belamy20

211-212

Added 2025-02-08 02:03:42 +0000 UTC

Chapter 211: Unexpected Events – Miami

A summer morning, with the sun shining brightly.

The colors of summer in New York are the most vibrant and pure.

The sprawling golf course blends perfectly with the beauty of nature. This is one of the main reasons why so many people love golf—playing amidst picturesque scenery is not just a competition, but also a journey for the body and mind.

"Thwack!"

After watching the golf ball fly off his swing, Jinpu slowly lowered his club. Turning to Milo and Murdoch beside him, he said with a smile:

"This is the first time in six months the three of us have played golf together here."

Murdoch, the chairman of News Corp., also dressed in golf attire, paused for a moment. A smile appeared on his aging face, now marked with liver spots. "Well, we’re playing now, aren’t we? Don, it seems your golfing skills have improved."

"Of course," Jinpu said, waving his club enthusiastically. "I own several golf courses. Nobody plays golf better than me, and nobody understands golf like I do."

"Not even Tiger Woods?" Milo laughed, watching as the caddie set up the next ball.

Eldrick "Tiger" Woods, only 22 years old this year, had already earned his nickname on the professional golf circuit due to his incredible talent. Incidentally, the sports company he signed with was a subsidiary of Paladin Media's Paladin Sports.

"Definitely not."

Jinpu laughed cheerfully, "At least not here. He couldn't possibly play better than me. If he dared to, I’d have Doran dock his pay. Hahaha..."

Jinpu laughed heartily.

Because of Milo, the blond old man had good relationships with many executives under Paladin Media.

For example, Charles Doran, who used his own group’s capital to co-manage Paladin Sports with Paladin Media.

Doran was already friendly with Jinpu, but after learning that Milo considered Jinpu a friend, he became even more attentive to him.

To outsiders, Don "Trump" Jinpu was often considered one of Milo Blackburn's people—a peripheral member of the Boston consortium.

Jinpu was very satisfied with this identity.

His family had been in America for nearly a century since his grandfather immigrated.

His grandfather struck it rich back then, albeit by running brothels in gold rush towns—a somewhat unseemly source of wealth.

But as Jinpu often rationalized, even Rockefeller’s first fortune wasn’t entirely clean. Roosevelt himself had once been heavily involved in the slave trade!

By the time his father took over, their family had become one of New York's nouveau riche.

For Jinpu, his historical mission was to elevate the family into the ranks of the elite.

And nothing would accomplish this better than becoming a member of a financial consortium.

Thus, Jinpu worked hard to align himself with Milo.

Milo, recognizing Jinpu’s potential based on his achievements in a past life, also regarded him favorably.

In just two years, Jinpu, who had gone bankrupt three times, saw his social status in New York rise dramatically.

At least the "Blackburn’s man" halo had done wonders for him.

"Two hundred million dollars," Milo said after exchanging a few lighthearted jokes with the blond old man.

He then turned to Murdoch, who had been smiling quietly.

"Rupert, give us two hundred million dollars, and all of American Idol will be yours."

The golf game today had been initiated by Murdoch’s invitation.

After catching wind of it, Jinpu eagerly tagged along—after all, this was his golf course.

What Murdoch wanted to discuss with Milo was the copyright for American Idol.

Recently, the third season of American Idol had aired.

With the foundation laid by the first two seasons and joint promotion by Paladin Media and News Corp., the third season was an even greater success.

However, shortly after American Idol concluded, Paladin Media’s TBS Entertainment Channel announced a new show called America’s Got Talent.

This new show was the brainchild of Milo Blackburn, the creative mind behind Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, American Idol, and Jinpu's Apprentice.

The announcement generated buzz, with over 800,000 American viewers who had just finished American Idol expressing excitement on TBS's website.

This caused unease—not just among other networks with competing shows, but especially for News Corp., the biggest beneficiary of American Idol.

Understanding Murdoch’s intent, Milo didn’t beat around the bush.

He set the price at $200 million, which would buy out American Idol entirely, including its overseas rights.

Hearing the price, Murdoch quickly calculated in his mind.

It was a profitable deal.

Given the current trajectory, American Idol could likely run for at least five more seasons.

Earning $100 million per season didn’t seem far-fetched.

Additionally, overseas licensing rights could bring in another two to three hundred million dollars.

In other words, paying Milo $200 million upfront would easily pay off in the long run.

