86-90

Chapter 86: The Fiancée

When the young girl introduced herself as Arianna Rockefeller, Murdoch’s gray eyebrows couldn’t help but twitch slightly.

Years ago, when Murdoch first came to the U.S. to expand his empire, he had set his sights on acquiring The New York Times. However, he had been humiliated by the Sulzberger family.

Back then, Murdoch was riding high, having successfully taken control of Sky TV in the UK and cementing his place as one of the British media moguls, despite being an Australian.

In his mind, if he could conquer the UK, then the U.S. should be no different. After all, the Five Eyes alliance connected the Anglo-Saxon nations like brothers.

But after the Sulzbergers’ slight, Murdoch had planned a series of retaliatory measures. However, before he could act, his American friends intervened.

Murdoch later heeded their advice for one reason: his friends explained that the grandfather-in-law of Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr.’s grandfather was none other than Adolph Simon Ochs, the third-generation head of The New York Times—who had once been John D. Rockefeller’s personal press secretary.

In fact, Arthur’s uncle, the brother of the fourth-generation Times head, nicknamed “Punch,” was still employed by the Rockefeller family.

Wasn’t it clear? The Sulzbergers still served as stewards for the Rockefellers!

Now, confirming that the young girl before him was indeed Edward Rockefeller’s youngest daughter and the granddaughter of the infamous heart-transplant enthusiast, Murdoch’s aged face naturally broke into a smile as he extended his hand to her.

Kim and Tommy’s reactions were much the same as Murdoch’s—if not even more awkward.

But Arianna seemed disinterested in them.

After shaking their hands, her beautiful eyes returned to Milo.

"My father went to Plymouth the day before yesterday," she said after some polite conversation. "My family hopes I’ll attend Harvard University."

Milo was taken aback. He hadn’t been told this—his family hadn’t mentioned it to him.

But he recalled a conversation with his father during last year’s Christmas gathering.

"That’s wonderful," Milo replied with a smile, looking at Arianna’s youthful face. “In my opinion, Harvard is the best choice, bar none.”

“I think so too.” Arianna smiled, then looked around at the others. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to have a word with Milo in private. Could you give us a moment?”

“Of course!”

Arthur Sulzberger Jr. quickly responded, grinning as he ushered Murdoch and the others away. “Gentlemen, how about a drink over there?”

The men naturally obliged, retreating from the fireplace lounge.

Once everyone had left, leaving just the two of them in the corner, Milo looked at Arianna, just about to speak.

Arianna interrupted, “Mr. Blackburn, I hadn’t planned to come here tonight. But I asked Mr. Sulzberger to bring me along at the last minute. Do you know why?”

Milo didn’t immediately respond to her abruptness. He swirled his whiskey glass and then answered, “I’m not sure, Miss Rockefeller.”

“Then I’ll tell you, Mr. Blackburn.” Arianna’s eyes were piercing as she spoke. “An hour ago, my father called me from Boston. He told me that the Rockefellers and the Blackburns will unite. Your grandfather and father have already agreed. If the Blackburn family has no other heirs besides you, I will soon become your wife.”

Arianna continued, “At the time, I was doing what any high school student should be doing—finishing my homework. I heard you were in New York and asked Mr. Sulzberger where you might be. He said you might be here, so I came to meet the man who may become my future husband.”

When she finished, her beautiful eyes fixed on Milo’s face, as if searching for a hint of surprise.

But there was none. Milo continued swirling his whiskey, his expression unchanging, as if what she’d said had nothing to do with him.

“Are you listening, Mr. Blackburn? No—Milo, are you listening?” she pressed after several seconds of silence.

“Of course, I’m listening,” he replied calmly.

“Then…” Arianna’s gaze grew more intense. “You don’t seem surprised at all.”

“It was bound to happen.” Milo shrugged, his voice low. “If not the Rockefellers, then the Morgans—or perhaps the Mellons.”

He thought back to last Christmas when his grandfather affirmed his father’s words.

With Paladin gone, his marriage was destined to be arranged. Unless he abandoned everything the Blackburn family represented and became an ordinary man, there was no escaping it.

Now it seemed the Rockefellers were the chosen match.

