Chapter 7: Bringing Money to the Door

The fragrance rising from the bowl hit Rylie Norrell first. She had gone to bed hungry, and the moment she caught that scent, she forgot all about wondering why Reginald Lyson had seemed like a completely different person today. She picked up the spoon and took a sip. The flavor bloomed on her tongue, so good she nearly gasped. "Reginald Lyson, what is this porridge? Why is it so… rich?" "This is duckling congee," Reginald Lyson said. "I simmered it with duck stock, pork bone broth, angelica root, goji berries, and a few other premium ingredients. It took a lot of steps." He gestured toward the bowl, as if introducing a work of art. "There's duck blood, diced duck meat, duck liver, and gizzard too. It's got that warm, silky feel when you eat it, doesn't it?" "And there are fried dough sticks in the kitchen," he added. "They go well with it." As he spoke, Reginald Lyson stood and set the newspaper in his hand on the table. "Oh, and you can read the paper while you eat. Today's headlines are especially interesting." Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and walked outside. Evangeline Heyland's face twisted with anger as she snapped at Rylie, "Look at him. Just look! Even a useless coward thinks he's some kind of lord. He's even smoking!" "I don't care what it takes. You divorce that trash immediately. I don't want to see that spineless freeloader for one more day!" Rylie had long since gotten used to her mother's tantrums. She set the bowl down and gently but firmly pushed Evangeline toward the kitchen. "Mom, stop saying that. Back then, I was the one who forced him to marry into our family. How can I just decide on a divorce whenever I feel like it?" "Enough. Go eat something in the kitchen. What he made today is really good." "Something a coward makes could be good?" Evangeline scoffed. "For a whole year, everything he cooked was garbage I couldn't even swallow!" She complained the entire way, but in the end, she still went. The house finally quieted. Rylie settled back at the table and ate in peace, savoring each spoonful. The more she tasted, the more stunned she became. Ever since the wedding, their family's finances had been tight. They had fired the housekeeper and the help. As the live-in son-in-law, Reginald Lyson had taken on all the chores and all the cooking. Yet after an entire year of making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, this was the first time he had ever cooked something this delicious. It was every bit as good as the breakfast at an upscale hotel. What was going on? Had Reginald Lyson suddenly gotten his act together? In a way, she had guessed it right. With his memories restored, Reginald Lyson had regained the culinary skill he had honed over thousands of years. East or West, five thousand years of history, countless lifetimes. With endless time on his hands, he had learned cooking techniques from every corner of the world. When it came to cooking, even the world's top chefs did not measure up to a ten-thousandth of him. A bowl of congee was nothing. Rylie was still puzzling over it when her gaze slid to the newspaper on the table. Remembering what Reginald Lyson had said, she leaned in and read. Her breath caught. "Charlotte! Come here, quick. Look at this!" "What is it?" Charlotte Norrell dashed out of the kitchen with a fried dough stick in hand, her lips gleaming with oil. "Look at the paper!" Rylie pointed at the front page. The headline was impossible to miss. It reported that just after midnight last night, an accident had occurred at Grand Fortune Hotel. Benjamin Wokey, the son of River City's financial tycoon Paxton Wokey, had fallen from a building while drunk and died on the spot. The Wokey family was a financial powerhouse in River City. They were not the richest, and they were not the number one elite clan, but their influence ran deep. If nothing had happened, Benjamin Wokey would have been the next head of the Wokey family. His death could shake the family's future. So it made sense the local paper had splashed it across the front page. What shocked Rylie was something else. Benjamin Wokey had called her yesterday and demanded she spend the entire day with him today, or he would keep their loan frozen. She had gone to sleep, and by the time she woke up, he was dead. "Sis…" Charlotte's voice turned cautious, almost afraid to hope. "If Benjamin Wokey is dead, does that mean our loan might finally go through?" Rylie had not told anyone about last night's phone call. But after she returned home, she had told her sister that the one pulling strings behind the loan being blocked was Benjamin Wokey. As for why he was doing it, Rylie did not have to explain. Charlotte could guess. As her sister, Charlotte would never agree to trade Rylie's dignity for a loan. She just had not expected the man who had been coveting her sister's body to die overnight. If he was gone, then maybe the loan situation could turn around. Rylie did not know how to answer. Benjamin Wokey might have been the one behind it, but he was not the one stamping papers at River City Bank. She had no way of knowing whether the loan would be approved. Wait. Rylie froze. Why had Reginald Lyson deliberately told her to read this newspaper? Why had he said the news was "interesting"? Had he already known Benjamin Wokey had been using the loan to threaten her? For no reason she could name, guilt crawled up her spine. Just then, the doorbell rang. The sisters lifted their heads and looked toward the entrance at the same time. Who came calling this early? "Reginald Lyson? Where is he?" Evangeline stormed out of the kitchen, still fuming. "That useless coward, hurry up and open the door for the guest!" Fortunately, Reginald Lyson had already been outside. He had opened the door before she could finish shouting. A moment later, a man in a tailored suit and white dress shirt stepped in, his expression tight with unease. The instant he entered, his eyes went straight to the Norrell sisters, and he hurriedly pasted on a flattering smile. "Miss Norrell, President Norrell, good morning!" He turned to Evangeline with exaggerated politeness. "And you must be your mother. Good morning, ma'am. Sorry to disturb you." Charlotte's mouth fell open. "Mr. Mabre? Why are you here?" "Charlotte, this is…" Evangeline started. "Mom," Charlotte said quickly, "this is Mr. Mabre, the general manager of River City Bank!" Evangeline practically bounced on her toes. She rushed to the doorway and shouted outside, "Reginald Lyson! Get in here and serve Mr. Mabre some tea! Pour water, do something! No sense at all! Hurry up! Are you deaf?!" "No, no!" Mr. Mabre cut in, panicked. He hurried to the door and pulled Evangeline back, as if terrified she might offend someone on his behalf. "Ma'am, you're far too kind. I don't need any tea. Once I'm done, I'll leave right away." "Done with what?" Evangeline demanded. "Mr. Mabre, what business brings you here?" At that, Mr. Mabre immediately opened his briefcase and took out a document. "The loan," he said. "I came here specifically about the loan." "President Norrell, Perfect Sky Company applied for a loan, correct? It was originally held up on our end, but last night the credit manager in charge of it was investigated for embezzlement. He's been arrested. So I'm handling this personally." He placed the contract on the table with both hands. "Please take a look. If everything looks good, sign it. We'll do our best to get the loan approved today." Charlotte went pale with shock. Mr. Mabre was the general manager of River City Bank. And he had shown up at their door at the crack of dawn just to release their loan? It was unreal. Beside her, Rylie picked up the contract and skimmed it. Her surprise only deepened. "Mr. Mabre… are you sure this is right? Why is the interest rate so low?" "Huh?" Charlotte leaned in for a look, and her eyes widened. The interest listed on the contract was at least ninety percent lower than standard loan rates. At that rate, it was almost like being handed free money. Mr. Mabre, the dignified general manager of River City Bank, had come to their home first thing in the morning to deliver money to their doorstep? Had he made a mistake?