Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 227 A Warning from Dunbar

Dunbar's persistence slightly surprised George Porter, who was sitting opposite Larry.

He glanced at Dunbar, who was standing through the crack in the doorway.

At this moment, Mr. Dunbar had deliberately avoided a spot by the door that would allow him to observe the room but not disturb the meeting. He looked around as if he were just standing there casually.

George Porter then turned his attention to Larry.

Larry, facing Porter's probing gaze, remained composed, even displaying a hint of helpless apology. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to ensure only Porter, who was nearby, could hear him clearly:

"Mr. Potter, please forgive me. Dunbar is the oldest servant in my family. He has been with my father for over ten years and has been through a lot with him. ... A while ago, there was a small accident at my family's warehouse. Although there was no major loss, this old fellow has become quite paranoid, always feeling that someone is plotting against me."

Especially in a bustling place like New York, he wouldn't leave my side for more than three steps, afraid something might happen to him. It wasn't that he had any doubts about you or the Waldorf; it was simply that he was overly tense, a professional habit kicking in.

Larry spoke sincerely, with a hint of indulgence and helplessness from the young master towards his old minister, "I'll talk to him later. I can't let this disturb your peace and quiet."

Upon hearing this, George Porter's sharp gaze lingered on Larry's face for a moment, then swept over Dunbar's straight back outside the door, and he nodded knowingly.

People like him naturally understand this excessive caution based on past experiences, and even appreciate this loyalty and focus to some extent.

“I see. It’s your good fortune to have such a loyal bodyguard.” His tone softened, and he didn’t press the matter further. “Shall we continue discussing the details of your exhibition?”
.
After leaving the meeting room, Larry and Dunbar maintained a tacit calm.

The next part should be George Porter leading Larry to check out the venue. George Porter leads the way, with Mr. Dunbar closely following beside Larry.

Larry kept praising the hotel's opulence and exquisite materials along the way, sometimes stopping to admire and marvel at it.

George Porter answered Larry's questions with professional composure, showing no sign of impatience.

Mr. Dunbar's eyes would occasionally glance at Larry, and at other times he would carefully observe his surroundings.

Larry dawdled along the way, naturally noticing Dunbar's unusual behavior and deliberately slowing down his pace. But a small part of him was genuinely impressed by this hotel, which would surely go down in history—it was just too damn luxurious.

Only by truly immersing oneself in it, especially after experiencing so many of the world's top luxury hotels, can one truly appreciate the meticulousness of the Waldorf Astoria.

The hotel's materials, design, decor, and even the spacing and color scheme are all exquisite masterpieces that Larry, with his discerning eye across two lifetimes, could not find any flaws in.

It's said that people can naturally distinguish between good and bad, or that you can't imagine what is the highest or most elegant, but once you see it, you will naturally feel it.

The Waldorf Astoria Hotel embodies the grandeur of the Gilded Age in its grand scale and the refined elegance of the Victorian era in its small details. It is "the focal point of all civilizations" and an immortal legend forged by time.

Larry and George Porter stepped into the Waldorf Astoria Hotel's restaurant and were immediately struck by its beauty.

Beneath a nearly ten-meter-high dome, several enormous crystal chandeliers with gilded borders cast a soft glow, enveloping the entire space in a luxurious yet tranquil atmosphere. The gleaming marble floor reflects the magnificent ceiling patterns and the composed figures of the people.

One side of the restaurant features a full-length Venetian crystal mirror wall, which not only expands the visual space but also cleverly blends the bustling New York street scene outside the window with the dazzling lights inside. The tables, covered with snow-white tablecloths, are arranged in an orderly manner, and the heavy silver cutlery and crystal goblets shimmer with a calm and expensive luster under the lights.

A faint fragrance permeated the air, mixed with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee, and the subtle scent of new furniture's paint and wood.

The waiters, dressed in sharp uniforms, were receiving table manners training under the tutelage of three managers and seven head waiters.

During the simulated serving of food to guests, everyone moved nimbly and silently among the guests, their movements precise and restrained.

Larry's gaze slowly swept over the scene, a tapestry woven from wealth, taste, and order. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly. The environment here undoubtedly met his expectations, perhaps even exceeding them.

George Porter’s tone was gentle yet highly engaging as he explained the restaurant’s ingenuity and unique attention to detail to Larry, who listened with nodding approving glances.

Following his usual practice of organizing similar events at the hotel, George Porter then explained the event's flow to Larry as he understood it, along with the seating arrangement and the approximate menu for the buffet.

Larry would occasionally discuss and finalize some minor details with George Porter.

Mr. Dunbar ignored their discussion; his eyes were constantly scanning the surrounding terrain, and he memorized everything he saw and felt.

It took Larry and George Porter a full twenty-five minutes to finish discussing all the details.

Larry let out a long sigh of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and then smiled at George Potter. “Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Potter… Oh, haha, I’m getting a little confused now. I used to only call your brother Mr. Potter.”

George Porter smiled faintly. “You’ve worked hard. I’ve never seen a second-generation member of a wealthy family at your age with such a meticulous work attitude and clear logic. Your pragmatism and humility are impressive.”

Larry thought to himself that his carefully crafted persona as a second-generation family member was becoming increasingly sophisticated. After all, being a second-generation member was in line with his age, experience, and wealth.

