Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

In November, the maple leaves in the suburbs of New York were already ablaze with color.

Lu Chen's convoy drove north from Manhattan, crossing the Hudson River and following the rolling hills of Westchester County. The broad-leaved forests on both sides of the road turned ochre and deep yellow in the late autumn wind, and the wheels made a crisp, delicate sound as they rolled over the still damp fallen leaves on the road.

Lu Chen sat in the back seat of the burgundy Rolls-Royce, a copy of the Wall Street Journal spread out on his lap. The front page was still discussing the aftermath of Black Monday.

Some attributed the stock market crash to algorithmic trading, while others criticized the predatory practices of international capital, and still others directly pointed the finger at the economic policies of the Reagan administration... Amid the chaotic public discourse, no one has yet focused their attention on Jiahe, which has been quietly making a fortune.

Lu Chen turned his gaze from the window to Tian Yangsheng in the front passenger seat.

How much further?

"Boss, it should be about five minutes from now."

Lu Chen nodded slightly and lowered his head to continue flipping through the newspaper in his hand.

After a while, the convoy turned onto a private road. The red maples on both sides became even denser, their branches and leaves closing in overhead to form an ochre-red archway.

"Boss, we've arrived." Tian Yangsheng turned around from the front row.

At the end of the red maple forest, an ancient and vast manor unfolds in the afternoon sun.

The main building is a three-story granite structure with a distinctive French Renaissance style. Dark brown ivy climbs all over the dark gray exterior walls, extending all the way to the windowsills on the third floor.

The facade features twelve towering Corinthian columns supporting a wide gable, at the center of which is prominently engraved the Morgan family crest—an intricately carved shield with a three-masted sailing ship at its center. Six ancient chimneys stand atop the roof, currently emitting wisps of pale white steam.

An annex extends from the east and west wings, connected to the main building by enclosed corridors. In front of the main building is a spacious gravel plaza, where the central fountain has been closed for winter, and the bronze Neptune statue at the bottom of the pool gleams with a dark green luster in the afternoon sun.

Behind the estate lies a tributary of the Hudson River, no more than a hundred meters wide, with a large expanse of undeveloped primeval forest on the opposite bank.

This is the headquarters of the world-renowned Morgan financial group.

Built in 1882, the estate was personally selected by the first patriarch, JP Morgan. At the time, he hired Richard Morris Hunter, one of the most renowned architects in the United States, to design the main building. He also built a private chapel, stables, and a private library with a collection of more than 30,000 books on the estate.

Over the next century, successive patriarchs added to the estate—building greenhouses, expanding galleries, and renovating guest rooms. By the time it reached Victor's generation, the entire estate covered more than 800 acres, making it a veritable private empire.

In fact, the Morgan family's glory began with the first owner of this estate.

John Pierpont Morgan, the most powerful financial magnate of the American "Gilded Age".

Born in 1837, he founded Morgan & Co. in 1861 with the financial support of his father, Junius Morgan. In 1871, he joined forces with the Drexel family to establish Drexel & Morgan, the precursor to the later world-renowned J.P. Morgan & Co.

For the next forty years, J.P. Morgan almost single-handedly led the wave of industrial consolidation across the United States: in 1892, he facilitated the merger of Edison General Electric and Thomson-Houston Electric Company, which were reorganized into General Electric; in 1901, he acquired Andrew Carnegie's steel empire for $4.85 million, forming U.S. Steel—the first billion-dollar company in human history.

In addition, he controlled 21 railroad companies through the famous "Morganization" model, laying the framework for the transcontinental railroad network in the United States, and was called the "world's creditor" by European political figures.

In 1907, during the first major Wall Street crash, the aging J.P. Morgan summoned all the New York bankers to his private study, locked the door, threw the key on the table, and uttered a famous quote that has resonated to this day: "We won't go out until the market stabilizes."

This action directly led to the creation of the Federal Reserve six years later.

Today, many of America's century-old companies—General Electric, U.S. Steel, AT&T, International Harvester—all bear the imprint of the Morgan financial group to varying degrees.

By the 1980s, the Morgan Group, with JPMorgan Chase at its core, had extended its reach to commercial banking, investment banking, asset management, insurance, and real estate, secretly managing a massive amount of assets exceeding $300 billion.

Today, the owner of this estate, the patriarch of this family, is none other than Victor Morgan, the sixth-generation descendant of Morgan.

……

The convoy slowly came to a stop in front of the main building's main entrance.

The sound of the fountain was clearly audible. Two gardeners in dark green overalls were clearing fallen leaves on the lawn. When they saw the convoy arrive, they stopped what they were doing and stepped back to the side of the road to stand with their hands at their sides.

As soon as Lu Chen opened the car door, he saw the oak door of the main building being pushed open from the inside, and a middle-aged man quickly walked out.

The man was around fifty years old, tall with broad shoulders, and wearing a charcoal gray three-piece suit. His jacket was open, revealing a gold pocket watch chain hanging from the waistcoat pocket.

