infodatos Chapter 174 A Lively Morning
Chapter 174 A Lively Morning
Chapter 174 A Lively Morning
Anne Bellis Kennedy gently placed her silver fork on the edge of her bone china plate, the tines striking the porcelain with a crisp sound, much like her chaotic mood at that moment.
Sunlight streamed obliquely into the restaurant through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, casting irregular patches of light on the Persian carpet. However, this tranquil and beautiful morning scene could not dispel the confusion in her heart.
"Personal secretary?" She silently repeated the three words to the air, her delicate eyebrows furrowing into a beautiful arc.
Three days ago, in the Harvard University library, she was engrossed in materials on 18th-century European literary history, her fingertips tracing the yellowed parchment manuscripts, the unique scent of ink lingering in the air.
I never imagined that I would be sitting in a mansion in Los Angeles, staring blankly at a table of unfamiliar Eastern breakfast.
The uncle who always wore floral shirts and spoke somewhat incoherently suddenly appeared at the library entrance two days ago.
He was leaning against the doorframe when he saw her and whistled, "Little Annie, come with me."
Before she could react, she was half-dragged and half-pulled into the black Lincoln parked outside the library.
The car sped along until they saw the other party's private jet at the airport, at which point she belatedly asked, "Where are we going?"
"You'll see when we get there," Massim said dismissively.
I happily boarded the plane, thinking it was going to be a surprise trip, since this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.
Little did she know that after flying to Los Angeles, she was led to a mansion. After chatting with the mansion's owner for an hour, he introduced her to a young man named Ernst and whispered in her ear, "From now on, you'll be with him and be his personal secretary."
When Annie saw the other person turn around without looking back, get into the car, and disappear at the end of the driveway, she was completely stunned.
Is it human trafficking?
Even human trafficking isn't this irresponsible.
She called her father to complain, and the result was completely unexpected.
Her father, who usually doted on her, actually disagreed with her going back and told her to stay and work hard, saying it was to give her some experience.
Experience? Is serving tea and water to people while wearing a haute couture suit considered experience?
Anne sighed helplessly, her gaze falling on Jennifer Connelly, who was drinking porridge across the table.
The Hollywood actress was wearing a light pink silk nightgown, with her long, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders, each strand looking meticulously styled.
The other person's gait was a bit strange. She had noticed it when the other person came downstairs earlier. It was as if the other person was walking on cotton, light and unsteady.
"Annie, try this shrimp dumpling." Jennifer picked up a crystal-clear pastry with a silver skewer and handed it to her, her smile at the corner of her eye neither overly enthusiastic nor lacking in friendliness.
She recognized the Harry Winston necklace the man was wearing today; she had seen it at the brand's dinner party last week, where the salesperson said it was one of only three pieces in the world, and one of them had been acquired by an anonymous buyer.
It now appears that this suddenly appearing personal secretary has a far more complex background than it seems.
Annie took a bite of the shrimp dumpling, and the delicious broth burst in her mouth, carrying a rich, sweet flavor.
She had to admit that the Chinese-American cook's skills were indeed top-notch, and the grilled skewers she had for dinner yesterday were still unforgettable.
"It tastes amazing," she exclaimed sincerely. "It feels even more authentic than the Cantonese dim sum I had at that Chinese restaurant in New York."
Jennifer put down her spoon and gently dabbed her lips with a napkin. "This is nothing. Luna's almond tofu is absolutely amazing. I've never had such a delicious dessert before. Have her make it for you to try sometime."
Connery's domineering attitude made Anne feel a little uncomfortable.
As the two were talking, a vulgar curse rang out like a thunderclap in the entryway: "Fuck, a bunch of sons of bitches!"
Anne's spoon clattered into the bowl, clearly caught off guard by the shout.
She frowned and turned to look, only to see a man in a black leather jacket storming in angrily, his cowboy boots scraping against the floor with a harsh sound.
She recognized the man; she'd met him yesterday. She'd initially thought he was funny, but she hadn't expected him to have such a volatile side.
The other party was gritting his teeth and repeating vulgarities, "Just wait until I kick your asses, you bunch of bitches."
"Craig, watch your words," Jennifer warned, then asked curiously, "What happened?"
Craig acted as if he hadn't heard him, rushed to the dining table, grabbed a steamed bun from the steamer and stuffed it into his mouth, then mumbled indistinctly, "My house has been taken over by those burglars."
"Just call the police." Ernst was already standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a gray silk robe, his hair a little messy, but his eyes were very clear.
He slowly walked down the stairs, each step landing on the patterned edge of the carpet, as if measuring something.
Craig swallowed the bun in his mouth. "It's that old house in Montdor, calling the police won't do any good."