Judging by what Arianna said, her father had even gone to Plymouth for this. She wouldn’t joke about something like this.

With that realization, Milo downed the remainder of his whiskey.

The fiery burn in his throat matched the turmoil in his heart.

Setting the empty glass down, he suddenly leaned closer to Arianna, wrapping an arm around her waist. His other hand brushed her silky scarf, lightly stroking her neatly braided golden-brown hair.

“So, Arianna, does this mean we’re now engaged?”

“Milo, stop! Don’t mess up my hair! My maid spent hours on it!”

Her cheeks flushed red at his bold move, but she didn’t try to pull away. “Not yet—we need to go through the engagement ceremony first. Only then will we be officially engaged.”

“Fair enough,” Milo said, releasing her immediately.

Arianna was about to speak again when Milo grabbed the nearly half-empty bottle of Dalmore 62 whiskey and handed it to her.

“Arianna, hold this for me. Let’s go over there and have a drink with my friends.”

Without thinking, she took the bottle and allowed him to lead her toward the others.

Before Arianna could say a word, she noticed a slim, dark-haired man persuading a stunning woman to drink.

“Katherine, come on, just one more drink. It’s only the third glass. Honestly, you should come to my place—we’ve got even better whiskey in my cellar!”

The beautiful woman looked visibly uncomfortable.

“I really can’t drink anymore, Mr. Giuliani. I don’t hold my liquor well.”

Arianna recognized the woman immediately—it was Catherine Zeta-Jones, a British actress.

Although Arianna rarely paid attention to Hollywood or the entertainment industry, she knew of Zeta-Jones for another reason.

Months ago, she had learned from her father and grandfather that her future husband would undoubtedly come from the Boston elite.

Whether it was Maine’s Craigs, Connecticut’s Harrises, or Massachusetts’ Blackburns, her fate was sealed.

Arianna had no objections to this arrangement—free love was a luxury for others.

Once she realized Milo Blackburn, the sole heir of the Blackburn family, was her likely match, Arianna had secretly investigated him.

Among her potential suitors, Milo stood out as the most attractive.

From then on, she began to pay close attention to him.

It was because of this that she immediately recognized Zeta-Jones—the woman rumored in the media to be linked to Milo Blackburn.

*Chapter 87: Don’t Waste It*

New York City, Manhattan. As night falls, the lights shine brilliantly.

In Midtown, in the golden ballroom of the Hilton Hotel.

Arianna holds a bottle of Dalmore 62 Whiskey.

She watches the stunning Catherine Zeta-Jones, who is being pestered by a tall, thin man with black hair.

She can’t help but glance at Milo, who’s holding her hand.

As far as Arianna knows, that British woman being hassled and Milo have had some rumors.

Arianna also knows those might not just be rumors.

This Hollywood British woman is definitely involved with her freshly minted fiancé.

She’s fourteen now, not four.

When she was nine, one day at home, she accidentally saw the Salisbury butler leading a few stunning women to see her grandfather.

Those women stayed in his room all afternoon.

At the time, she was still a bit naive, thinking they’d come to care for her grandfather.

But it didn’t seem right; they didn’t look like caregivers.

Each was dressed flamboyantly, and Arianna, already aware, thought they were beautiful and sexy.

She later learned these women were renowned high-class escorts in Manhattan.

And her grandfather was nearly eighty at the time.

She later told her mother about it, hoping for some clarity.

To this day, Arianna remembers what her mother said.

“Don’t hold it against your grandfather, Arianna. Men are just like that.”

“They’re always ready to fall for someone new. Arianna, remember this: as long as your man still loves you, as long as he recognizes you as his wife, most of the time, if those women don’t affect you, you should pretend not to know.”

Arianna disagreed with her mother then.

But later, she realized not only her grandfather was like this.

Her father and many male relatives were the same.

Now she knows she even has a few half-siblings out there.

They’re illegitimate children, without the Rockefeller name. And it’s not just her family—her father’s generation has the same pattern.

Even her most respected grandfather has illegitimate children out there.

“Hello, there…”

Arianna, a bit dazed, sees the tall, thin man pestering the British woman approach with a cheeky smile.