---

*“American Idol” could still earn News Corporation an additional $400 to $600 million.*

The key issue was...

Murdoch glanced at Milo. The key was whether Milo’s new show, America’s Got Talent, would impact American Idol.

“Alright,” Murdoch eventually agreed.

After all, whether or not he decided to buy it, Paladin Media’s TBS network had already announced it on their programming schedule.

No matter the potential impact of America’s Got Talent on American Idol, the new show’s launch was inevitable.

Even if it did have some influence, American Idol still held advantages in terms of being the first mover and its established reputation.

But if Milo deliberately interfered or obstructed, who knew if there would even be a new season of American Idol next year?

Given this, it was better to spend a bit more money to secure exclusivity.

This way, even if the profits were slightly reduced, it would guarantee continuity for the following year.

“Pleasure doing business,” Milo smiled. “Rupert, I particularly admire your straightforwardness. I don’t like that squid Lowry. That’s why I prefer working with you.”

In later years, the internet was full of speculation that Murdoch was part of the “squid people.”

The reasoning stemmed from the fact that one of his ancestors had married a squid woman.

According to the "one-drop rule" applied to squids and Black people alike, Murdoch should also count as a squid person.

At least, that’s how the squid-controlled media spun it.

In truth, Murdoch had no squid blood in his lineage.

The ancestor who married a squid woman had no children; she was merely Murdoch’s grandfather’s stepmother.

Murdoch had never acknowledged being a squid person, nor had he publicly denied it.

After all, he still wanted to integrate into American society.

Jinpu was even more unequivocal.

He was of pure Germanic descent, heavily Anglo-Saxon.

In the original timeline, his close association with the squid people stemmed from his struggle to integrate into the American upper class, where the Anglo-Saxon "Three Flags" didn’t fully accept him.

He had to settle for second best, attempting to align himself with the squid faction within the Eight Flags.

In this timeline, with his daughter still a minor, Jinpu needed Milo’s help to establish initial connections within the Three Flags circle.

Naturally, his regard for the squid people wasn’t as high as in his previous life.

In fact, because of his aspirations to join the Three Flags, his disdain for the squid people was even stronger.

“Hey, you squid people, still trying to beg at our Three Flags table?”

That summed up his attitude.

So, when Milo made disparaging remarks about the squid people in front of the two, they remained indifferent.

After all, Milo was part of the Three Flags, and the Three Flags could ridicule anyone and everyone—just not publicly.

“Ha! Congratulations on reaching an agreement. Shouldn’t we celebrate with a drink?” Jinpu cheerfully proposed.

Part of the $200 million also came from his pocket.

But now, Jinpu barely noticed such small sums.

The successful launch of FangDuoDuo and its skyrocketing valuation had propelled him into the top 100 of the Forbes list this year.

Compared to his 60% stake in FangDuoDuo, valued at $3 billion, $200 million was insignificant.

“Good idea,” Milo replied with a smile.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Jinpu said, handing his golf club to the caddy and eagerly gesturing to Milo and Murdoch.

At the bar of the golf club, Milo raised his champagne glass and clinked it against Murdoch’s.

“Once again, pleasure doing business.”

Murdoch chuckled softly, shook his head, and took a hearty sip. The three of them then engaged in relaxed small talk.

Around 4 p.m., just as they were about to end the gathering and leave, Milo received a call.

It was Wendy, informing him that just moments ago, Florida Mutual Bank had declared bankruptcy and been seized by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC).

As the glorious sunset painted everything in golden hues, rays of light pierced through the dense Manhattan skyline, transforming the scene into a golden masterpiece.

Inside a black Cadillac SUV crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, Milo frowned, holding his phone as he called his chief manager in the U.S.

He got straight to the point, stating his intent to acquire Florida Mutual Bank’s deposit operations.

After a noticeable pause and hesitation, the manager responded, “There are already two other companies planning to do the same.”

“Who?” Milo asked.

With a sigh, the manager replied, “Who else? Mellon and Morgan. They’ve already begun clashing. Are you sure you want to join the fray?”

Should he?

As night fell over Manhattan, Milo stood by the East River under the Brooklyn Bridge, gazing across the water at Lower Manhattan, home to the world’s most densely packed skyscrapers.

The fiery sunset gave way to red clouds that gradually turned rose-pink, merging with the deep blue sky as city lights flickered on.

Every year in the U.S., some banks collapsed, declared bankruptcy, or were acquired.

