"Master, what should we do next?" John Connor hesitated, unsure how to proceed. They all understood that the final say in this household belonged to Anna Bell. Whatever Anna instructed them to do, they would follow—Harry Sheffield's status as the previous heir didn't matter.
"Let's find a place to sit first!" Sheffield had to admit he was nothing like his father, lacking the innate talent for smooth social maneuvering. "Isn't Texas known for its conservative customs?"
After finding a seat, Sheffield observed his father's performance as he mingled effortlessly among the socialites and noblewomen. It felt like watching someone breeze through a garden of flowers, but if it yielded good results in the end, Sheffield could tolerate it.
Sheffield believed securing European patent licenses was crucial. He also planned to invent or invest in products that hadn't yet appeared in this era, but that didn't diminish the importance of patent licensing. Both approaches were essential—patent licensing and innovation complemented each other. Despite the United States' belief in the coming "American Century," Sheffield didn't think U.S. citizens were inherently smarter than those of other nations.
The influx of high-end European talent was vital for the United States during this era—a fact no one could deny. Moreover, Sheffield had long felt it was time to close off the upward mobility channels in the U.S., keeping the masses in their place.
For the goal of stability above all else, at the right moment, he might even promote "joyful education" to dismantle the still-decent U.S. education system. This way, he wouldn't have to worry about anyone breaking through the great filter and monopolizing resources.
While cutting off someone's legs wouldn't necessarily make him run faster, in a world where everyone was equally flawed, disabling others ensured he could cross the finish line unchallenged. Whether it worked or not, he'd cut first and ask questions later.
As Sheffield pondered how to prioritize stability, Harry Sheffield had already taken the Countess onto the dance floor, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. "The British are too arrogant—it's infuriating."
Susan swayed with Harry's steps, her eyes filled with affection. "Don't be angry. There are so many guests here today—cheer up."
"We'll show the British a thing or two! The United States isn't to be trifled with," Harry declared boldly. "This won't end here—you'll see. By the way, introduce me to some officials from the judiciary later—I have something to discuss with them."
"Finish this dance with me first—we haven't seen each other in so long," Susan cooed, her hand resting provocatively on his back.
Harry's expression instantly turned cold. "Are you trying to teach me how to do my job?"
"Not at all!" Susan shot him a sultry glance and whispered, "I just love it when you're so dominant."
"Isn't the French branch perpetually in the red?" Thinking about the extravagant expenses, Sheffield felt his heart bleed. He summoned the Paris branch manager to inquire about his father's spending habits.
"Not exactly. We break even most of the time, though we don't make much by the end of the year," Rich Martin, the French branch manager, reported softly.
"That's more like it!" Sheffield nodded imperceptibly, feeling slightly less pained. Of course, he cared—it was his inheritance. His father, on the other hand, was just an old man schmoozing with socialites.
The soirée ended without any tangible results—if you didn't count Harry taking the Countess back to her apartment.
"Don't rush—it's counterproductive! Smoothing relationships takes time," Harry said the next noon, brushing his teeth while signaling to his son to calm down. "Everything is under control."
"The word 'smoothing' fits perfectly!" Sheffield crossed his arms, leaning against the bathroom door with sarcasm dripping from his voice. "You must've been exhausted last night."
"It's all for the family business—I can handle it," Harry waved dismissively, spitting out the water and tilting his head with a knowing smirk. "I think Susan's daughter would suit you. Interested? Should I arrange an opportunity?"
"I'm your son!" Sheffield rolled his eyes, reminding his father of the obvious.
"My biological son!" Harry nodded solemnly. "But these are two separate issues. You're of age now—relax a little. Learning from me won't hurt. Isn't it strange? Susan's a social butterfly, always dragging her daughter to parties, yet she keeps her under tight control. Sounds like split personality disorder."
"Now that you mention it, it does seem that way," Sheffield paused, realizing he'd been sidetracked again. "I have other plans this trip, and time is limited."
"I know Europe well! Let me arrange your schedule—it'll save time." After dousing himself in cologne, Harry dressed impeccably and strutted out of the apartment. "Think about it—Susan's daughter has a title. Many wealthy Americans are marrying into European nobility these days."
"I'm patriotic!" Sheffield replied curtly. "And I don't need to do that—I'm no lapdog."
"Suit yourself!" Harry left without looking back, calling over his shoulder, "There'll be many guests tonight. Let's discuss the stakes first and figure out how to achieve our goals later."
---
Arriving in Europe made Sheffield realize just how pure and naive the United States was in this era. His gaze fell on an oil painting at the corner of the staircase. The subject was explicit—a nude woman reclining on a bed, adorned with ribbons, a pendant, bracelets, and silk slippers. A black cat sat at her feet on the bed.
"I feel like I've seen this painting somewhere—isn't it famous?" Sheffield ascended the Y-shaped staircase, hands clasped behind his back, studying the artwork closely. "Olympia?"
"Master, the carriage is ready! Hmm?" John Connor barged in without knocking, catching Sheffield bent over, admiring the bold painting.
The atmosphere grew awkward. Sheffield turned to face his savior, forcing a dry laugh. "Do you think this is the original?"
"If Master says it's the original, then it's the original!" John responded stiffly, attempting to leave but freezing mid-motion, his movements awkward.
(End of Chapter)