Naturally, Zeta-Jones sees Milo, too.

She shows a delighted smile and hurries over, and the man follows.

With a smirk, the man says to Milo, “Hello, sir, care for a drink?”

“You enjoy drinking?” Milo replies.

“Oh, of course. Isn’t that what we’re all here for?” The tall, thin man raises his glass with a grin at Milo. “Haha, hello, nice to meet you. I’m Rudolph Jones Lewis Giuliani IV. Rudy Giuliani is my uncle. I really like Catherine and wanted to buy her a drink, but she only had two before stopping, which is disappointing.”

Arianna doesn’t know Rudolph, but she dislikes his gaze.

His lecherous eyes linger on the British woman, then sweep over her, stopping briefly at her flat chest before moving on without a second thought.

Arianna feels uncomfortable; she doesn’t know this vile man.

But she knows Rudy Giuliani.

He’s the Mayor of New York, a Catholic. The night after winning the election two years ago, he visited her house.

Her father greeted him in person; her grandfather didn’t come out to see him.

As she’s lost in thought, she suddenly feels Milo release her hand.

He wraps his arm around her waist.

A bit uncomfortable, Arianna looks up and suddenly finds Milo’s handsome face getting closer.

She immediately catches the pleasant scent of Dalmore 62 whiskey on him, and then her lips feel warm.

He’s kissing me! Kissing me at a public party!

Arianna’s beautiful eyes widen, unsure whether to push him away or respond.

But thankfully, she doesn’t have to choose. Milo’s touch is brief.

As she’s released, she takes a deep breath to make up for the oxygen she missed.

Then she sees Milo take the bottle of Dalmore 62 from her hand.

With a smile, he steps forward, grabs the unprepared Rudolph Giuliani by the chin. “You want a drink? This is Dalmore 62 Whiskey, worth tens of thousands of pounds. There’s half a bottle left. Drink it all—don’t waste it.”

Ariana's pupils shrank suddenly as she watched Milo holding a bottle of Dalmore 62 whisky. He tipped the bottle straight into Rudolph Giuliani’s mouth without hesitation.

Rudolph, tall yet quite thin, appeared utterly petrified.

No matter what, Rudolph couldn’t have imagined that someone would do such a thing to him at an event of this caliber.

And his uncle, the mayor of New York City, was watching from not far away!

How could someone dare to do this?

By the time Milo had poured almost the entire remaining half-bottle of Dalmore 62 down his throat, leaving Rudolph choking and spluttering, the latter finally started to resist.

"Let... me go, you—cough, cough, bastard! F**k!"

At this point, Milo obligingly let go of Rudolph.

He casually tossed the now-empty bottle of Dalmore 62 whisky onto the floor and wiped the alcohol off his hands on Rudolph’s obviously expensive suit.

"How's it taste, Giuliani? Should be pretty good, right? Dalmore 62, no less. Look at you, spilling it everywhere... such a waste."

"Oh my God! Dear Lord, how could this happen?"

As Milo finished speaking, the host of tonight's event, Anna Wintour, hurried over.

The so-called Devil Wears Prada figure exclaimed in disbelief, "Ah! How could this be? Oh my God, this... this is simply a disaster!"

The aging fashion icon shouted while glaring at Milo and Rudolph.

Then she turned to the two middle-aged men striding toward her.

Clearly, Anna Wintour, the ultimate fashion mogul, was panic-stricken.

Thankfully, she had backup.

The true hosts of tonight's banquet, the men behind Wintour—the Newhouse brothers, Samuel Irving Newhouse Jr. and Donald Newhouse—stepped forward.

The owner of The New Yorker, Vogue, Vanity Fair, and Architectural Digest, Samuel Newhouse, spoke first:

"Oh, this looks a bit messy, but it's just a small misunderstanding! Ladies and gentlemen, please, carry on enjoying the banquet—we'll take care of this. Haha, please, continue!"

"Exactly right, nothing much to see here—just a little misunderstanding and a tiny accident. Let's keep the party cheerful..."

Donald Newhouse chimed in, motioning for the guests to move away from the scene.

This created space and time for his brother and Anna Wintour to handle the situation.