Florida Mutual Bank was undoubtedly a juicy piece of meat.

Why?

Founded in 1898 and headquartered in Miami, it was the largest savings bank in the southern United States, with $157 billion in assets and $108 billion in deposits.

However, since the 1980s, the bank had struggled with poor management, and in recent years, signs of collapse had become evident.

If anyone could acquire it, it would mean securing about 40% of Florida’s deposit market and 5%-19% of the voting power in companies such as Jabil Circuit, Publix Super Markets, World Fuel Services, and Ryder Systems.

These are some of Florida’s largest corporations, and Florida Mutual Bank was already the state’s top bank.

To quote one of the advisors from the Blackburn Foundation who summed up Milo’s sentiment:

“Even if a beggar controlled Florida Mutual Bank, that beggar could immediately become one of Florida’s uncrowned kings.”

So, this year, like many other giants, everyone has been watching Florida Mutual Bank’s attempts at self-rescue and its struggles.

Of course, aside from merely watching, Milo thought that others, like himself, had probably taken actions to push Florida Mutual Bank even deeper into trouble.

The goal? To sink it faster and get their hands on its lucrative remains sooner.

“Of course, we’ll take it!”

Walking back to the car, Milo’s bodyguard opened the door for him. He got in, regaining his composure.

“We’re not going home. Notify the airport— we’re heading straight to Miami!”

Although Lynton said that Morgan and Mellon wanted to take Florida Mutual Bank for themselves, Milo believed they weren’t the only ones eyeing this piece of treasure.

Could Citigroup, Californians, or Texans really have no interest in it?

That was impossible.

Florida occupies a unique position in America’s economic landscape. It’s one of the most remarkable regions, and no one—not even the local players—can fully control or influence the entire state.

This makes Florida distinctly different from other states.

In other states, there are typically a few powerful local families who cooperate through marriage or alliances, effectively controlling the economy, public services, the National Guard, and local politics. For example:

- The California Consortium and the California Clique

- The Boston Consortium in New England

- The Rockefeller group in New York

But Florida is different.

Due to historical reasons and chaotic developments in the past, a massive influx of Latin American immigrants created a very diverse population composition.

This chaos gave Florida its unique reputation for producing remarkable individuals.

From a financial perspective, this meant that local consortia lacked the strength to control the entire state, and their fragmentation made it difficult for them to unify.

While this meant Florida had no true "kingpins," it also made it challenging for external financial groups to fully penetrate and dominate the state.

Now, Florida Mutual Bank presented an opportunity.

It wasn’t just Milo, Mellon, or Morgan who were interested. Lynton only mentioned those two because he believed they were the most capable of taking Florida Mutual Bank.

---

*Historical Context:*

Established in 1898, Florida Mutual Bank, burdened by years of mounting debt, finally became the centerpiece of the largest bank collapse in U.S. history just before its 100th anniversary.

Based in Miami, it was the largest savings bank in the southern United States.

Analysts noted the collapse wasn’t surprising. The bank had been poorly managed for years and had its credit rating downgraded by Standard & Poor’s five years earlier.

The Federal Savings and Loan Insurance Corporation, tasked with handling Florida Mutual Bank’s bankruptcy, promised to develop a flawless resolution plan to minimize losses for depositors and stakeholders.

The FSLIC stated it would ensure that Florida Mutual Bank’s depositors and clients would not be impacted, and there was no need to tap into its deposit insurance fund.

*Live coverage by CNN News:*

When the news broke, Milo was already flying from New York to Miami.

The straight-line distance between New York and Miami is approximately 1,700 kilometers, with a typical flight duration of three and a half hours.

Milo departed at 7:00 AM, and by around 10:30 AM, his plane was above the Miami metropolitan area.

This city is often nicknamed “God’s Waiting Room” due to its warm climate and popularity among retirees, humorously referencing its appeal as a place to await the call of the afterlife.

A short while later, Milo’s Boeing 747-400B landed smoothly at Miami International Airport, located about 12 miles west of downtown Miami.

After the plane’s engines had been off for several minutes, the cabin door opened, and a stair vehicle was connected.

The first to disembark were several imposing, suit-clad men who quickly secured the private tarmac area, including a convoy of black Maybachs and Rolls-Royce Phantoms.

Shortly after, a team equipped with scanning equipment began inspecting the vehicles.

After about half an hour of preparation, everything was ready.

