, no! The *eldest son*! Do you understand?" Beatrice covered her face with her hands, utterly flabbergasted by Alister’s sheer stupidity. "It’s Timothy Mellon! He’s the most logical choice to take over! Ronan Mellon can’t just blatantly kick our entire bloodline to the curb—the other branch families wouldn’t allow it—but he *can* prop Timothy up as the new head!"