Old Money

You finished your homework and came out, then waited for half an hour under the streetlamp at the school gate reading?

He didn't point it out.

"Isn't your home in the South District? It's not on my way."

"A little detour doesn't matter, I have a car anyway." Gray turned to the side and pulled the car door open: "Get in, it's not safe to walk back this late."

A middle-aged man in a uniform sat in the driver's seat, his temples completely white, his hands resting steadily on the steering wheel.

"This is Macleod, my family's driver," Gray introduced.

The man glanced at Richard in the rearview mirror but said nothing.

He had been a full-time driver for Gray's family for twenty years, having driven her since she was an infant in arms.

The young lady never waited for anyone at the school gate; today was a first.

But some things are best left unseen; that was the basic etiquette of an old servant.

Richard got into the car.

Once the door closed, the sound of the wind and the clamor of the street were immediately shut out.

Inside the car were leather seats, walnut trim, and a copper ashtray embedded in the armrest.

The leather of the seats was excessively soft, sinking half an inch the moment he sat down.

The interior of this car was probably worth more than all the furniture in his living room combined.

Gray sat beside him, only an arm's length away.

The girl closed her book, her gaze landing on Richard.

Over these past few days, Richard Williams had been changing.

She remembered clearly what Williams looked like a month ago.

The gaze of that sickly boy was always cast downward, as humble as a weed by the roadside.

But now, this person was dazzlingly bright.

Gray knew that Richard's mother came from the Ashford family.

Among the members of those old-money families in the Imperial Capital, few were unattractive, and Margaret had particularly good features, a fact clearly reflected in her son.

The line of the bridge of his nose, the arc of his brow bone, and the slightly tapered angle of his jaw... the bone structure was excellent, though it had been hidden by illness and frailty before.

Now that his Physique had improved, those underlying traits were beginning to emerge.

Coupled with the fact that a person's entire face changes when they are confident and composed, the Richard standing in a crowd now could already be called a handsome youth.

"What were you reading in the library?" the girl asked, intentionally looking for a topic.

"Miscellaneous books, preparing for the Cicero Cup."

"Until seven o'clock?"

"I got absorbed in it and didn't notice the time."

Gray looked at him thoughtfully.

"Williams, do you believe in those things?"

She suddenly asked about something unrelated.

"Which things?"

"The day of the God-Descending Disk, you told us about the psychokinetic effect, about the oxygen levels in a confined space... science, logic, everything was explainable."

The girl's blue eyes stared straight at him.

"But you held that cloth bag for too long that day."

Richard remained calm, waiting for her next sentence.

"A person who purely believes in scientific explanations wouldn't hold something of unknown origin in their hands for so long."

Outside the car window, silhouettes of houses flashed by, chimneys standing like black vertical lines against the night.

"I don't know what you are doing."

Gray realized she was being a bit aggressive and softened her tone:

"But the candles only went out after you finished, I remember that very clearly."

After a few seconds of silence, Richard spoke: "Gray, are you interested in these things?"

"I've been interested since I was a child." She said it as casually as if she were saying she had liked strawberries since she was little:

"My family's study has an entire wall of old books, most of which were left by my grandfather.

When I flipped through those books as a child, I thought the illustrations were beautiful; it was only later that I understood what those illustrations were depicting."

Having said that, she stopped.

Richard did not press further.

Both of them caught the scent of their own kind on each other, but neither chose to break the silence.

The car turned two streets over, and Gray had the driver stop at an intersection not far from Richard's home.

"We're here."

"Thanks for today, Gray." Richard pushed the car door open, and a rush of cold air poured in.

"You're welcome."

The young girl hesitated for a moment, then pulled a paper parcel from her pocket and handed it over.

"I made these scones for my mother; help me taste-test them."

Richard took it.

The paper parcel still held a trace of warmth, having been tucked inside the girl's pocket the whole time.

"It smells delicious. I'll be sure to enjoy it." He did not refuse.

"Good, see you tomorrow then." Gray was visibly relieved.

The door shut, and the sedan drove off under the streetlights, its red taillights vanishing as it rounded the corner.

Richard stood under a streetlight, schoolbag in hand, and looked down at the paper parcel.

The sweet aroma of scones seeped through the folds of the paper.

Having sat in the backseat of that car for ten minutes, he had confirmed one thing: the financial status of Gray's family was, if anything, even higher than Warren's.

Warren had money, but Warren's money carried the stench of the nouveau riche: ordering the most expensive steak, speaking the loudest, and making sure everyone saw him spending money.

Gray was different.

That car, that driver, that wool coat with stitches so fine they were nearly invisible... they were all high-end, yet none of them were meant for show.

Old money.

The term popped into his mind, fitting perfectly into the class structure of the industrial age.

Warren's family had made their fortune in coal mines, spanning only three generations; Gray's family had at least five generations of accumulation—steady, low-profile, and deep-rooted.

In that trio, Warren was the face, Mason was the filler, but Gray was the core.

Richard tucked the parcel away and walked toward his front door.

He was still a few steps from home when he saw the light spilling out from the living room window.

Before he even reached the steps, the front door was pulled open from the inside.

Evelyn stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

Her gaze drifted past Richard's shoulder, landing on the road behind him.

Clearly, someone at the window had witnessed the entire process.

"Brother."

"Yeah."

"You got out of a car."

"Yeah."

"A very expensive car."

"A classmate gave me a ride home."

Evelyn's brows knit together, her mouth opening and closing, opening and closing.

"What kind of classmate? A boy or a girl?"

"A girl."

Richard answered too bluntly, and Evelyn's composure completely collapsed.

"A... a girl classmate? A girl classmate who drives that kind of car?"

"Her family's driver brought me back."

"You—you know a girl whose family owns a car like that?"

In the living room, their father's head peeked out from behind the corner of a newspaper.

Their mother leaned halfway out of the kitchen doorway, a dishcloth still in her hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Richard walked into the house. "I stayed late at the library today, and a classmate gave me a ride on her way."

"That car that brought you back..." Evelyn followed behind him, muttering incessantly.

"That was an Alvis, brother! You can count the families in all of Briston who own that car on two hands!"

"You recognize car brands now?"

"My classmate's father works at a dealership!"