Milo's figure appeared at the airplane door and slowly descended the steps.

As he walked, he spoke to Kenny. “I really need to place an order for another plane. Preferably a cargo plane. That way, traveling to unfamiliar cities wouldn’t be such a hassle.”

Kenny smiled at his boss. “Maybe you could consider buying from the Air Force? Some of their retired cargo planes still have decades of service life left. For transporting goods, they’re incredibly cost-effective, though they do consume a lot of fuel.”

“Good suggestion. Worth considering.”

The convoy exited Miami International Airport. Inside the cabin of a black Rolls-Royce Phantom at the center of the convoy, Milo gazed out at the Miami city nightscape.

Neon lights flickered, skyscrapers rose high, and cars flowed endlessly along the coastal avenue. The interplay of city lights and starlight created a dazzling view.

He rolled down the window slightly, letting the sea breeze caress his face, bringing a hint of coolness. In the distance, yachts swayed in the shimmering waves. The city seemed like a brilliant gem, radiating a captivating glow.

But Milo was well aware that beneath this glamorous exterior, the city was a paradise for certain individuals.

Since the 1970s, thanks to its geographical advantages and the peculiar dealings between the U.S. and Cuba, Miami had gradually become the largest transit hub for illicit substances entering the United States.

By the early 1980s, Miami accounted for 70% of the U.S. trade in "laundry detergent," 70% of cannabis, and 90% of sedatives. Those involved laundered their illicit earnings and reinvested the money, fueling the local economic boom.

Miami’s real estate sector became a major channel for money laundering, leading to the construction of numerous five-star hotels, luxury apartments, bustling nightclubs, and towering skyscrapers.

The duality of Miami as both paradise and hell was even more extreme than New York.

The wealthy enjoyed a life far above paradise, while the poor lived a life akin to that of South America’s slums.

So, don’t mock Floridians for being resourceful.

Because this place truly doesn’t nurture idlers—it only rewards the rich and the ruthless.

Idlers can’t survive here.

The convoy's destination was the Four Seasons Hotel, a 70-story skyscraper dominating Miami’s skyline. It is the tallest building south of Atlanta in the U.S.

After over an hour's drive from the airport, the convoy finally arrived at the hotel entrance.

Wendy, who had arrived ahead of Milo, came out of the hotel to personally open the car door for him.

“Good evening, Wendy.”

“Good evening, boss.”

The group entered the hotel lobby. About ten minutes later, Milo was in the executive suite on the 70th floor, speaking to his grandfather, Old Blackburn, on the phone.

“Miami... what a chaotic place. From top to bottom, it’s a mess,” Old Blackburn’s voice rang through the phone. “The Florida Mutual Bank, huh? There are too many people eyeing it.”

“Well, one more won’t make a difference.”

“Yes, but your personal visit will make many think you’re serious about trying.”

“And why shouldn’t I try?”

“Well said. Just be mindful of your safety. Also, it would be best to call your maternal grandfather. At the very least, one of your uncles has been operating there for decades. The Bush family has far more influence there than we do.”

Florida is one of the strongholds of Catholicism in the U.S., with Protestant influence being weaker in the area.

This also explains why the Blackburn family has little sway here, one of the reasons why WASPs generally dislike Florida.

Too many outsiders!

After hanging up with Old Blackburn, Milo pondered for a moment and decided to call his maternal grandfather.

As Old Blackburn had mentioned, the Bush family had cultivated their influence in Florida early on.

Jeb Bush had come to Florida over two decades ago to develop his career. To do so, he even endured ridicule from his circle and married the daughter of a prominent Latin American figure.

In hindsight, this move proved highly effective in winning over the influential Latin American community.

Half an hour later, Milo concluded his call with his maternal grandfather.

“Phew…”

He put away his satellite phone and walked to the bright floor-to-ceiling window of the Four Seasons Hotel, staring at Miami’s skyline.

The flickering lights painted a cyberpunk-esque picture—beautiful yet dangerous in the dark.

After some thought, he couldn’t shake his unease.

He picked up the satellite phone again and issued a few new orders.

For instance, increasing the number of personnel sent by Global United Security from 200 to 400.

Additionally, he instructed Kenny to expand the guest list for the banquet to include 50 more former colleagues from the CIA’s Florida division.

As for the DEA’s Florida head, he also asked Hector’s older brother, Martin, to send them a heads-up.

Some might say he was making a mountain out of a molehill, but when it came to personal safety, Milo was always cautious.

