People in America: My Uncle Don Quixote

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meaning! Enlightenment!

Li Wei understood everything and completely grasped the use of this skull.

Isn't this just a task trigger?

It's like a troll, spewing insults wherever it goes, and it even has the ability to probe with its constant chatter. If this were really a game system, it might even lead to conflict, but—

Livy glanced at Don Quixote, the great knight still with his eyes closed, gripping the mop head tightly, patrolling back and forth with a resolute expression, completely oblivious to the jester's skull beside him, which was frantically spewing insults and devaluing chivalry to nothing.

In fact, Don Quixote might not have heard the prop's ramblings at all.

"Shut up, you blabbermouth," Li Wei muttered. "Now I know how you got your tongue ripped out and then killed with a hammer."

Since Don Quixote can't hear, the solution to this contradiction is simple.

With a thought, Li Wei opened the system panel and ruthlessly shoved the still-talkative courtier's skull back into the system's equipment slot.

As the jester's skull disappeared, the large number of speech bubbles in front of Li Wei's eyes also vanished, and Li Wei immediately felt much clearer-headed.

The conflict has been resolved, the jester's offensive words have been successfully suppressed, and you have skillfully upheld the dignity of the knight and the peace of the territory.

[Reward: +0.1 Free Attribute Point]

"It feels so good to get attribute points for free!" Li Wei breathed a sigh of relief, calmed the sleepwalking Don Quixote, and went back to sleep.

The next day, Mark arrived at the upscale apartment in Levi's Fortress with some nervousness.

As soon as he entered, Mark impatiently threw his briefcase on the sofa: "Mr. Levi, I've already started using Merrill Lynch's compliance process to delay things, but without a reasonable request, Julian will find out sooner or later."

Li Wei calmly poured Mark a glass of water: "It's 3 o'clock, have some water first."

“I discussed it with Elizabeth,” he said, sitting down. “Anya’s $5000 million will nominally be directly incorporated into the Johnson family’s youth sports rehabilitation fund. Woody Johnson himself is in charge of this project.”

Mark's eyes widened: "Johnson & Johnson? I didn't know Johnson & Johnson was involved?"

“That’s right,” Li Wei nodded slowly. “JPMorgan’s compliance department certainly wouldn’t dare to block Johnson & Johnson’s fund pool to cooperate with an MD’s private scheme. Your task now is to subtly reveal this information to Julian.”

“I understand,” Mark immediately grasped Levi’s plan. “Then I will tell him that because Johnson & Johnson is involved, Merrill Lynch’s internal compliance process has been frozen. If he insists on holding onto this money, the only way is to send Merrill Lynch a joint risk warning letter with his personal digital signature.”

"This will force him to take action and leave irrefutable evidence of cross-bank interference in the financial clearing network," Li Wei nodded. "It remains to be seen whether he is willing to risk offending both the Mellon and Johnson families at the same time."

At this moment, the chattering jester skull popped up a whole bunch of dialogue boxes again.

Look at this key figure in the kingdom's mint! He clearly possesses an extremely keen sense of opportunity and insatiable ambition, his head brimming with brilliant ideas on how to double the gold coins.

The jester's ruby ​​eyes were fixed on Mark, as if trying to see through his soul.

Then the text in the dialog box started to mock:

Why would such a shrewd and intelligent person show such ridiculous, blind loyalty to a muscular silver knight who only knows how to wield a sword? Doesn't he know that in this royal city where money equals power, he could easily steal the dragon's treasure by simply tampering with those tedious documents? What disgusting loyalty!

Li Wei looked at the rapidly scrolling words in front of him, and outwardly took a sip of water without making a sound, but inwardly he was completely reassured.

Although this jester's mouth is sharp and sarcastic, its greatest strength is its ability to see through all power struggles and lies.

If Mark harbored even the slightest thought of scheming or betrayal, it would mercilessly mock his hypocrisy and greed.

But now, it mocks Mark's blind loyalty.

This means that, under the current circumstances, this Merrill Lynch partner is 100% loyal to me and has no intention of disobeying me.

Having confirmed Mark's loyalty, Levi no longer held back.

“Mark, Julian is annoying, but he’s at most a dog that’s been let out to bite,” he said. “The real mastermind behind this is Charlie Mellon, the owner of the Manhattan Arts Center and the Manhattan Foundation for Modern Art.”

"We've gotten caught up in the Mellon family's internal strife?" Mark broke out in a cold sweat as soon as he heard the surname.