But as they glanced at Milo, the disapproval in the brothers' eyes was evident.

At that moment, a young girl standing behind Milo suddenly stepped forward.

She bent down slightly, using one hand to shield her chest modestly—even though there wasn’t much to shield.

Then, she picked up the Dalmore 62 bottle from the floor with her other hand.

Expressionless, she approached the red-faced Rudolph. To his astonishment, she silently poured the last few drops of whisky from the bottle over him.

"Don't waste it," she remarked with utmost seriousness.

Having been force-fed half a bottle of strong whisky, most of which had already hit his stomach, Rudolph was overwhelmed by the alcohol.

"F**k you!"

As murmurs and pointing gestures surrounded him, Rudolph, enraged, raised his hand, ready to strike Ariana.

But Ariana, quick on her feet, flung the empty bottle aside and retreated rapidly.

"Rudolph, stop!"

His uncle’s anxious voice rang out, accompanied by Rudy Giuliani’s intervention.

Milo stepped forward, shielding Ariana.

As Milo stared at her in surprise, Ariana smiled faintly.

"Hey," she said softly, "you were the one who said not to waste it."

(End of chapter)

*Chapter 88: How Many Should We Have?*

On a dark spring night, New York isn’t bustling with life as one might imagine. Instead, it feels as cold as steel.

New York sprawls across the land like a steel giant. The city lights resemble molten steel in a forge, giving off an intense glow that blinds more than it warms.

Midtown Manhattan.

Hilton Hotel, Golden Ballroom.

The reception has ended, with guests mingling and toasting one another. It concluded half an hour earlier than planned, giving off a sense of haste.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him. How dare he! How dare he!”

Several cars pulled away from the Hilton Hotel.

In one of them, Rudolph, the mayor’s nephew, slumped in the back seat, having downed half a bottle of Dalmore 62 whiskey. His face was flushed, and he was yelling incoherently.

It was clear Rudolph’s blood alcohol level was still high. He was very much intoxicated.

Rudolph’s uncle, Rudy Giuliani, held a phone to his ear, talking to someone. He shot his nephew a cold look and scolded, “Rudolph, shut up. You’re disturbing my call with William.”

Rudolph, even in his drunken state, feared his uncle. After the warning, he lowered his voice obediently, “But, Uncle…”

“Shut up!”

Rudolph finally fell silent, listening to his uncle’s conversation with William Bratton, the current NYPD commissioner.

“…I understand, William. I didn’t expect to arrest him. After all, nothing serious happened, and Rudolph wasn’t hurt.”

I wasn’t hurt? My throat’s still sore from being jabbed with a bottle! Rudolph thought bitterly.

“William, do you think this could be the work of the Democrats? As far as I know, that guy’s father is a Democratic Congressman. It’s clear the Democrats won’t let me have an easy time as New York’s mayor—they’ll pull any strings to make things difficult for me.”

Leaving the party, Rudolph had learned Milo’s identity.

This guy is actually a Congressman’s son?!

Isn’t he just a writer?

Upon finding out, Rudolph knew he’d probably just been made to drink for nothing.

It’s true that his uncle was the mayor of New York, holding significant authority. But Milo’s father was a Congressman—a wealthy and famous one, at that.

His uncle would never risk a conflict with a Congressman just for him.

It’s all that lunatic’s fault!

“Alright, I understand. Thank you, William. Goodbye. And thank you for your concern. Rudolph is fine; we’re on our way home now.”

Rudolph looked at his uncle, who hung up the phone. His breath still smelled of alcohol. “We can’t just let this go, Uncle. He knows I’m your nephew, but he still did this in front of so many people. Uncle, he’s not just targeting me—he’s targeting you!”

Giuliani took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “William won’t take action; he wouldn’t dare, and I wouldn’t want him to. Besides, you weren’t actually hurt, so reporting this won’t do any good.”

Rudolph protested, “So we’re just going to let it go?”

Giuliani didn’t answer his nephew’s question. Instead, he asked, “Rudolph, do you know the young girl who was with Milo?”

“That chick? Oh! She humiliated me too! She’s as much a nutcase as he is!”