Besides, unless the National Guard or federal troops got involved…

The firepower of his security company’s personnel was more than enough to take Miami if necessary.

Chapter 212: Mar-a-Lago Estate

*Morning, on the edge of Miami Beach.*

Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting golden hues on the table as it danced with the brilliant blue of the ocean beyond.

Outside, waves gently lapped against the sandy shore, while swaying palm shadows added a rhythmic charm. Inside the dining room, fresh flowers and greenery adorned the space, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread.

“I’m so glad to see you all! Uncle Jeb and Aunt Columba, good morning. And, of course, my dear Prescott, Noelle, and little Ellis.”

*In the heart of Miami, Brickell, at a seaside restaurant.*

Milo greeted his second uncle’s family warmly, embracing them as they exchanged pleasantries and small talk.

“This is such a surprise! None of us were expecting it—it’s a delightful shock!”

Jeb Bush, accompanied by his wife and children, settled in with Milo. He said with a smile, “When I got my father’s call last night, I could hardly believe it!”

“Haha, yes, it was a bit sudden,” Milo laughed, continuing to invite Aunt Columba and the younger Bush family members to sit.

It was Milo’s second day in Miami. Early that morning, he had called his uncle to invite the family for breakfast.

Yes, this was Jeb Bush, younger brother to George Bush, and second son of Herbert Bush.

From a young age, Jeb had been designated by the family to establish their presence in Florida. Milo couldn’t help but admire the Bush family’s strategic moves.

Originally a prominent political family in New England aligned with progressive Republican ideals, they later relocated to Texas, where they adopted a more conservative stance.

In Jeb’s case, the plan was clear: sent to Mexico for high school, where he quickly built connections—eventually marrying the daughter of a local Mexican leader. Returning to Texas for college, he majored in Latin American Studies and began his career in Venezuela.

His life path had been meticulously curated, positioning him as the family’s bridge to Latin American communities. He was the Bush family’s linchpin for winning over Latino and South American voters—a key player in their intricate political network.

Seventeen years ago, Jeb and his family moved to Miami. With the support of his father Herbert and the influence of Columba’s family in the Latino community, Jeb now served as the Republican Party chairman in Florida and held directorships at several local companies.

In many ways, he had become a prominent figure in Florida, a force to be reckoned with.

*Over a warm and familial breakfast, the atmosphere was lively.*

Afterward, Aunt Columba smiled as she gently urged her three children to attend to their respective school and work obligations.

Prescott, however, was reluctant to leave. At 20 years old, he was only five years younger than his cousin Milo. Yet Milo was already the world’s richest man, garnering universal respect wherever he went.

Prescott, on the other hand, had yet to graduate from college. He was still studying in Texas and was only in Miami for the summer holidays to reunite with his family.

Now, his mother was using the excuse of “school and work” to whisk him and his siblings away, leaving Milo and Jeb alone for their private conversation.

Prescott knew this was her intention.

He wanted to protest, to assert that he was already an adult. As the eldest of the younger generation in the Bush family, he hoped to participate in discussions shaping the family’s future.

But his father’s subtle glance stopped him. In front of Milo, Jeb remained warm and amiable, but to Prescott, his gaze carried authority and a hint of intimidation.

Prescott knew his father had never fully embraced him or his siblings, likely due to their mixed heritage.

Prescott vividly recalled being introduced to President and Mrs. Reagan at the age of 12. Herbert, their grandfather, had proudly made the introductions.

Yet during that moment, his grandfather referred to them dismissively as “the little brown-skinned ones.”

The tone, the expression—Prescott could never forget.

From that moment, he understood that, to the family, he and his siblings served primarily as tokens, proof of the Bush family’s supposed commitment to racial equality and openness.

But deep down, his grandfather, uncles, and even his father harbored discomfort about their skin color.

“If you dislike us so much, why did you have us?” Prescott thought to himself, his emotions swirling beneath a composed exterior.

As he prepared to leave, still hoping to exchange a few words with Milo, his cousin unexpectedly spoke up.

“I believe Prescott is already an adult, isn’t he? Uncle, he’s here spending the summer with you, right? I think he should stay. After all, he’s grown up now and deserves to participate as a full member of the family, to understand the challenges we face.”

Jeb froze momentarily, glancing at his son.

Prescott’s face lit up with anticipation.

Even Columba looked pleasantly surprised.

