Mellon

Henry recognized those names, not because he was idly investigating who the truly wealthy people in United States were, so he could go out and beg for money when he was starving.

Instead, while accompanying Audrey Hepburn to a fundraising banquet for United Nations Children's Fund in New York, he inevitably learned who the wealthy philanthropists were.

Some names may not be on the invitation list, but because they are well-known in the charity circle, no one knows if they will show up uninvited. Therefore, the information collected by public relations firms usually includes these people's names.

Henry also demonstrated his abilities as a super assistant at just the right time, because he remembered the advice Old Tom had given him in Alaska: there are many legal and convenient ways in the United States, provided you know them.

This transportation matter is also very simple: just find out the phone number for the United Airlines counter at Los Angeles Airport and book your ticket in advance.

Then I found out the phone number for a car rental company at Washington Dulles International Airport, and made a reservation in advance, specifying my flight arrival time.

Two simple phone calls made their trip incredibly smooth, without having to queue at the airport counter or wait for the car rental company to dispatch a vehicle.

Givenchy naturally contacted the other party beforehand, informing them of his approximate arrival time, and the other party promptly extended an invitation to dinner.

This alone shows just how influential this fashion mogul is. He can casually visit the homes of low-profile tycoons and be treated like royalty. Even Audrey Hepburn herself probably didn't receive such treatment.

However, Givenchy did spend a lot of money; he bought a bottle of France Louis XIII cognac at the airport. Compared to the fact that you can buy a good bottle of wine for a few dozen dollars, this kind of stuff that costs thousands would make even Kryptonian has never seen the world tremble with envy.

So, even if you work on a crab fishing boat, you won't drink more than a few bottles of this kind of liquor.

Henry arrived at Oak Spring Farm before nightfall, as planned.

There was no guard post every three or ten steps as I had imagined. Instead, it was a farm that looked quite ordinary and had a sense of history. The main thing was that the architectural style was not the modern minimalist style that claimed to emphasize design but ended up being strange and impractical.

Come to think of it, my stereotype of those big European and American houses comes from the South America tyrants in movies. They're in the business of turning heads, so naturally they need enough force to protect themselves.

The owner here runs a legitimate business, not the kind that involves death. Although there is a security team and some surveillance cameras, it's not the kind where you need to be armed and on guard all the time.

The Mellon stood at the entrance of the mansion to greet their distinguished guest. After the car was parked, a Mellon servant opened the door to welcome Givenchy, the bigwig of the fashion world.

Henry looked left and right, unsure where to park the car. Just as the Mellon family members approached the driver's seat, Henry smiled and asked, "Excuse me, where should I park the car?"

"Sir, you can just leave the car to us. No need to trouble the customer."

"Well, I'm just an assistant. No need for all that trouble." Henry wasn't quite familiar with these kinds of customs. Although he occasionally saw them at fundraising dinners, the etiquette there was different from visiting someone's home.

The Mellon family's waiter politely said, "Everyone who comes in is a guest, please don't worry, sir." After all, this was the driver's seat, not the Passenger seat, so they wouldn't offer to open the car door for him.

Henry, looking like a complete country bumpkin, got out of the car tremblingly and handed it over to the Mellon family's servant.

In that brief moment of contact, Henry noticed the Mutants features on the other person. He saw strange scales on their arms and the backs of their hands.

The nature of his ability remains a mystery. The Mutants waiter then went to park the car in the garage, but that's another story.

Givenchy was exchanging pleasantries with the couple at the door, called out to his assistant who had just gotten out of the car, "Henry, come here. Let me introduce you."

After the assistant approached, Givenchy introduced them, "This is Mr. Paul Mellon, and this is Mrs. Rachel Lambert Mellon."

The Old Money couple exuded an air of aristocracy, without the slightest incongruity that would be out of place for someone their age, and of course, there was no sign of them being overly or unkempt.

Compared to traditional Europe nobles, they only lacked titles. But in terms of the level of comfort they enjoyed, they were probably even more affluent.

From their attitude and expressions, you won't find the stubborn arrogance of a young boy like Tony Stark; all you'll see is pure kindness. You could say they've lived peacefully to this age—if not become immortals, then they're certainly extraordinary.

"Good day, sir and madam. I am Henry Brown, assistant to Ms. Audrey Hepburn."

Henry didn't offer his business card or shake hands. The difference in their social standing was too great, and Henry was the younger man. It's unwise to presume to be polite when an elder hasn't made any gesture.

Moreover, to be fair, Henry didn't really want to deal with these Old Money people. Power and wealth were nothing short of troublesome.

In the eyes of these people, the reason I'm standing here is simply because I'm Audrey Hepburn's agent. Givenchy is the one who can talk to them; I should just be a nobody.

It was like Henry's principle when he accompanied Ms. Hepburn to those fundraising banquets: listen, don't speak, and pretend you don't exist until someone asks you a question.

As expected, while the Mellon didn't show obvious contempt or disgust towards Henry, a sense of alienation lingered. It was as if a bottomless chasm existed between people of two different classes.

Henry, of course, had no objection. He was just someone who drove and booked plane tickets for Mr. Givenchy; he was nobody special.

Paul Mellon, facing Givenchy, said solicitously, "Come on, let's talk over at the table. Knowing you were coming, I had our chefs make sure to prepare a wonderful meal for you."

"Haha, more than one friend of mine has told me that they rave about your chef's skills. I'll definitely have to enjoy it today."

The two men walked ahead, and Ms. Rachel Lambert didn't neglect Henry, the young guest, but affectionately took his arm and led him inside. She then asked, "How is Ms. Hepburn?"

She wasn't sure how much to say, but she remembered that she had come with Givenchy to ask for help, and they would find out the reason sooner or later.

Henry then honestly replied, "The lady just had surgery yesterday, and it went very smoothly. She is currently recuperating at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center."

"Oh, what illness is it? Would you mind telling me?"

"It's a rare type of appendiceal cancer. Hospitals in Switzerland and New York couldn't find the cause, but fortunately, the doctors at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center used their superb medical skills to successfully solve the problem."

"God bless the good." Mrs. Rachel Lambert, who was probably older than Ms. Hepburn but in better health, offered her a prayer.