“Her last name is Rockefeller.”

“Rockefeller? So what? Wait, Uncle…”

Even in his drunken state, Rudolph’s eyes widened in shock as he looked at Giuliani. “Did you say that girl’s last name is Rockefeller?”

Giuliani nodded impassively. “Her father is Edward Rockefeller. Her brother is Duke Rockefeller. And her grandfather is David Rockefeller.”

Rudolph’s jaw dropped, his head swimming.

“I’ve visited her home; I’ve met the Rockefellers. I’ve seen her a few times—there’s no mistake.”

Giuliani said, “Now you understand why I want to downplay this, don’t you? Good thing you didn’t hit him; that would’ve caused a big problem.”

Rudolph wanted to protest, but his uncle stopped him.

Giuliani added, “This is the end of the matter. Rudolph, stay home for the next few days. Let things cool down before you go out again.”

Rudolph glared, his eyes red. He looked at his uncle, wanting to refuse.

But he didn’t dare.

“Fine!” he muttered, punching the car door in frustration as he turned his gaze out the window.

Giuliani ignored his nephew.

Unlike Rudolph’s resentment, this Republican mayor of New York, in office for two years, had much more on his mind.

…

…

Meanwhile…

Unlike Rudolph’s bitterness and Giuliani’s suspicions, Milo was much calmer.

After leaving midtown, he hadn’t taken his own motorcade but, instead, after receiving a call from his great-uncle Benjamin, chose to leave Manhattan in the same car as Arianna, heading toward Long Island.

Arianna sat beside him, watching the flickering roadside lights play over his face. She glanced at Arthur Ochs Sulzberger, Jr., seated in the front passenger seat with the driver, then turned back to Milo.

In a quiet voice, she asked, “Milo, what are you thinking about?”

“Hm?”

Snapped out of his reverie, Milo looked at the curious expression on the girl’s face and smiled. “I was thinking about our future. I was wondering whether we should have four children, or maybe five or six.”

In the dim light, Arianna’s beautiful face turned red.

Fortunately, the light in the car was low, making it hard for anyone to notice.

“No way…”

Her voice was soft, but her tone was firm. “You’re actually thinking about…Miss Katherine? Or maybe about the mayor’s nephew?”

Milo shook his head. “Really, I was thinking about our future. Arianna, what do you think we should name our first child? If it’s a boy, I’d like to name him Paladin—that was my brother’s name. If it’s a girl, maybe Melissa, after my grandmother’s middle name.”

Arianna fell silent.

She could hear Sulzberger trying to stifle his laughter in the front seat.

She decided not to respond to Milo.

She feared if she asked more questions, Milo might say something even more embarrassing.

As she stayed quiet, Milo relaxed.

Of course, he wasn’t actually thinking about children.

He was merely deflecting, keeping Arianna from focusing too much on his thoughts.

In reality, he was considering tonight, and his future.

The news of a possible alliance between the Blackburns and the Rockefellers had caught him off guard.

He had called back to Plymouth to confirm it.

Now, he and Arianna were on their way to Long Island.

In the Rockefeller mansion in the new Sleepy Hollow, his great-uncle Benjamin and Arianna’s grandfather, David Rockefeller, were waiting for them.

It was practically confirmed that he would marry Arianna.

As for making Rudolph drink…well, that was his way of venting. Venting his frustration at being used as a pawn.

Plus, Rudolph’s pursuit of Zeta-Jones had seriously irritated him.

He’d had a bit to drink and, in a moment of drunken impulse, acted out.

It also had something to do with his original self—this body carried a few quirks.

It was prone to anger, had certain compulsions, and had previously struggled with alcohol.

Though Milo was in control now, there were times when he couldn’t suppress these impulses.

Like this time, or the last time, after he was shot.

Fortunately, his sanity still held, and he’d chosen Rudolph as his target.

Blame it on Rudolph for harassing Zeta-Jones, and for showing up at precisely the wrong moment.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 89: The Surprised Old David

A long convoy sped down the road toward Long Island.

Long Island, a wealthy enclave of New York, is surrounded on three sides by the sea. It boasts lush forests, pristine sandy beaches kissed by waves, towering lighthouses, renowned vineyards, world-famous castles, opulent mansions, and English-style gardens.