Milo’s tone made it clear this was no polite gesture. Jeb considered for a moment, remembering that among the younger generation of Bush descendants, Prescott was indeed the eldest.

“Alright then. Prescott can stay.”

Jeb smiled at Milo, conceding.

Prescott’s joy was evident.

“Thank you!” he said enthusiastically.

When Columba saw her daughter Noelle, she unexpectedly seemed inclined to stay as well.

The Mexican matriarch quickly pulled her daughter and youngest son away.

Her eldest son could already participate in family affairs, something that brought Columba such joy she often laughed even in her dreams.

How could she allow her naive daughter to interfere?

Prescott, who was left behind, was delighted.

He enthusiastically served his cousin and father, acting like a waiter by pulling out chairs for Milo and Jeb.

He asked if they’d like more food or drinks, offering to fetch whatever they wanted.

“Sit down, Prescott,” Milo said with a smile, gesturing for his younger cousin to take a seat.

Prescott beamed with happiness, thinking how kind his cousin from the Blackburn family was.

Though Jeb maintained a neutral expression, deep down he was comforted by the scene.

No matter how indifferent he might feel, there was no denying that Prescott was his son and a member of the Bush family.

Seeing Prescott earn Milo’s recognition—or at least his friendliness—brought Jeb a sense of relief.

After all, his nephew had long since risen to a new level.

Even Jeb’s father now regarded Milo as an equal during their conversations.

Observing Milo’s interaction with Prescott, Jeb decided to speak up.

“Florida Mutual Bank?”

Milo shifted his attention away from Prescott.

“You’ve heard of it, Uncle?”

“Ha, how could I not? That’s Florida Mutual Bank!” Jeb chuckled softly.

“I even served as one of its board members back when my father was in the White House. But I resigned four years ago.”

Americans don’t engage in corruption.

Everything is done openly.

They call it political exchange.

Since it’s part of the system, it’s considered an exchange—so, naturally, there’s no corruption.

During a presidency, sons often find their paths to success much smoother.

But once their parent leaves the White House, their fortunes tend to wane.

It’s not corruption.

It’s the American way.

What? This happens outside the U.S. too?

Then it’s a human trait.

“I can introduce you to some of the shareholders,” Jeb said. “But that’s as far as I can go. Florida Mutual Bank is already under receivership. The real battleground isn’t in Miami anymore—it’s in Washington.”

Milo nodded. He was well aware of this fact.

Since Florida Mutual Bank was bankrupt and under federal control, its fate would now be determined in Washington, where the power lay.

“When an elephant falls, whether it’s lions, tigers, or wolves, no one can ignore such a massive prize.”

Milo smiled faintly. “I just want a few bites.”

Hearing this, Jeb breathed a sigh of relief.

Last night, during a phone call with his father, Herbert, his greatest concern was Milo barging into Miami looking to wage an all-out battle.

If Milo did that, Jeb would find himself caught in an impossible situation.

If Milo succeeded, fine.

But if Milo failed, Jeb—rooted in Florida—would be left in the most awkward position of all.

“How about hosting a reception?” Jeb suggested. “No matter what your plans are, since you’re here, you might as well meet the locals.”

If Neal, his third uncle, had suggested this, Milo would probably refuse outright.

That uncle, known for his aimlessness, was always looking to leverage Milo’s name to make money.

“Sure,” Milo agreed without hesitation.

“Tomorrow night or the night after?”

“Either works for me,” Milo replied with a smile. He looked at Jeb and said, “This time, I came to Miami to relax. I’ll be staying for a while.”

Jeb understood.

Being a man of action, Jeb immediately stood up. “I’ll start preparing right away.”

Milo also rose and addressed his uncle. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Jeb smiled at him and left without delay.

Prescott, seeing his cousin and father stand, hesitated.

He opened his mouth as if to bid farewell to Milo but paused.

“Prescott, are you still studying at the University of Texas?” Milo asked.

Prescott nodded nervously, answering honestly. “Yes, like my father, I’m at the University of Texas at Austin, majoring in Latin American Studies.”

“Have you considered transferring to a school in California?”

“Uh?” Prescott was taken aback.

“Stanford, Caltech, UC Berkeley, and UCLA are all excellent options,” Milo said with a smile. “Think it over.”

“Okay,” Prescott replied, still unsure of what his cousin meant by this suggestion.

Despite everything, he still responded respectfully before bidding farewell to his cousin.