Ernst raised an eyebrow, pulled out an ornate dining chair, and sat down.
Liu Huiying brought over a bowl of pumpkin oat porridge at just the right moment, the silver bowl still steaming.
"Montodor," he said, stirring gently with a spoon. "No wonder."
Since Ernst rose to prominence, Craig also transformed himself and became a figure in high society.
Their residence was moved from the working-class neighborhood of Montedor to their current affluent neighborhood.
However, Craig did not sell the old house; instead, it became his love nest where he cheated on his wife.
After all, many of his women were women he met here, and he would often come back to eat wild game.
However, if you don't live in a house for a long time, a problem will arise: the house may no longer belong to you.
Craig slammed his hand on the table, making the glass on it tremble. "I've only been away for a month, and those burglars have already dared to occupy my house. I'm going to teach them a lesson."
Annie looked at them curiously, wondering why the police wouldn't work at Montdor's house.
She knew this place; it was an old part of Los Angeles, but she had never been there.
So she asked out of curiosity, and then noticed that the three people at the table were looking at her as if she were a monster.
Ernst was the first to react. These are basic common sense facts that all Americans know, but certainly not people like him who live in a heavenly palace.
Jennifer spoke up to explain to her, "In America, there's a law that states that for any reason, if someone lives in an empty house for thirty days, even if they haven't paid a penny and are an illegal tenant, they become a legal tenant of that house."
"Even the original homeowner doesn't have the right to evict these people. Calling the police is useless; they simply won't care."
Not entirely. Such incidents are less common in luxury residential areas. While you can't kick someone out, you can use other charges to take them away.
It's very difficult for someone like that to have a clean record.
Craig chimed in, his teeth itching with anger, "The worst part is that I have to pay these people's utility bills, property management fees, and the house's insurance and maintenance fees, otherwise the thieves would have the right to sue me."
Moreover, California is the best in the United States in this regard. If the thief pays the utility bills and has lived in the house for five years, then the house legally belongs to the thief.
The homeowner has no choice but to comply; it's mandatory.
During the mask mandate period, some Chinese people who owned houses in the United States suffered heavy losses.
"You can do that?" Annie couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.
Ignoring her surprise, Ernst frowned and asked, "Where are your bunch of cronies?"
These house burglars are usually organized; Craig knows so many local gangs, it shouldn't be like this.
"You don't know, but recently Moore and his gang have been expanding their territory. Someone stole our house in Montdor, and now half of Montdor is no longer under their control, including my house."
This is not good news. These people can be quite useful sometimes, as the Citibank incident is a good example.
Ernst doesn't want to compete with these scumbags, but that doesn't mean he doesn't need their help.
An obedient gang can be very useful in critical moments, capable of doing many dirty things.
"I'll write you a check for two hundred thousand dollars in a bit, and you can give it to Moore."
Craig wasn't surprised at all; many big shots do the same thing.
In the United States, every major gang, no matter where it is, has connections to powerful figures behind it.
Because these important figures need to handle things for people above them, such as burying a girl who was played to death, etc.
Seeing that the other person was devouring the food without leaving any for him, Ernst grinned. "So, what are you planning to do? Settle this privately?"
The thieves didn't want the house; they wanted money.
In such situations, there are usually only two ways to resolve the issue: either go to court or settle it privately.
Forget about going to court; nobody wants to pay those costs.
Therefore, they usually choose to settle privately, with prices generally ranging from $3 to $5.
"Settle it privately?" Craig roared. "I won't give those sons of bitches a single penny."
"Once Moore and his crew have recovered from their injuries and consolidated their new territory, I'm going to kick their eggs."
Ernst turned his head and focused his gaze on the other person's face, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. Something was wrong, definitely something was wrong.
"Aren't you getting a little too excited?"
Craig's expression instantly became somewhat unnatural. He scratched his head, his eyes darting around. "Who said that? I'm just so angry—"
"Is that so?" Ernst raised an eyebrow, a playful smile playing on his lips.
In an instant, an idea suddenly popped into his mind.
"Your house lights were on. Did a woman happen to see them and go inside to look for you? And then... so you got looked down upon?"
Craig jumped to his feet, staring at Ernst in disbelief. "That bitch Maria, she actually called you? And said there's nothing between you two."
Ernst wanted to kick him to death. "I've said it before, I have absolutely no relationship with that big black guy with the butterfly tattoo."
"Impossible!" Craig didn't believe it at all. "Then how do you know so much detail?"
Too lazy to pay him any attention, and seeing that the other person had also finished eating and drinking, Ernst got up to change his clothes.
Before going upstairs, Ernst didn't forget to call out to Tom.
After the other person walked in, he stood on the stairs and pointed, "Throw this guy out."