After everything was finished, Larry politely said goodbye to George Porter and strode out through the brass doors of the banquet hall, with Mr. Dunbar following closely behind.
.
Reaching the roadside, Mr. Dunbar suddenly strode ahead and flagged down a carriage. Once the carriage had come to a stop, he turned and gestured for Larry to get in first. Larry nodded slightly, glanced back at the Waldorf Hotel, then at his own shop and four-story building not far away, before climbing into the carriage. Mr. Dunbar followed, slamming the door shut behind him.

Larry frowned slightly and met Mr. Dunbar's gaze. Mr. Dunbar shook his head gently, indicating that he should not speak yet. He then instructed the coachman to go to Central Park on the Upper East Side.

Click, click...

The horseshoes tapped out a hurried rhythm on the paved road, and then, as Mr. Dunbar had instructed, headed straight for the Upper East Side.

The two didn't exchange a single word the entire way.

When they saw Central Park, Mr. Dunbar suddenly stopped the carriage and took out $2 from his pocket to pay the fare.

The two of them got off the carriage together, strolled across the road, and walked to Central Park.

Larry and Mr. Dunbar walked silently, one after the other, along the paved road. On both sides were classic and imposing high-rise buildings and various attached apartment buildings. Occasionally, gentlemen in suits and top hats and beautiful women in overcoats, short skirts and high heels would pass by in carriages, the wheels making a regular and slight sound as they rolled over the road.

The air here seems calmer than elsewhere.

Larry could sense that Mr. Dunbar was glancing behind him every now and then to see if anyone was following, so he continued walking forward without saying a word.

The two quickly arrived at the south edge of Central Park.

Passing through a low walled entrance, the city's hustle and bustle seems to be instantly shut out. Inside the park, a different scene unfolds: the lush green lawns are just beginning to burst with the vibrant colors of spring, the small groves of trees are sprouting new green leaves, and dappled sunlight streams down the winding paths.

In the distance, a calm, mirror-like, deep blue lake reflects shimmering light, and further afield, the elegant stone arch of the Bow Bridge spans the water.

The air was filled with the scents of grass, damp earth, and faint floral fragrances, and many citizens strolled or rested on the lawn. However, this vibrant spring and leisurely atmosphere did not completely dispel the heavy and somber atmosphere between the two.

Dunbar lagged slightly behind, his gaze sweeping casually across the surroundings like that of a hawk—the overly dense shade of trees in the sunlight, the figures seemingly fishing leisurely on the distant lakeshore, and even the children running past them.

His voice was extremely low, almost blending into the rustling of leaves in the wind. "Just now, in the corridor of the hotel lobby and in the corner of the banquet hall, I saw more than one of those dark olive-colored canvas duffel bags with a blurry tire track in the lower right corner."

Dunbar spoke at a steady pace, but every word was clear and forceful. This calm description instantly transported Larry back to the scene of that thrilling assassination, recalling the moment when the two assassins slipped a canvas bag containing firebombs under Astor IV's carriage.

Larry's gaze froze instantly: "Are you sure?"

“There’s no mistake.” Dunbar said with absolute certainty. “The color, the style… it’s almost exactly the same as what we saw at the scene of the last attack. I was wondering then why that person would use such a strange canvas bag.”

Larry felt the air around him suddenly become thick and cold.

Dunbar continued, his voice chilling: “It wasn’t just the bags. Among the temporary workers moving goods at the hotel’s side entrance, there were a few who looked like well-trained guys, with concealed pistols tucked into their belts.”

Larry paused, then casually asked, "Anyone from the scene last time...?"

Dunbar shook his head slightly, gesturing for the two to continue walking, and then replied, "No, we only caught a glimpse of him last time. Besides, even the most careless employer wouldn't keep a hitman whose face has already been seen by the police around."

Larry strode calmly past a family of four who were flying kites on the lawn. Mr. Dunbar followed him silently. After a few more steps, Larry took advantage of the break to think quickly in his mind.

“Uncle Dunbar, let’s not alert them yet. Besides, we only witnessed the assassination attempt by chance, so we shouldn’t be considered involved…” Larry said, trying to organize his thoughts. “Furthermore, my fund has nothing to do with this. They wouldn’t have made any arrangements at the Waldorf Hotel, would they?”

"As a security guard, my priority is your safety. That's always my top priority, no matter how much you're involved! The reason I went all the way to Central Park is because I'm afraid they might actually try to harm you."

Dunbar emphasized his words and even used honorifics, this deliberate distance seemed to be a re-emphasis on the true nature of their relationship.

Larry paused, stopping at the edge of the lawn.

The midday sun shone through the sparse clouds, casting its light on the wide, tranquil green fields of Central Park. In the distance, unidentified birds sang in the trees, appearing and disappearing intermittently.

A gentle breeze blew through the trees, bringing with it the slightly chilly air of early spring.

Larry looked at the sky, made up his mind, and turned to Dunbar, saying, "I'll send a telegram to Mr. K right now, telling him to bring a few more men and come over tonight, just in case. Also, we can't be deterred by bad luck; we still have to get things done. Uncle Dunbar, Matthew said last time that his brother made several similar automatic pistols?"

“There were 12 pistols in the first batch of trials, and he brought three with him,” Dunbar replied.

Larry nodded, his face turning cold, and frowned as he ordered, "Then have him bring the rest of the guns!"

(End of this chapter)