He quickly left the restaurant and caught up with his father, who was waiting outside.

Father and son remained silent as they got into the car. After driving for some time, Prescott mustered the courage to speak.

“Dad, Cousin Milo just suggested I consider studying at a university in California…”

“Hm?”

Jeb shifted his gaze from the window and looked at his son.

“What exactly did he say?”

Prescott recounted the conversation with Milo in detail. When he finished, he noticed the fleeting smile on his father’s face.

“Think about it carefully,” his father said unexpectedly. “I’ll discuss this with your grandfather. Maybe, just maybe, going to California for college isn’t out of the question.”

“Understood,” Prescott replied respectfully with a nod.

Even though he hadn’t yet graduated from college and was only twenty-one, Prescott knew what it meant to belong to a prominent political family, raised with the guidance of seasoned elders.

He fully understood that Milo’s suggestion wasn’t as simple as just studying in California. If it were merely about academics, the Bush family’s influence could get him into any university in the world. Milo’s insistence on California, coupled with his father’s plan to consult with his grandfather, made things clear.

It was obvious...

Prescott recalled the story of his father’s early years, arriving in Florida. If his grandfather agreed, it was likely Prescott would be sent to California for a purpose.

But why?

Probably, like his father before him, he’d be tasked with establishing another “branch operation” for the Bush family there.

The thought of stepping into politics with a starting point like California made Prescott feel exhilarated.

Once again, he marveled at how considerate and thoughtful Cousin Milo was toward him.

---

Meanwhile, Milo, after seeing his uncle off, didn’t linger at the restaurant or return to the Four Seasons Hotel where he had stayed the previous night.

The convoy of over ten black Maybachs and Rolls-Royce Phantoms merged onto the main road, soon joined by more than thirty SUVs of various models.

This sizable convoy made its way to Palm Beach, Florida—a narrow island nestled along the Atlantic coast.

Inside a black Rolls-Royce Phantom at the center of the convoy, Milo listened to Kenny’s report.

“We’ve done a thorough sweep and confirmed the area is secure,” Kenny said. “Mr. Trump’s team was very cooperative, and we’ve now taken over.”

“However, while Miss Ivanka Trump is willing to cooperate, her friends have refused to leave upon hearing that you’ll be arriving.”

“Have their identities been verified?” Milo asked.

“Yes,” Kenny replied. “In addition to Miss Ivanka Trump, there are two Misses Hilton from the New York Hilton family—Paris Hilton and Nicky Hilton—as well as two Misses Hearst from the Hearst family—Amanda Hearst and Lydia Hearst.”

After Kenny finished, he added, “They arrived four days ago, ostensibly for vacation and to attend some fashion events in Miami.”

Milo nodded but said nothing.

Kenny, observing Milo’s expression, was unsure whether to ask the New York heiresses to leave or let them stay. Given the estate’s size, housing them temporarily in an outer section posed no issue.

With that in mind, Kenny also remained silent.

The convoy continued its journey through Florida until just before noon, when they finally arrived at their destination—Mar-a-Lago.

Located in Palm Beach, this resort estate sits on a narrow island bordered by the Atlantic Ocean on one side and a lagoon on the other. Spanning about 20 acres (8 hectares) with a building area of 100,000 square feet (10,000 square meters), the estate was built between 1924 and 1927 by Marjorie Merriweather Post, heiress to General Foods.

From the outset, Marjorie envisioned the estate as a winter retreat for U.S. presidents to escape the cold while hosting foreign dignitaries and high-ranking officials.

After her death in 1973, the estate was donated to the U.S. government. However, the then-president disliked it, and the property was returned to her descendants in 1980.

A few years later, Trump purchased it for $8 million and began renovations. Two years ago, he transformed part of the estate into a private club.

Built in Spanish style, the estate boasts 126 rooms, with a central building housing banquet halls, conference rooms, and private residences. Surrounding this are various facilities for entertainment and relaxation.

Theoretically, anyone who joins the Mar-a-Lago Club or Trump’s golf club can vacation there. The estate also rents out spaces for weddings or events to the general public.

Two years ago, Jinpu established a private club here, but its quality isn’t particularly remarkable.

Milo came here on a whim.

He doesn’t own any property in this area, and too many people were coming along with him—especially the security personnel from United Global.

It wasn’t ideal for him to stay in a hotel in the city.

Fortunately, Jinpu often vacations here, so Milo borrowed Mar-a-Lago.