The Rockefellers once resided upriver along the Hudson, in the legendary Rockefeller Castle.

The estate spanned 4,000 acres, surrounded by verdant hills and flowing waters.

Not only were the architecture and gardens worthy of being called a museum of architectural art, but the estate also housed a vast collection of antiques and sculptures. Its basement held treasures from masters like Van Gogh and Da Vinci.

Thirty years ago, the estate was appraised at $2 billion.

Eventually, however, the Rockefellers donated most of the estate to the nation.

It appeared magnanimous and generous—after all, it was a super estate worth $2 billion three decades ago.

Today, the estate is managed by the U.S. National Park Service.

Interestingly, the section of the Rockefeller estate managed under this system has always been overseen by David Rockefeller himself.

Since the estate was donated to the nation, its maintenance, renovations, and daily operating expenses naturally fell under national responsibility.

Thus, the National Park Service spends over $100 million annually to maintain the grand and exquisite Rockefeller Castle.

Yet, Rockefeller family members retain the right to reside within the estate.

Their private residences remain off-limits to regular visitors.

Living on taxpayer dollars while basking in praise for their generosity—that’s the Rockefeller way.

However, the Rockefeller estate Milo and Ariana were heading to wasn’t this famed estate.

It was the newer one, their true current base of operations, built later on Long Island.

The new Rockefeller estate wasn’t even marked on any map.

At around 10 p.m., after an hour-long drive, Milo noticed the convoy slowing down.

He glanced at Ariana.

Sensing his expression, Ariana softly said, “We’re almost there.”

Milo nodded. Soon, the convoy entered a winding mountain road.

At the end of the road was a grand yet understated gate.

Waiting at the gate was Salisbury, Ariana’s grandfather’s personal butler and the uncle of young Arthur, who sat in the front seat.

Butler Salisbury led Milo into the vast, understated estate castle.

“Miss, the master and Reverend Blackburn are in the south study waiting for Mr. Blackburn. The mistress is waiting for you in your residence to have a word.”

Milo and Ariana parted ways in the first sitting room.

“Milo, I’ll... head over there,” Ariana said softly.

Milo nodded slightly.

Ariana was escorted away by maids, while Salisbury smiled and gestured. “This way, Mr. Blackburn.”

Milo’s expression remained calm as he indicated for Salisbury to lead the way.

Slowly, they arrived at the door of a reception room.

“Reverend Blackburn and my master are inside. Please, Mr. Blackburn...”

Milo stepped in, and Salisbury gently closed the door behind him.

Inside, two elderly men awaited him. One, smiling warmly, was his great-uncle Benjamin.

The other was Ariana’s grandfather, David Rockefeller, grandson of the Rockefeller family’s founder.

When Milo entered, David was selecting wine from the liquor cabinet.

Upon seeing him, Ariana’s grandfather smiled and asked, “Brandy or whiskey?”

“Brandy. I just had whiskey earlier,” Milo replied casually.

After an hour’s drive, he had already decided his course of action.

Milo was calm, especially with Great-Uncle Benjamin present.

“Well then, since you asked for brandy, let’s have whiskey,” David declared, selecting a bottle and glasses from the cabinet.

Benjamin chuckled, shaking his head lightly.

Milo sighed inwardly and let the old man pour the drinks.

David, now silent, poured whiskey into three glasses.

“Younger people like you should really stick to wine,” Milo commented, breaking the slightly awkward silence. “Brandy and whiskey have too much alcohol content.”

“You’re not wrong. I usually drink more wine myself. But today, with the esteemed Archbishop here, I trust the Lord will forgive my indulgence,” David quipped, with a touch of humor.

“Forgiveness is the Lord’s domain. I just deliver your words to Him,” Benjamin replied as he accepted his glass.

David laughed softly and raised his glass.

The three clinked glasses and each took a sip.

Perhaps due to the meticulous care taken in preserving the Rockefeller family's liquor, the whiskey was even stronger than Milo had anticipated. The unprepared Milo almost coughed.

“So, what’s your take on Silicon Valley and the... internet?”

