I became a son-in-law in the United States

Chapter 88 Forbes, Rocky, and Morgan

Time flies, and Wednesday, a busy day, is here in the blink of an eye.

Morris had already made contact, and these items would be auctioned off that evening. Luther could choose to avoid it or participate.

After thinking about it, Luther decided to participate anyway, since he might meet many wealthy people, or even some big shots, in such a private exchange.

Regardless, this is an opportunity.

However, just in case, he still brought a gun, a new model that came out this year, called the Colt Special Detective Revolver.

.38 caliber, 6-round magazine, short-barreled revolver, easy to conceal, good accuracy, reliable quality, and difficult to detect even when hidden in clothing.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Maurice, but living in Boston in 1927, he believed that everyone else would die quickly.

Truth must be held in one's own hands for it to be considered truth.

In the evening, Luther did not have a driver take him, nor did he drive Kennedy's car. Instead, he booked a taxi himself.

Unlike later generations, taxis were considered a relatively high-end item in this era. They weren't the kind of cars you could just hail on the street; you had to book one in advance with a taxi company. As for the fare, it averaged about one dollar per kilometer, which was quite expensive.

Soon, the car headed west along Federal Avenue.

The address Morris gave was not in Lighthouse Hill, nor on any of the famous streets in Back Bay, but in a quieter alleyway deeper inside.

Turn right at the end of Federal Avenue, pass through a cast iron fence, make two more turns, and it's sandwiched between two rows of brownstone townhouses.

From a distance, it looks like an old Gothic building with a pointed roof that points straight to the sky; it's clearly the work of the British.

There was no house number or sign, and even the gas lamps were a little dimmer than in other places.

If Maurice hadn't repeatedly reminded him on the phone, Luther would have thought he had gone the wrong way.

After the car stopped, Luther paid the fare and then walked up the stone steps. The iron gate was ajar, and a tall man in black was standing at the door.

This guy was big and burly, with a blank expression. He didn't say anything when he saw Luther until Luther gave the code, then he smiled and nodded, and opened the iron door for him.

Behind the door was a narrow corridor with a dark red carpet on the floor that made no sound when stepped on.

They soon arrived at the end of the corridor, where there was another door. After pushing it open, they finally entered the auction hall.

According to Morris, there are several such auction houses in Boston alone, and important figures don't always buy and sell in one place; they often change locations to avoid attracting attention.

This time, Luther came as a guest, and apart from Maurice, no one knew that he was the seller.

Morris, who had appeared out of nowhere, leaned closer, lowered his voice, and pointed to an old man in a gray suit in the corner, saying:

"That's Mr. Priscilla, Charles Priscilla," Morris said smoothly, introducing the guests to Luther.

"This is the Forbes family, not the magazine one, but another one. They're much more powerful; they're in the railroad and shipping business."

Upon hearing this, Luther followed his gaze and glanced at him, finding nothing particularly remarkable.

At this moment, Pritzker was holding a glass of wine, talking quietly with the person next to him, calm and composed.

"Is he interested too?"

"Not necessarily," Morris continued to explain. "He might not be buying it himself today, because the Forbes family is a bit strapped for cash lately. The reason he's at this event is probably to help someone else make an offer or offer a price. Don't let his age fool you; he's a regular customer with a sharp eye."

Luther nodded, still finding it somewhat unbelievable that this was his first time meeting someone from the Forbes family.

This family rose to prominence during the Civil War and were among the original shareholders of the American Corporation. They remain strong to this day, proving that wealth doesn't last beyond three generations.

Seeing that Luther was interested, Maurice also started talking non-stop.

"See that guy by the window over there, the one in the dark blue three-piece suit?"

"I see him, which old man is that?"

Luther's gaze followed. The man was in his early forties, thin, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and rarely smiled.

He stared intently at today's auction list, seemingly deep in thought, oblivious to the laughter and chatter around him.

"This one is from the Rocky family, Henry Cabot Rocky's nephew."

"Damn!" Luther felt an urge to pull out his gun.

Tie these guys up and extort millions from each of them. Isn't that a faster way to make money than working hard to deal in antiques?

The Lodge family—this name is familiar to many. Henry Cabot Lodge was a senior senator and a key component of the WASP political machine.

Even Lowell had to bow down and address him as the Great Elder. Luther never expected that this guy's nephew would come.

"What's he doing here?"

Morris shrugged and said, "Who knows? Maybe they're just watching the show, or maybe they're helping someone else."

"The Rocky family has many informants. They don't necessarily come here to buy things. Sometimes they just come to find out what goods have arrived and who bought them. The information itself is very valuable."

Luther nodded, saying nothing, while Maurice continued his introduction:

"See that guy in the trench coat, with bodyguards?"

"I see, who is this person?"

"It's Bacon, Robert Bacon." Morris lowered his voice even further. "He's no ordinary man. He was Secretary of State under Theodore Roosevelt and later a partner in the Morgan financial group for many years. He's basically not short of money, and he's not here for money."

"Why is that?" Luther asked curiously.

"Just for fun." Morris smiled faintly. "At Mr. Bacon's level, there's nothing he absolutely has to buy. But he has one hobby—collecting antiques, especially things with stories and provenance. He'll probably make a move today."

Luther was silent for a moment, then asked, "What about the one who hasn't spoken and was sitting at the very back?"

Morris looked over and saw a person sitting on a sofa at the far end of the room, near the fireplace.

Around fifty years old, dressed appropriately, not at all ostentatious.

He sat there quietly, occasionally exchanging a few words with the people around him, nothing out of the ordinary.

But then Maurice paused abruptly, considered his words for a moment, and said, "He's from New York. If I'm not mistaken, he's from the Morgan family, and this time it's not a collateral branch, but a direct descendant! He rarely comes to Boston!"

Looking at the five million dollars on the move, Luther had the urge to draw his gun for the second time.

At that moment, it felt like a voice inside me was shouting, "Tie them up! Tie them all up!"

His gaze lingered on the man for a few seconds before subtly shifting away.

"Interesting," he said casually.