The Habsburg Legacy: Charlie Lee's Golden Night
"It's time," Wister whispered softly as the treasurer placed the pocket watch reverently before him. "Take it! From today, it's yours. I hope you cherish it."
Charlie Lee hesitated, his gaze shifting between Wister's solemn expression and the porcelain vases nearby. He couldn't help but wonder if the old man would let him take all the porcelain as well. Turning back, his eyes fell on the antique watch.
"This isn't real, is it?" Charlie muttered. Moments ago, he would have doubted the authenticity, but Wister's demeanor made him about 50% sure the story was true.
"You're after the porcelain and the utensils, aren't you?" Wister asked suddenly, his Chinese pronunciation startling Charlie. The question left him frozen in place.
"Wait, you speak Chinese?" Charlie asked in surprise, his curiosity piqued.
"Yes, and I know you want the porcelain to arrange flowers," Wister replied with a meaningful smile, his tone tinged with sarcasm.
Charlie let out an awkward laugh, scratching his head. "You caught me. I thought it'd be a nice touch for some floral arrangements."
"Those aren't just for flowers." Wister's grin widened, his gaze sharp. "Take them all. But don't insult an old man's knowledge by calling those heirlooms mere pots."
Charlie felt a chill run down his spine. The old man's inscrutable presence made him feel uneasy. Taking a deep breath, he opened the pocket watch, its hollowed-out movement ticking softly. The worn bronze casing gave it a timeless quality that seemed to resonate with history.
"It's time for me to go," Charlie said, slipping the watch into his pocket. "Thank you for the story and the watch." He waved briefly and headed for the door.
Wister watched Charlie leave, his face impassive. Yet, as Charlie reached the doorway, he paused, turning back to glance at the old man.
Wister's eyes lit up, hoping Charlie had changed his mind. His hand inched toward the checkbook, ready to negotiate further.
"Thanks for the gift," Charlie said, pointing at the porcelain vases. Then, with the sound of the doorbell jingling behind him, he was gone.
Inside the shop, Wister's calm exterior shattered. "That scoundrel! My pocket watch! Castel, you idiot! Why'd you price it at $20,000?" He was practically leaping with frustration.
Outside, Charlie leaned against the doorframe, polishing the watch with his thumb. The story behind the antique felt more believable now.
"Habsburg," he muttered to himself, "even the most splendid empires eventually fade."
As he crossed the street toward the café, his eyes caught sight of Aria seated by the window, her fingers flipping the shiny gold card idly. She wore a sly smile, her expression cunning and fox-like.
A strange unease stirred in Charlie. Something about the scene felt off, as if events were slipping out of his control.
Aria, meanwhile, was reveling in her luxurious afternoon. A day spent in upscale shops, sipping a $10 cup of tea in an elegant café, surrounded by polite servers—she felt like royalty.
"Where's your new dress?" Charlie asked as he approached, noting her lack of shopping bags.
"Oh, they've all been sent home," Aria replied casually. Her eyes widened slightly as if suddenly realizing something. "Wait! The ball! Your ball! And my dress…"
"Then go buy another one. Quickly," Charlie said, checking his watch with an irritated frown.
"No, I don't need to—" Aria stammered, guilt creeping into her tone. But Charlie's sharp, suspicious look silenced her. Jumping to her feet, she said hastily, "Boss, I'll go home and change! No need to buy more."
"Fine. I'm coming with you." Charlie tossed a $20 bill onto the table, snapped his fingers at the waiter, and pulled Aria out of the café.
"Boss, I can go alone! I'll take the tram!" Aria pleaded, panic creeping into her voice as memories of her extravagant spree flooded back.
Charlie ignored her protests, his face unreadable.
As their car pulled into a narrow lane near her building, they were greeted by a bizarre sight: a line of carriages stacked with gift boxes, all neatly wrapped in luxury store logos.
Charlie's gaze shifted from the carriages to Aria, who had buried her face in her hands, practically sinking into her seat. Realization dawned, and he could barely contain his fury.
"How much?" Charlie asked through gritted teeth.
"I… I don't know," Aria mumbled, her voice muffled.
"Then go home and pray for mercy," Charlie snapped.
"Boss! Don't fire me! I'm useful—I can be cute, I can dance, I can even speak foreign languages!" Aria wailed, clutching his arm desperately.
Charlie's expression darkened. "Then warm my bed tonight."
Aria froze, staring at him in disbelief. Charlie, ever pragmatic, continued calmly, "Your worth needs to match your expenses. If not as a secretary, then as something else."
Blushing furiously, Aria nodded. "I'll warm the bed! Whatever you want, boss!"
"Good. Now go change. I'll wait here," Charlie said, his tone softened but still firm.
Aria emerged twenty minutes later, her transformation stunning. She wore a white silk tassel dress adorned with delicate patterns. Her hair was elegantly styled, held by a lavender hat inlaid with shimmering diamonds. The ensemble was completed by silver crystal shoes that glinted with every step.
Charlie was momentarily speechless. Then his gaze fell on her shoes, and his mood soured again.
"Those are Tiffany exclusives," Aria explained nervously. "I couldn't resist—they seduced me! Boss, you have to believe me!"
Charlie glared at her, shaking his head. He silently recalculated how many years of her salary—or bedwarming services—it would take to repay the cost.
The evening's ball was held at the Ritz-Carlton's Royal Banquet Hall, renowned for its classic elegance and elite clientele. The venue exuded opulence, and tonight's guest list was packed with Chicago's finest.
Charlie, though technically the host, delegated most of the schmoozing to William Dever. "Li," Dever said with a chuckle, "your companion will be the queen of the evening."
"It's a crown I paid for," Charlie replied dryly before slipping away.
Charlie found solace at the buffet table, where Aria had already made herself at home, piling her plate high with delicacies.
"Boss, are you sure this is okay?" Aria asked, her voice muffled by a mouthful of pastry.
"Eat," Charlie said simply, grabbing a tart for himself.
Their quiet indulgence was interrupted by a sharp voice. "Who let them in? Waiter! Get rid of these people—this is a high-class event, not a roadside buffet!"
The crowd turned to look at the duo with poorly concealed amusement. Charlie sighed, grabbing another tart. Tonight was going to be long.