David’s sharp eyes fixed on Milo with a serious expression. “A friend of mine recently complained about some kids from Dot-Com Valley trying to steal the bread off his plate.”

“The internet?”

Drawing on his knowledge of future history, Milo confidently replied, “I believe the internet will exceed your expectations. In no time, it will become increasingly influential and, alongside Silicon Valley, change the world as we know it.”

Indeed, the internet accomplished this, especially with the advent of mobile internet.

To some extent, it represented the pinnacle of the Third Industrial Revolution: the Information Age.

“Oh? That’s your perspective?” David looked visibly surprised. He glanced at Benjamin.

Benjamin swirled his glass and shook his head. “Don’t look at me. You know I only serve the Lord. This isn’t my area of expertise.”

David fell into contemplation.

The Blackburn family was traditionally skilled in theological debates.

David’s intelligence network painted Milo as a young Blackburn who had performed well in the past six months but whose fundamental nature remained troublesome.

Just two hours ago, the man had behaved like a bar brawler at a social gathering of elites.

Yet here he was, making bold and assured statements.

Was this something taught by the Blackburn family? Or the view from Boston circles?

David dismissed the thought.

The Blackburns, including John and Benjamin’s generation, weren’t capable of such foresight.

This bunch specialized in theological debates and Capitol Hill politics, nothing more.

As he studied the tall, handsome young man who had captivated his granddaughter, David recalled his intelligence agents failing to trace the original author of The Da Vinci Code.  

Their conclusion? Milo might truly be the author.

Could these insights really be his own?

(To be continued)

Chapter 90: Old David, Keep an Eye on Your Granddaughter

David wasn’t sure if Milo’s earlier remarks were his own thoughts or if someone had coached him.

The old man’s intention in questioning Milo was to subtly warn this future Rockefeller son-in-law to exercise restraint.

After all, on Morgan’s side, there were already people targeting Milo.

The Rockefellers coveted Blackburn’s influence in religious circles and wanted to leverage Blackburn to gain traction with the Boston Consortium.

However, they didn’t want the Blackburn connection to disrupt the strategic alliance between Rockefeller and Morgan.

Tonight, David had hoped that the two families’ cooperation would solidify. He invited his old friend Benjamin over, using the opportunity of announcing Milo’s engagement to issue him a gentle caution.

Silicon Valley was fair game for Milo, but he needed to tread lightly and not step on too many toes.

What David hadn’t anticipated was Milo’s sharp take on the internet.

Coincidentally, David had recently encountered this same perspective elsewhere—at a meeting of the Trilateral Commission.

It was one of many think tanks’ insights about the future economy.

This viewpoint was highly confidential, known to fewer than 50 people globally.

Of the 15 people privy to it in the United States, none were connected to Milo. It was almost impossible for them to have shared this information with him.

Which meant it was likely Milo’s original thought.

After some reflection, David reached his conclusion.

“Young man, I don’t care how you came up with that conclusion,” David finally said, deciding he still had to give his warning:

“Watch your step. Morgan has their eye on you.”

Milo remained silent.

Benjamin suddenly chuckled, breaking the tension. “Hey, are you two done with your talk? David, if you’re finished, it’s our turn now. Let Milo step out.”

Milo glanced at Benjamin and knew his granduncle was offering him a way out.

David shrugged. “Fine, let’s leave it at that.”

The two elderly men had more to discuss, so Milo quietly got up and opened the door.

The Salisbury butler was waiting just outside, smiling at him as he exited.

Walking down the hallway, Milo spotted Ariana approaching with a bright smile.

“Milo, you’re out!”

“Yes, I’m out,” Milo replied with a smile. “You finished your conversation with your mother?”

“Yes.” Ariana let out a soft sigh, looking quite pleased. “Oh, by the way, she told me I’ll be heading to Boston next month—to Harvard!”

Looking at the radiant Ariana, Milo suddenly felt a pang of emotion.

He could sense that Old Rockefeller didn’t think much of him.

Milo understood. His current achievements—a blockbuster film and a best-selling novel—were insignificant in the old man’s eyes.

Even if he were to command all of Hollywood and the publishing industry, it likely wouldn’t mean much to someone like David.

