Second floor guest room. Grace Sullivan closed the heavy law book. It was about time, so he got up and went to the bathroom for a bath.

These days, Aunt Taylor and Sophie had been taking meticulous care of him, asking many times a day, “Do you want something to eat?” or “Do you want something to drink?” Grace Sullivan was never one for indulgence, always waving them off, and tried not to trouble others with anything else either.

The only time he made a request was for clothes. In the old days, on the third day of every month, the tailor would come to The Sullivan Residence to take measurements, and the finished clothes would be delivered to the door, never requiring Grace Sullivan to worry.

He wrote down his measurements on paper and handed them to Aunt Taylor, asking her to find a tailor to make a few suits.

Aunt Taylor looked at the neatly categorized page of data and said, “Oh my, this is so detailed.”

Grace Sullivan didn’t know what tailoring shops were like these days, so he wrote everything down: five circumferences, three lengths, one width. Different fabrics vary in softness and thickness, and the finished size can differ too. It had to fit perfectly to look good.

Aunt Taylor compared the height on the paper and looked him up and down. “I thought you looked a bit taller the other day, figured it was just because you stood straighter. Turns out you really did grow three centimeters.”

Grace Sullivan replied calmly, “Looks like I tricked you with a false report.”

“You’re such a tease,” Aunt Taylor laughed. “Anything else you need? I’ll take care of it while I’m out. This room is too plain—do you want to add anything?”

Grace Sullivan asked for a small incense burner. He liked to burn incense to help him sleep. Other than that, he just wanted books.

After his bath, while his hair was still half-dry, Grace Sullivan gently smoothed his hair into place. The freshly ironed clothes had hung overnight; he took them down and put them on, piece by piece.

Buttoning the last button, Grace Sullivan stood before the mirror, raising his hand to touch the breast pocket of his suit. It was empty—he’d forgotten that his pocket watch was already lost.

The anti-Japanese currency and the bank president’s wax seal in his suitcase were, of course, also gone, lost to the sea and impossible to recover.

Grace Sullivan closed his eyes, his head lowering inch by inch. The few things that mattered most to him were all gone.

At that moment, Mrs. Carter called from downstairs, “Xiao Chen.”

Grace Sullivan trembled, opened his eyes, and looked at the mirror again.

The sorrow from before faded away, his expression becoming calm and dignified. At this point, he shouldn’t be attached to material things, nor should he let memories of the past hold him back.

He stared at himself, at this face so much like Brian Carter’s.

He had to temporarily hide everything about the old days, including the name “Grace Sullivan.”

He took a deep breath, as if silently saying goodbye.

High heels clicked up the stairs and stopped outside the door. Mrs. Carter, unfazed by the cold, wore a sleeveless dress and knocked hard on the door: “Xiao Chen, are you ready yet?”

Smoothing the peaked lapel of his jacket, Brian Carter’s expression became completely composed. He walked over and opened the door. Facing Mrs. Carter, he pressed his moist, thin lips together and called out, “—Mom.”

Mrs. Carter was stunned for a moment, inexplicably flustered. “Oh my… You look so handsome in formal wear, I’m not used to it.”

Brian Carter went downstairs to help, and before long, the general manager of Yisi and two directors arrived.

A few minutes later, David Thompson also arrived. Maybe it was the light-colored sweater he wore, but he looked a bit more approachable than usual.

Brian Carter had never had a chance to talk with David Thompson before. He brought over two glasses of champagne and greeted him proactively: “Uncle Thompson, have something to drink.”

David Thompson smiled. “Thank you. I’m not late, am I?”

Brian Carter said, “You’re a few minutes early.”

David Thompson sipped his drink and looked around. “Looks like the important guest hasn’t arrived yet.”

Today, only Samuel Bennett was more important than David Thompson. At his age, he held absolute power in Yisi, but having to step down in the future would surely be hard to accept.

Brian Carter said, “Uncle Thompson, no one can replace your position in Yisi.”

David Thompson appreciated the sentiment, but was clear-headed. “But it can be shaken.”

He finished his champagne in one gulp and continued, “Well, it’s all just empty titles. I’m almost retired anyway. But Brian, I was strongly against you selling your shares back then. After your father passed, that was the only protection left for you and your mother and sister. You were too young to understand, but if you ever change your mind, you can always come back to help at the company. But once you sell, Yisi has nothing to do with you anymore.”

Brian Carter understood all too well, and could only say, “I realized it too late. I just hope I can make up for it.”

“Sigh, not everything gives you a second chance,” David Thompson sighed, then smiled. “But it’s good you know your mistakes. Your mom says you’ve changed a lot—looks like it’s not just her being biased.”

Brian Carter left it at that and didn’t go deeper. “I’ll need your guidance, Uncle Thompson.”

David Thompson said earnestly, “I wouldn’t call it guidance. Honest advice is hard to hear, but it’s good that you’re willing to listen.”

Brian Carter sensed that David Thompson had more to say, so he lowered his voice and added, “Uncle Thompson, I’m all ears.”

David Thompson lowered his voice, “The company’s situation is already settled. Selling to Henry Bennett is at least finding a good home. But don’t be naive—Samuel Bennett, that man—”

As he was speaking, a car horn sounded at the front gate. More guests had arrived.

Samuel Bennett got out of the car and told the driver to bring the gifts. It had to be said, the Chu family’s garden was truly beautiful—much more livable than his own apartment.