His hair was a dark gold with silver streaks, light gray, combed back meticulously. He had a broad forehead, a high and straight nose, a square jaw, and light blue eyes that looked exceptionally clear in the afternoon light—a typical Germanic profile, yet exuding the shrewdness and competence unique to a top Wall Street predator.

It was Victor Morgan, the owner of the manor.

Before Lu Chen could even step onto the steps, Victor had already taken the initiative to stride down the three stone steps. His leather shoes made a crisp crunching sound on the fine gravel, and his right hand was outstretched enthusiastically.

"Mr. Lu." Victor's face beamed with an extremely bright smile, as if he were welcoming an old friend he had known for many years. "We've finally met."

Faced with Victor's overtures, Lu Chen naturally didn't refuse, smiling as he extended his hand and gave him a firm handshake.

"I never expected Mr. Victor to personally greet me at the door. I am truly flattered." As he said this, a faint smile played on Lu Chen's lips. "Usually, the owners of such manors only wait for guests in their study."

"Guests who come to the manor usually don't warrant the host coming to the door," Victor chuckled, turning to gesture for the guests to enter. "This way, please; it's warmer inside than outside."

……

The oak doors closed behind him. The sunlight outside was blocked out, replaced by the three-tiered crystal chandelier on the hall's dome. The light fell on the polished ebony floors, reflecting an amber glow.

The hall is an octagon with a ceiling height of twelve meters. Flemish tapestries and 16th-century Italian paintings hang alternately on the eight walls. The fireplace is a story high, with chopped oak logs piled up in the black iron grate, and the fire is burning brightly.

Beside the fireplace stood a 19th-century French gilded grandfather clock, its huge pendulum swinging slowly and steadily, the ticking of the second hand remarkably clear in the hall.

Of course, while the decorations are extremely retro and luxurious, the Morgan family is not a masochist; the interior of the hall has long been filled with the latest technology.

Behind the tapestry on the east wall was a hidden air vent for the central air conditioning system, and the chandelier had a remote-controlled dimmer. An IBM personal computer stood at the entrance to the west corridor, and a huge plasma TV was embedded in the wall to the left of the fireplace.

"My grandfather once said something," Victor shrugged, noticing Lu Chen's gaze fixed on the IBM, "that everything in this manor was either chosen by time or chose time."

"Your grandfather was a wise man." Lu Chen withdrew his gaze.

"Indeed," Victor chuckled briefly, "This way, please."

Led by Victor, the two crossed the hall and turned into the west corridor.

The corridor is about thirty meters long and only wide enough for two people to walk side by side. To the right is a full-length window overlooking a neatly manicured French garden. In November, most of the garden's leaves have already faded, leaving only a few clumps of hardy boxwood. On the left wall, six portrait paintings hang at equal intervals.

First image: John Pierpont Morgan.

In the painting, he stands in front of a fireplace, one hand resting on the fire grill, with the outline of the U.S. Steel plant faintly visible in the background.

Second picture: J.P. Morgan Jr.

After his father's death, he inherited the family business and spearheaded Allied financing during World War I. However, following the Great Depression of 1929, he was forced to accept the Glass-Steagall Act, splitting Morgan & Co. into a commercial bank and an investment bank. In the painting, he has a furrowed brow and deep nasolabial folds.

The third image: Henry Sturgess Morgan.

J.P. Morgan Jr.'s eldest son. He founded Morgan Stanley, establishing his own independent firm on Wall Street. In the painting, he is impeccably dressed in a suit, his expression calm, with a hint of undeniable restraint at the corner of his mouth.

Fourth portrait: Junius Spencer Morgan III.

The patriarch during World War II. He was responsible for coordinating wartime financial cooperation between the Morgan financial group and the Roosevelt administration. In the painting, he is wearing a navy blue double-breasted suit and a Medal of Freedom brooch on his chest.

"It seems he's a gambler, just like Mr. J.P. Morgan," Lu Chen remarked to Morgan III.

Victor glanced at him sideways.

"Creditors are always gambling," Lu Chen said, shifting his gaze from the portrait. "They're simply gambling on the fate of the other party's nation."

Victor paused for a second, then nodded. "You're right, but it's clear we've always been on the side of the victors."

Fifth portrait: Charles Morgan.

He was the patriarch during the post-war reconstruction period and spearheaded Morgan's business expansion in Europe, establishing JPMorgan Chase's European headquarters in the City of London and Paris. In the painting, he sits at a desk from the George III era, holding a pen in his hand.

The sixth picture: a blank frame, no face, no background, just a gray base coat. A bronze plaque is embedded at the bottom of the frame, engraved with "Victor Morgan"—no date, no inscription, just a blank space.

Victor stopped in front of the sixth picture frame.

"There's an unwritten rule in our family," he said, shifting his gaze from the blank picture frame, "that the patriarch's portrait is only hung up after he passes away."

Lu Chen stared at the gray base paint, his expression strange, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.

……

The second-floor reception room is much smaller than the main hall, but it is more private.