Milo could understand, but it didn’t mean he had to accept it.

Instead, it was the girl before him who brought him a bit of comfort.

Becoming his fiancée genuinely seemed to delight her.

She had even openly confronted Giuliani at the banquet earlier.

Old man, since you look down on me…  

“Milo, what’s wrong?” Ariana asked, noticing his unusual expression. “Was it something my grandfather said? Don’t mind him. He’s always like that. If you don’t like it, just ignore him. Don’t—oh, you…?”

Before she could finish, Milo suddenly wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her closer.

Caught off guard, Ariana lost her balance and fell into his arms.

“Ariana.”

“Milo, what are you doing?” Ariana looked at him, flustered.

She was clearly nervous but also unsure how to respond. Fortunately, they had shared some physical contact earlier at the banquet, easing her discomfort.

“Let me hold you, Miss Rockefeller. Forgive my boldness, but you look stunning tonight,” Milo said softly into her ear.

Ariana looked up, her cheeks flushing as she stared at Milo in confusion. She didn’t understand his sudden behavior but couldn’t deny that it felt nice.

The faint tickle of his breath near her ear and the warmth of his body against hers were strangely comforting.

This was her fiancé, after all. More importantly, he was so handsome—far more than any of her cousins’ or friends’ husbands or fiancés.

Though thrilled inside, she still blushed and protested softly.

“Don’t get carried away! The servants are watching!”

She wasn’t wrong. The manor was full of staff.

Not far away, the Salisbury butler was discreetly glancing in their direction.

“It’s fine. Who cares?”

“Milo, isn’t your birthday coming up?” Ariana asked softly after a moment.

“Hmm?” Milo seemed puzzled.

Oh, right. He remembered—he was born in March. His birthday was next month.

“Yes, March 4th is my birthday. Oh, just a few days until I turn twenty-three.”

“I want to give you a birthday present early,” Ariana murmured, her voice even softer. “It’s my first time giving you a gift.”

Milo finally understood what she meant.

“Alright, thank you in advance. What do you want to give me? Nothing too extravagant—it’s unnecessary…”

“Hey! You two!”

A loud voice interrupted them, shattering the moment.

They turned to see Ariana’s grandfather, David, walking out of the parlor with Benjamin.

The old man glared at the young couple embracing in the hallway, his face full of displeasure. But Milo could clearly see the amused glint in his granduncle’s eyes.

“What do you two think you’re doing in plain sight?! You’re not even engaged yet! Straighten up!”

David bellowed as he strode quickly toward them.

Milo gently released Ariana and turned to face the elder Rockefeller.

“Nothing much, just greeting your granddaughter,” Milo said with a small nod. “Ariana looks absolutely radiant today.”

“You little rascal, she’s only fourteen!”

David’s voice grew louder, his anger rising. “Where did you learn your manners? Who greets someone’s granddaughter like that in their home?!”

Ariana, initially startled when Milo pushed her away, quickly recovered and shot her grandfather a defiant look.

“Grandfather, we were just chatting! We didn’t do anything, and we’re engaged to be married!”

David, taken aback by his granddaughter’s confident tone, rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

“Is this really my granddaughter? She’s not even married yet and already doesn’t respect us… Oh, what’s the use of having daughters? Peggy was the same, and now Edward’s daughter is like this… Always causing us headaches. And marrying them off will cost us a fortune! God, what sins have we committed to deserve daughters?”

“Grandfather!”

Ariana clearly didn’t believe David was truly angry. “If you keep this up, I’ll tell Aunt Peggy everything you just said!”

“Alright, alright. Pretend I didn’t say anything. Don’t tell Peggy…”

David chuckled ruefully, conceding.

Peggy was his only daughter, known for her rebellious streak. She had even given up the Rockefeller name.

“And there are guests here!” Ariana added.

“You’re right…” David sighed.

Milo and Benjamin stood by, watching the exchange with amused smiles.

However, out of Ariana and David’s line of sight, Milo caught his granduncle’s subtle gesture—a thumbs-up and a sly wink. It was as if he were saying, “Well done, young man!”  

(End of Chapter)