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Chapter 162 Invitation
Chapter 162 Invitation
Pittsburgh City Hall, Mayor's Office.
There was a knock on the office door, and the receptionist walked in.
Her expression was somewhat strange, and she carefully held a black envelope in her hand.
"Mr. Mayor," the receptionist approached the desk, "someone came downstairs just now."
"Do you have an appointment?" Leo asked without looking up, his pen still moving across the document.
"No," the receptionist shook her head, "but I think you should take a look at this."
She gently placed the black envelope on the desk.
"That man was unusual. He was wearing a dark uniform, white gloves, and even one of those old-fashioned driver's hats. He didn't look like a deliveryman; he looked more like a wealthy butler from a movie."
The receptionist recalled the scene just now, her tone still carrying a hint of surprise.
"He brought a letter, and he refused to put it in the mailroom, insisting that it must be signed for in person by someone from the mayor's office, and that he also need a receipt."
"His demeanor intimidated even the security guards at the entrance. I saw how serious he was, so I signed the form and brought it up."
Leo stopped writing.
He looked up and his gaze fell on the letter.
The envelope was entirely black, thick, with a fine fabric texture on the surface and a matte gold rim around the edge.
Leo reached out and took the envelope, then waved for the receptionist to leave.
It's a bit heavy.
Leo looked at the front of the envelope, where his name was written in cursive script:
To the Mayor of Pittsburgh, His Excellency Leo Wallace.
This line of text was handwritten.
The ink rippled slightly on the paper, emitting a faint pine scent.
The person writing used a dip pen.
Leo opened the envelope and took out the hard invitation card inside.
The invitation was designed to be extremely simple, with black background and gold lettering, without any extra patterns or decorations.
The Pennsylvania Heritage and Art Conservation Foundation's annual charity gala.
Time: This Saturday at 7 PM.
Location: St. Cloud Estate, Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia.
Inviter: Evelyn St. Cloud.
Leo frowned.
"Saint-Cloud?"
Leo murmured the name, his fingers gently tracing the gold edge of the envelope.
Of course he knew that surname.
In Pennsylvania, St. Cloud is not just a family, but a symbol, a living history.
While Morganfield was still selling newspapers on the street, the St. Cloud family was already sitting in a box chatting and laughing with the governor.
Their businesses span media, real estate, trust funds, and art collection.
Evelyn St. Cloud is the eldest daughter of this family and the current de facto head of the family.
Leo searched his memory for information about her.
At twenty-eight, she had taken over all the family affairs since old Saint-Cloud suffered a stroke three years earlier.
Legend has it that she was cold, rational, and had extremely demanding tastes.
"Mr. President."
Leo called out that familiar voice in his mind.
"What do you think? What is Evelyn St. Cloud trying to do?"
"I've never dealt with these people. They're old money in Philadelphia, people who live in the clouds. There are a hundred steel mills between us."
Roosevelt's voice soon rang out.
"Murphy went to Washington with the halo of victory, busy building connections with the party bigwigs. And you, as the one who put him on the cusp of the rise, as the rising star who made such a splash in the Rust Belt, naturally attracted the attention of these old money families."
"She probably wants to observe you closely and assess your value."
"Should I go?" Leo asked. "These high society gatherings sound so boring. I'd rather go to a bar in the South End and have a drink with the workers."
"Of course I'll go."
Roosevelt's answer was resolute.
"Why not go? They have the best network of connections in all of Pennsylvania."
"You'll need to deal with these people, Leo."
"You can't just stay on the construction site and drink cheap beer with Frank and the others forever. If you want to govern the city and drive bigger changes, you have to learn to deal with these people who live in the clouds."
"Go see their world, go smell the stench of money rotting there."
"It really won't work."
Roosevelt let out a pleased laugh.
"You can still get a decent meal. Trust me, the chef from this family is a million times better than the city hall cafeteria. It would be a real loss if you didn't try their Wellington steak."
Saturday evening.
Chestnut Hill, northwest of Philadelphia.
This is an affluent area of Pennsylvania.
The stone-paved path meanders and twists, flanked by towering ancient trees whose canopies intertwine and block out the sky.
Along both sides of the road are manors hidden behind walls and gardens.
Most of these buildings were constructed in the 19th century, exuding a solemnity and indifference that has withstood the test of time.
A black sedan slowly drove into the gates of St. Cloud Manor.
Leo sat in the back seat.
He wore a dark navy blue suit, the fabric was crisp, the cut was perfect, and his tie was perfectly tied.
-
He looked out the window at the bushes and the marble sculptures scattered on the lawn.
Everything here silently proclaims a kind of order.
An inviolable order built with money and time.
The car stopped in front of a huge Victorian main building.
A thick red carpet was laid under the porch.
Two uniformed waiters stepped forward and opened the car door, their movements quite standard.
Leo got out of the car.
A faint fragrance filled the air.
He straightened his cuffs and stepped into the hall.
The hall was resplendent with gold.
A huge crystal chandelier hangs from the dome, its thousands of crystals refracting a dazzling light and illuminating the old oil paintings on the walls.
Hundreds of people have already gathered here.
The men wore tailcoats or tuxedos, while the women wore backless evening gowns and jewels.
They gathered in small groups, holding champagne and talking in hushed tones.
There were only elegant whispers and the occasional polite laughs.
Leo stood at the entrance, feeling as if he had stumbled upon a strange planet.
The people here have everything from birth.
They were talking about art, equestrianism, the returns on a certain fund, or the upcoming European holidays.
Leo took a glass of champagne from the waiter's tray.
