Chapter 852: A Messenger from the Mellon Family

Chapter 852: Chapter 852: A Messenger from the Mellon Family

The person who wanted to capture Sky hadn’t shown up. Even with a Kryptonian’s full suite of superpowers, unless Henry also possessed the ability to predict the future like some fortune-telling medium, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Could there have been other clues among the street punks he’d dealt with earlier?

Henry wondered whether he should take a stroll through New York’s streets, particularly the famous neighborhoods of Hell’s Kitchen and Harlem on Manhattan Island. He hadn’t really explored either area in depth yet.

Perhaps he could dig up a few leads while walking around, then ask the people he found whether they’d forgotten to mention anything. A Kryptonian’s memory-recovery technique came with a quality guarantee!

The following day, at the old lady’s request, Henry drove Sky to school. After returning home, he was preparing to take Katherine Hepburn for a stroll through Central Park and walk the tiger when the doorbell to the apartment building rang again.

Ever since Mastermind’s surprise attack at the front door, Henry had practically developed PTSD whenever he heard the building’s doorbell.

As it turned out, a Kryptonian’s complete set of superpowers didn’t guarantee one hundred percent safety in the Marvel Universe, a world teeming with heroes and crawling with gods. There were always strange abilities that could affect a Kryptonian. Kryptonite wasn’t necessarily required.

Still, not everyone who came calling had malicious intentions. Looking at the surveillance monitor and seeing a neatly dressed old white man in a black tailcoat, Henry could only wonder what on earth this was about.

"This is the Hepburn residence. Who are you looking for?"

The person on the intercom heard his voice and immediately straightened up, clearing his throat.

"Good day. I’m the butler of the Mellon family. Is Mr. Henry Brown at home?"

The visitor hadn’t given his name, only identified the family he represented: the Mellons. Among America’s old-money dynasties, the Mellon family ranked among the very elite. Its name carried far more weight than that of the butler himself.

"Henry, who’s at the door?"

"The Mellon family butler. He’s here to see me."

Henry buzzed him in and let him come upstairs. Although the butler was no longer young, he still moved with a briskness that would put many younger people to shame, reaching the Hepburn residence in no time.

The old lady was in the living room, where her personal caregiver, Maria Thomson, was helping her get dressed and preparing her clothes for the outing. Kitty was lying at her feet.

Since the visitor hadn’t come to see her, Katherine Hepburn hadn’t gone to greet him at the door. Nevertheless, the arrival of someone from the Mellon family naturally aroused their curiosity. Both women peered toward the entrance, eager to see what was going on.

Once inside, the butler in his tailcoat greeted Katherine Hepburn with impeccable courtesy. He even addressed the personal caregiver by name with a friendly greeting before turning to Henry.

"Mr. Brown, I’ve come on behalf of Mrs. Rachel Lambert Mellon and Mr. Hubert de Givenchy to deliver an invitation to their spring reception."

Henry had seen invitations of this format and caliber before. The last similar one he’d received had come from the Arden family. That old-money dynasty’s patriarch had turned into a vampire, only to be thoroughly fleeced in the process. The family had since been struck off the list of respectable society.

Henry examined the invitation. It consisted of the usual formulaic pleasantries, ending with a sincere invitation to attend. The signatures, however, were indeed those of Mrs. Lambert Mellon and Givenchy himself.

Invitations like this were considered public correspondence. Some people valued them as collectibles or attached other significance to them, so they rarely contained much personal information beyond standardized public-relations language. Handwritten private letters were generally reserved for relationships that went beyond ordinary social acquaintance.

Consequently, if the recipient had any questions about an invitation, they could simply ask the person who delivered it. Answering questions and clarifying details were part of the messenger’s job.

Of course, sometimes that job involved knowing absolutely nothing about the answers. Knowing where to draw the line tested both the butler’s own abilities and the effectiveness of the family’s training.

Henry looked over the rather uninformative letter, turning it this way and that.

"May I ask what the theme of this spring reception will be?"

The butler in the tailcoat replied respectfully, "Since the passing of Mr. Mellon, the madam has remained immersed in grief, living alone at her residence at the Oak Spring Farm.

"This year, at the urging of Mr. Givenchy and a number of her friends, she has decided to change her mood by hosting a reception devoted to the appreciation of art, inviting a wide circle of guests.

"Guests may bring antiques from their collections, or recent works created by themselves or others.

"There are no restrictions on the type of art. Anything the guest feels is worth sharing and appreciating with others is welcome. Personally, however, I must confess that I would prefer if the invited guests refrained from bringing anything in particularly vulgar taste.

"In addition to collectors and creators, the reception will also welcome guests with extensive knowledge and a refined appreciation of art. There is no limit on the number of companions an invitee may bring, though we would appreciate advance notice.

"Mr. Brown, your invitation was proposed by Mr. Givenchy and personally approved by the madam. May I ask whether you would be able to spare the time to attend this splendid gathering?"

Some of the butler’s wording had gone a little too far. His description of Mrs. Mellon as living "alone" at Oak Spring Farm meant that no other members of the Mellon family were living there with her. It certainly didn’t mean she had no servants, butlers, or caregivers.

Paul Mellon, the eldest son and head of the previous generation of the Mellon family, had passed away in 1999 at the venerable age of ninety-one. In marriages arranged between families of this standing, if a couple had no children, the husband’s death could mean that the widow was expected to return to her birth family and await remarriage.

But this elderly couple had raised two sons, and their standing within the family was beyond question. Rachel Lambert Mellon was therefore able to remain in the home she and her husband had built together, living on as his widow and preserving everything they had established.

Henry still remembered visiting the Rokeby Stables under the old gentleman’s guidance to see his prized horses. The man had recited horse-racing lore with such familiarity that it might as well have been a foreign language to anyone else.

Even their few encounters had left a deep impression. At a Stark Industries annual gala, for instance, the old gentleman had quietly put Tony Stark in his place, back when Tony’s wings had not yet fully grown. His effortless composure in doing so had been unforgettable.

Unfortunately, in the eyes of those old-money families, Henry’s status was too lowly to merit much attention. When the old gentleman passed away, Henry had learned of his death only by reading the obituary in the newspaper. Naturally, he hadn’t been invited to the funeral.

Even with a net worth of tens of millions of dollars, Henry’s wealth still amounted to very little in their eyes. Cash was the least valuable thing these people possessed. What they had were assets and established businesses; net worth was merely one measure of their standing.

That suited Henry just fine. It saved him trouble, and he had never complained about being left out.

His experiences dealing with this couple and the Arden family had taught him that the friendliness and decency displayed by old-money families depended on whom they were dealing with and when. They weren’t willing to treat just anyone with courtesy and warmth.

At best, as at the Stark Industries gala, they would quietly humiliate someone like Tony Stark without making a fuss.

When things escalated to the point of open hostility, however, they behaved much like the Arden couple. They would summon someone, press a knife to their throat, and demand to know whether they would comply. Refusal wasn’t much of a problem either. The Arden couple’s house in California had already claimed the lives of who knew how many innocent people. Adding one more wouldn’t have made much difference to them.

So Mrs. Mellon’s invitation was one of those offers Henry could take or leave.

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