However, he didn’t move in right away. Instead, he arranged for a thorough inspection and preparation of the property before arriving today.

“They’re here! They’re here! Wow, I feel like even the president wouldn’t have a more grand vacation than this!”

As a convoy of sleek black luxury cars made its grand entrance into Mar-a-Lago on Palm Beach Island, the scene inside the estate was lively.

Five young girls, arguably still in their early teenage years, stood under the porch of the estate’s private residence, whispering and pointing at the convoy.

The comment above came from Paris Hilton, a friend of Ivanka Jinpu, the daughter of the estate’s owner, Donald Jinpu.

“Honestly, Ivanka, can we even stay here any longer? Last night was terrifying—I almost thought someone was about to launch an armed attack on Mar-a-Lago.”

This came from Amanda Hearst, another of Ivanka’s friends. Although their relationship had been somewhat casual before, things changed after Ivanka went to Boston to study at Harvard’s preparatory program and became close friends with Arianna Rockefeller. Everyone in New York knew her father and Milo Blackburn were good friends, so Amanda and Ivanka’s friendship naturally deepened.

Amanda continued, “I saw some of those people carrying heavy weapons! My God, this is America! Not Africa or Latin America! What are they planning to do with those weapons? Storm Miami’s City Hall?”

The incident Amanda referred to happened yesterday evening.

The five girls had been having a great time at Mar-a-Lago, enjoying the summer vacation.

Then suddenly, Ivanka received a phone call from her father.

He informed her that Mar-a-Lago would be lent to Milo Blackburn for his vacation and would not be open to the public for the foreseeable future.

Initially, the five girls were thrilled—after all, it was Milo Blackburn!

Paris Hilton was relatively calm. She had seen Milo a few times at events she attended with her father and grandfather and had even exchanged greetings with him.

As for Ivanka, there was no need to mention her excitement.

But the other three girls had never met this legendary American billionaire, who was considered the ultimate dream bachelor in their social circle.

However, instead of Milo, a massive team of United Global security personnel arrived first, nearly scaring them out of their wits.

About 100–200 security staff drove into the estate in a grand convoy. The girls initially thought they were about to be kidnapped or attacked.

When they learned it was Milo’s security team, they were somewhat relieved.

But their anxiety spiked again when they accidentally saw the team unloading what appeared to be advanced weaponry—anti-aircraft facilities, intimidating black pipes, and other heavy equipment.

These five girls, accustomed to the extravagant, carefree life of New York’s social elite, had never witnessed anything like this.

They were terrified.

The situation worsened when Milo didn’t arrive that night, and the security personnel refused to let them leave.

The girls spent a sleepless, fearful night.

Luckily, they weren’t cut off from the outside world. They called their families for help, but their families, after understanding the situation, all advised them to stay put at Mar-a-Lago.

“Think about your friend Ivanka and her father’s rising status in New York,” Paris’s father, William, had told her over the phone.

And so, the five girls stayed, nervously awaiting Milo’s arrival.

When the convoy finally arrived today, the girls couldn’t contain their curiosity.

As her friends chattered excitedly, Ivanka suddenly stepped forward and walked quickly toward the convoy.

The other four girls were momentarily stunned.

Ivanka approached a group of female bodyguards blocking their way.

One of the bodyguards, who appeared to be the leader, seemed inclined to stop her.

Ivanka said sternly, “I am Ivanka Jinpu! This is my home. My father is a close friend of Mr. Blackburn, and I am the best friend of Mr. Blackburn’s fiancée. He is our guest, and it’s only right for me to greet him!”

The lead bodyguard hesitated for a moment before using her radio to communicate with someone.

Finally, she said, “You may go, Miss Jinpu.”

Ivanka smiled brightly and left her friends behind, walking toward the convoy.

Paris, feeling an urge to follow, was beaten to it by Amanda.

“You little brat!” Paris muttered inwardly.

However, Paris and the others were stopped by the bodyguards.

“You cannot go unless the boss wishes to see you, ladies. However, you are free to leave if you wish.”

If it had been ordinary security guards, these four New York heiresses might have thrown a tantrum.

But after witnessing the weapons these formidable female bodyguards carried last night, they didn’t dare act up.

It was just like a blockbuster movie from Hollywood.

And that was Milo Blackburn, someone who was a top-tier figure even in New York City.

Even if their ancestors showed up, they would still have to be polite.