He didn't rush in, but stood in a corner, observing this world of fame and fortune with a scrutinizing gaze.
He saw several familiar faces.
Those were bankers who frequently appeared in financial news, and several city councilors in Philadelphia.
But here, these important figures, who are usually surrounded by followers, all behaved with extraordinary humility.
They are all waiting for something.
Or rather, waiting for someone.
Leo followed the gaze of the crowd.
At the far end of the hall stands a huge white marble fireplace.
A group of people stood in front of the fireplace.
At the center of the crowd was a young woman.
Evelyn St. Cloud.
Leo recognized her at a glance.
It wasn't just because she was in the center, but also because of her unique charisma.
She was wearing a minimalist black evening gown and a thin black watch on her wrist.
Among that group of bejeweled noblewomen, she stood out as a stark black shadow.
But it was precisely this simplicity that made her steal all the spotlight.
Her hair was styled in a bun at the back of her head, revealing her slender neck and defined jawline.
Her skin was very white, a pale white that came from years of being deprived of sunlight.
She was holding a glass of water, but she didn't drink it.
At that moment, an obese banker stood in front of her, gesturing wildly as he told her something that seemed to be an investment joke about emerging markets.
The people around them laughed in response.
Evelyn was the only one who didn't smile.
She looked at the banker quietly, with a polite weariness.
She was like a human watching a monkey show; although she found it boring, out of politeness, she didn't turn away.
"It's her."
Roosevelt's voice echoed in Leo's mind.
"Look at those eyes, Leo."
"That's the look of power."
"She doesn't need to prove her existence by speaking loudly; she just needs to stand there, and the air around her will automatically swirl around her."
"Go."
Roosevelt encouraged him.
Go say hello.
"Since you're here, don't be a mute."
Leo took a deep breath and casually placed the champagne on the table.
He straightened his suit, straightened his back, and walked through the crowd toward the fireplace.
His steps were steady, and his gaze was firm.
He is the mayor of Pittsburgh, a rising political star who has just won a tough battle.
He has the right to stand here and to speak with anyone on equal terms.
As he approached, people around him noticed him.
The whispers grew a little louder.
"That man is Wallace?"
"I heard he's a madman."
Leo ignored the comments.
He walked straight up to Evelyn St. Cloud.
The portly banker stopped talking and looked at the young man who had suddenly barged in with some displeasure.
Leo looked at Evelyn.
Up close, her features are even more refined, but also more aloof.
Her eyes were dark gray, like a frozen lake.
"Good evening, Miss Saint-Cloud."
Leo extended his hand, a polite smile on his face.
"I am Leo Wallace."
Thank you for your invitation.
Evelyn turned her head.
Her gaze swept over Leo.
There was no stopping.
It's like sweeping over a piece of furniture, or a pot of decorative flowers placed by the roadside.
She didn't even look at the hand Leo was extending.
He simply turned his head back and looked at the fat banker again.
"Please continue, Mr. Smith."
Evelyn's voice was cool and melodious.
"That interesting anecdote you just mentioned about the Brazilian mines was quite amusing."
The fat banker paused for a moment, then broke into a smug smile.
He gave Leo a defiant look, then continued speaking animatedly.
Leo's hand froze in mid-air.
A suppressed chuckle rippled through the crowd.
It was a mocking laugh laced with malice.
He was ignored.
This is even more embarrassing than being verbally abused to one's face.
Insults at least mean that the other person considers you an opponent.
Ignoring someone means that you don't exist in their eyes at all.
Leo withdrew his hand.
He was about to say something more, trying to salvage the situation.
Two tall bodyguards in black suits had silently appeared in front of him at some point.
"gentlemen."
One of the bodyguards said in a low voice, his tone polite but cold.
"The lady is in the middle of a conversation, please do not disturb her."
The bodyguard's body was like a wall, blocking Leo's path forward.
Leo looked at Evelyn behind the bodyguard.
She had her back to him, not even willing to show him the back of her head.
anger.
This should have been Leo's most natural emotion at that moment.
A scorching flame seemed to rise from his chest, but as soon as it appeared, Leo extinguished it himself.
He calmly looked at the wall of people in front of him, and at the elegant figure that still had its back to him.
There wasn't a single ripple in his eyes.
This calm left the guests, who had been quietly watching and preparing for a good show, somewhat disappointed.
They expected to see a furious nouveau riche, a country bumpkin shouting because he was insulted.
They were ready with pitying glances and mocking whispers.
But Leo didn't give them that chance.
"calm."
Roosevelt's voice echoed in my mind, tinged with approval.
"If you lose your temper and lose control now, you've already lost."
"You'll become a clown amidst their laughter."
"She's testing you. Testing your bottom line, testing your magnanimity, testing whether you're just a slightly stronger, slightly temperamental monkey."
"If you can't even handle this much disrespect, how will you wield greater power?"
Without Roosevelt needing to remind him, Leo knew exactly how to react at this moment.
He took a step back, his movements calm and composed, without the slightest hint of panic.
He gave the bodyguard blocking his way an impeccable smile.
"Feel sorry."
"Leo said."
"I thought this was a charity gala, a place where people gather for good causes, not a private meeting room."
"Since Master is so busy, then I won't bother you any longer."
After saying that, Leo turned around.
He walked to the long table next to him and picked up the glass of champagne that he had just put down.
Golden bubbles rise in the glass.
He raised his glass and gave a slight toast to the group of people who were still whispering among themselves.
Then he tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp.
He put the empty cup back on the table, making a crisp "ding" sound.
He then straightened his suit, held his head high, walked through the crowd, and headed to the other end of the hall.