The room was rectangular, with a fireplace directly opposite the door, its white oak firewood crackling. On two sides were walls of books, stacked from floor to ceiling, crammed with leather-bound books—Latin legal texts, eighteenth-century English novels, and trade ledgers from the American colonies.

The gold lettering on the spine has worn dark, but the leather is well-maintained and without a single crack.

The floor-to-ceiling windows face a tributary of the Hudson River, and the afternoon sunlight cuts in at an angle, drawing a clear line of light and shadow on the floor.

In the center of the room stood two Chesterfield sofas, their dark brown calfskin upholstery and deep-set zippers. Between the two sofas was a walnut coffee table, on which rested a cigar humidor, a guillotine-style cigar cutter, and a box of cedar matches.

Victor sat down on the sofa on the left, crossing one leg. The butler brought in two glasses of whisky—Glenfiddich 30 Year Old, no ice—and then quietly withdrew.

Lu Chen sat down on the sofa on the right. He picked up the cigar humidor from the coffee table and opened it. Inside lay two rows of Cuban Cohiba cigars, their dark brown wrappers glossy and shiny, the Morgan family crest of a three-masted ship printed on the label.

He picked up a cigarette and held it to his nose to sniff—a rich aroma of cocoa and cedarwood wafted up, mellow yet smooth. Then, Lu Chen cut off the cap of the cigarette and lit it with a cedarwood match.

As he exhaled the first thick puff of smoke, Lu Chen exclaimed, "Good cigar!"

Victor lit his own cigarette as well. The two of them took a couple of puffs, the smoke swirling slowly in the afternoon beams of light, like two snakes tentatively exploring each other.

Lu Chen placed the cigar on the rim of the ashtray and looked up.

"Mr. Victor, you arranged to meet me through Martin, surely not just to offer me a cigar?"

Victor chuckled. He took the cigar out of his mouth, held the cigar between his index and middle fingers, and gently scraped the wrapper with his thumb.

"Washington is very nervous about you," Victor didn't answer directly, but abruptly changed the subject. "After Black Monday, the Federal Reserve mentioned 'Chenning Capital' three times in its briefings. When Treasury Secretary Baker visited my home, he said something like, 'Someone sucked $30 billion out of the Eagle's wound.'"

"The $30 billion is still in the US," Lu Chen said calmly. "Coca-Cola, IBM, General Electric... every single penny is stuck on Wall Street. Mr. Baker should thank me; without this money buying at the bottom, the Dow Jones would have fallen another 500 points."

Victor chuckled softly, picked up the whiskey glass beside the sofa, and took a sip.

"That's why I wanted to see you." He put down his glass. "Since my great-grandfather's generation, our family has followed one principle: Don't fight over money. What others think about what you did on Black Monday is their business. I only see two things in it."

Which two?

"First, your sense of smell," Victor held up a finger, "You started shorting back in June, when the Dow was still rising and Wall Street fund managers were adding to their positions. Besides that, I've also investigated that you've done similar operations in London and Japan... It's like you have omniscience."

"Secondly, self-control," he held up a second finger, "You weren't blinded by immense greed; instead, you knew when to stop and decisively exited the market. Even more remarkable, after receiving the 30 billion in cash, you didn't choose to squander it; instead, you used it all to buy up the most core assets on Wall Street at rock-bottom prices."

"Thank you for the compliment." Lu Chen took a puff of his cigar, his voice still steady amidst the swirling smoke. "However—I'm more interested in knowing what Mr. Victor intends to get from me?"

"It's simple, I want to cooperate with you." Victor leaned forward, looking intently at him.

Upon hearing this, Lu Chen raised an eyebrow slightly: "I thought you would say you were investing."

"To be honest, I am indeed very tempted," Victor leaned back on the sofa, smoke escaping from his mouth and tinged orange by the fireplace fire, "but I know very well that you have plenty of funds, and the High Table Group will certainly not allow me to extend my reach into their territory."

Hearing this, Lu Chen did not refute, but simply smiled slightly.

This is the benefit of using someone else's name; with the High Table Society as a shield, these top financial giants are hesitant to act rashly and naturally dare not harbor any wicked intentions towards him.

"So, what kind of cooperation do you want?"

"It's simple. I don't know where you got your intelligence, and I don't want to know," Victor Morgan smiled slightly through the thin smoke. "I just want to hitch a ride. Morgan will provide you with comprehensive political and financial support. When the next storm comes, we'll join forces... and have a good meal."

As soon as he finished speaking, the firewood in the fireplace crackled twice. A breeze picked up outside the window, and a maple leaf stuck to the third-floor windowpane before sliding down.

Lu Chen's gaze passed over Victor's shoulder and landed on the replica of J.P. Morgan's portrait on the opposite wall.

Old Morgan sat in his dark red leather chair, and even after more than a hundred years, his eyes were still fixed on every transaction in the room.

After a long while, Lu Chen turned his head and said, "Okay, I happen to have a way to make money."