Chapter 4 Manor Humiliation, First Test
Another day passed.
Early in the morning, the Browns took Cole to the Rockefeller family estate.
In the car, Cole sat in the back, Roy in the passenger seat, and Mary next to him with a canvas bag between them.
None of them spoke.
Mary had been wearing a stern face since getting in the car, looking displeased. She was still bothered by Cole's actions yesterday—teaching Tyler a lesson and warning him.
Roy kept his eyes on his phone the whole time, never looking back.
The car sped along, gradually leaving the city center and heading toward the wealthy suburbs.
Outside the window, the roadside houses changed from ordinary homes to detached villas, then from detached villas to private estates with iron gates.
Cole noticed that the further they went, the more cameras appeared along the road.
Every thousand feet or so stood a utility pole with a dome-shaped surveillance camera on top, lens pointed at the road.
This clearly wasn't the setup for an ordinary residential area.
The car turned onto a private road lined with plane trees on both sides.
The road was wide enough for four cars side by side, paved with gray stone bricks with not a single weed in the gaps.
The tree branches were trimmed neat and tidy, as if measured with a ruler.
At the end of the road stood an ornate iron gate.
The gate was tall, about 15 feet high, black wrought iron twisted into an intricate pattern—an eagle with spread wings, its talons gripping a shield below, identical to the emblem on the contract header.
On each side of the gate was a guardhouse with security guards in black uniforms inside. When the guard saw the car, he picked up a walkie-talkie and said something, and the gate slowly opened.
The car drove through.
Cole thought the house would be right inside the gate, but the car continued for nearly five minutes.
On both sides of the road were vast manicured lawns with a few oak trees scattered about, their thick canopies casting patches of shade.
In the distance, he could see a fountain with water flowing from the mouth of a stone lion sculpture into a circular pool below.
Then he saw the house.
Gray-white limestone exterior walls, three stories high, with six columns at the main entrance supporting a triangular pediment—typical Greek Revival architecture.
Wings extended from both sides of the main building, forming a semicircle that embraced the lawn and fountain in the middle.
The walls were covered with ivy, dark green leaves densely spread over the gray-white stone.
But that's not what Cole noticed.
What he noticed was the security.
Two guards stood at the main entrance in black suits, transparent communication wires hanging from their ears, with bulges at their waists.
Under the eaves of the roof, cameras were positioned at regular intervals.
On the stone posts along the lawn's edge, sensing devices were embedded with red indicator lights blinking on and off.
This wasn't the setup of a wealthy person showing off. This was protection against something.
The car stopped in front of the main entrance.
Roy finally put away his phone and glanced at Cole. "Get out. Remember what I told you—be respectful and don't talk much."
Cole didn't respond, just pushed open the door and got out.
The guard at the entrance walked over, his gaze sweeping over Cole, pausing for a second on the light blue shirt, then looking at Roy. "Mr. Rockefeller is waiting for you in the living room."
The entrance hall was huge.
Marble walls and floors, crystal chandeliers hanging from a two-story-high ceiling, their refracted light falling on the floor bright enough to reflect people's images.
On the wall directly opposite hung a massive oil painting of a middle-aged man in a dark suit, gray hair, sharp eyes, sitting in a high-backed chair with his hand resting on the armrest, a cigar between his fingers.
The man in the painting was Victor Rockefeller.
Cole followed the Browns through the entrance hall into the living room.
The living room was even larger than the entrance hall.
Three sets of dark brown leather sofas formed a square, with a low mahogany coffee table in the middle.
Above the fireplace hung a row of silver frames containing photos of a young woman with golden hair—Sophia Rockefeller.
There were photos of her in riding attire standing by a horse track, holding a champagne glass and smiling at a party, sitting in a study reading a book.
In every photo, she was smiling.
Someone stood in front of the fireplace.
Victor looked older than in the painting.
Gray hair cut very short, sideburns trimmed neat and tidy.
He was in good shape, wearing a dark gray custom suit with his tie knotted perfectly.