"Don't be so nervous," Levi patted the shoulder of a key member of the Royal Mint. "Charlie Mellon is now plotting to inject a billion dollars of family funds into his foundation instead of Elizabeth's, so he's trying to create trouble for Elizabeth. The longer we drag this out, the more anxious he'll become."

He paused, then continued, "So in the next month, besides using Merrill Lynch's internal compliance to lure Julian into leaving a digital signature for his personal cross-industry intervention, I also need you to investigate that 'Manhattan Arts Center'."

"Understood, please give your orders, Mr. Levi." Mark immediately straightened his back; now he and Levi were in the same boat.

"Don't alert them. You probably won't be able to find anything with your current access level," Li Wei thought for a moment and then instructed. "Just help me gather their financial statements, cash flow, charitable tax exemptions, and related M&A information from the past few years."

Mark's meticulous investigation of the equity and financial chains alone might be noticed by Charlie Mellon.

Livy had another idea: to see if the jester's skull could serve any other purpose.

Two days later, in Veronica's apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

Julian was unusually irritable today.

He performed the injection on Veronica in an almost abusive manner, and Veronica's once large breasts, slim waist, and pert buttocks lost their appeal, as if in his eyes she was nothing more than a pile of rotten flesh.

Nevertheless, Veronica did not scream, but instead sprayed herself with calming spray on her bruised arms and face afterward.

"Phew..." She lit a cigarette for herself and looked at Julian, who had calmed down. "Got into trouble again today?"

"I'm sorry," Julian said, "I'll make it up to you."

“That’s all secondary, Julian,” Veronica said, putting on a silk robe and climbing up to him, embracing him. “It’s just that you were so angry today. I sensed that you were… panicked.”

Julian didn't want to answer, but when he saw the pity in Veronica's eyes, he couldn't help but loudly correct her:

"I'm not panicking, how could I be panicking? I'm just... the situation is just a little beyond my expectations."

"In short, I've run into another problem now, and I can't extricate myself from it," he said, scratching his thinning hair. "Or maybe not entirely. I feel like I might—and I mean might—get into a little bit of trouble."

"Promotion is inevitable" "But that's on the condition that you survive," Veronica said, walking up behind him and gently massaging his temples. "If the trouble gets too big, it might not be worth it."

Julian impatiently slapped her hand away.

“What do you know? Do you know that I’m just one step away from being promoted to management?” he roared. “I’ve been wanting to climb up the ladder for years. I dream of sitting in that position. If Jamie Dimon (CEO of JPMorgan Chase) asked me to lick his balls, I would immediately unbuckle his belt like I would serve Scarlett Jansen.”

"I really don't understand," Veronica said, not angry, rubbing her wrist and pouring him another glass of wine. "I'm just a..." "Isn't that right? The decision-making power is entirely in your own hands."

...

“You’re right,” Julian said, calming down and sighing. “Do you have anything stronger here? Like ketamine or something. I need to calm down. Not the kind sold on the street. I need something with higher purity.”

"Of course," Veronica said. "I'll get it ready for you."

"How much?" Julian asked. "I'll pay you back."

"No need," Veronica said, crossing her legs and taking a drag of her cigarette, glancing at Julian with a wistful look. "It's on me."

A few days later, Levi landed in Dallas, Texas, on a private jet generously sponsored by John Mara.

In late October, Dallas had just succumbed to months of sweltering heat that could melt asphalt.

The cold air from the north has not yet fully crossed the Great Plains, and Dallas is currently in the most pleasant season of the year.

The dry autumn wind sweeps across the vast Texas landscape, carrying the rugged scent unique to this southern state—a blend of fermented malt beer, heavily smoky beef brisket, and the exhaust of a large-displacement American V8 engine.

American-style big V8, environmental protection to hell.

For a true old-school redneck Texan, football has never been just a sport, but their second religion; the genes of violent aesthetics flow in the blood of every Texan.

For Levi, the yellow-skinned kid who has dominated all the topics and buzz in the NFL, his skin color, his remarks, and even the New York Giants, the team he plays for, which are hated by Texans the most, every topic hits their sore spot. Every victory of Levi makes them so angry they jump up and down.

For Levi, the yellow-skinned kid who has dominated all the topics and buzz in the NFL, his skin color, his remarks, and even the New York Giants, the team he plays for, which are hated by Texans the most, every topic hits their sore spot. Every victory of Levi makes them so angry they jump up and down.

Finally, Levi arrived in Dallas.

This is the fucking Lone Star State, and they will not allow some outsider with yellow skin to trample on their pride here.