He held a glass of whiskey with two ice spheres floating in the amber liquid.
Roy stepped forward with a smile on his face. "Mr. Victor Rockefeller, this is Cole Thorne."
Victor raised his eyelids, his gaze landing on Cole.
He said nothing, just looked.
His eyes moved slowly down from Cole's face, past the light blue shirt, pausing briefly at the label on the collar, then moving to the canvas bag, before finally returning to take a sip of whiskey.
"Even more shabby than I expected."
His voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet living room, every word was crystal clear.
Mary's smile froze for a moment. Roy cleared his throat but said nothing.
Cole stood still.
Victor put down his glass and walked up to Cole.
He was about half a head shorter than Cole, but the way he looked at people was like looking down from above. "You spent three years in prison?"
Cole nodded.
"Taking the fall for someone?"
Cole said nothing.
Victor's mouth twitched. "When I was your age, I was already managing half of the Rockefeller family business. You sure know how to waste time."
He turned around, walked to the sofa and sat down, crossed his legs, and tilted his chin toward the single-seat sofa nearby. "Sit."
Cole sat down on the single-seat sofa.
The Browns sat on the three-seater sofa opposite, Mary smoothing her skirt and sitting up straight.
Victor picked up a document from the coffee table, opened it, and pushed it in front of Cole. "You've signed the agreement. These are supplementary terms that need your signature again."
Cole took it.
The paper was thicker than the previous pages, with the Rockefeller family emblem still at the top.
There were seven clauses total, each with a blank space for a signature below. The content was more detailed than the previous pages.
The first clause: he could only live in the servants' quarters.
The second clause: his movement was limited to Sophia's room and the servants' quarters; without Victor's permission, he couldn't enter other areas of the estate.
The third clause: he couldn't disclose his marriage to Sophia to outsiders.
The fourth clause: his communication devices needed to undergo security checks.
The fifth clause: he couldn't go out alone.
The sixth clause: if Sophia died, he had to leave the estate within one hour and couldn't take anything with him.
The seventh clause: he couldn't access any of the Rockefeller family's business documents or contact family members.
Cole read through the terms expressionlessly, a slight smile forming at the corner of his mouth. He didn't care about the restrictions at all, because his real purpose wasn't to marry into the family—it was to use the Rockefeller family's resources to find the Phoenix bloodline.
Victor leaned back on the sofa, swirling his glass, ice cubes making crisp sounds against the glass. "Mr. Thorne, do you have any objections to the terms?"
"No!" Cole picked up the pen and signed his name on the agreement without hesitation.
Victor nodded with satisfaction. "Good."
He put down his glass, leaned forward slightly, his eyes becoming sharper. "I know why the Brown family sent you here. I also know what kind of person you are. But here, you must always remember your status and position. Got it?"
Cole pushed the document back. "Got it."
Victor stared at him for a few seconds, as if confirming whether he really understood, then leaned back on the sofa and waved his hand. "A servant will take you to your room. Starting tomorrow, you'll take care of Sophia. From 9 AM to 5 PM, you can stay in her room. Other times, stay in the servants' quarters and don't wander around."
Cole stood up.
Victor added another sentence. "Sophia doesn't have much time left. The best doctors in the world have seen her—no use. While you're taking care of her, don't screw anything up. If she dies, you leave. Clean and simple."
When he said this, his tone was calm, as if talking about something that had nothing to do with him.
Cole glanced at him and turned to follow the servant out.
The servants' quarters were on the basement level.
The hallway was narrow, with wall lamps casting yellowish light.
The air had a damp smell mixed with the scent of laundry detergent and the sharp odor of bleach.
At the end of the hallway was the laundry room, door half-open, revealing stacks of sheets and towels inside. Next to the laundry room was a storage room with a large lock hanging on the iron door.
The servants' quarters were across from the storage room.
The servant pushed open the door and tossed the key on the table by the entrance.
"This is the room assigned to you."
After saying this coldly, the servant turned and left.
