"The Director of the Tax Bureau?" Lila exclaimed. "Dad, you actually know Mr. Prescott? You're amazing!"
"That's impossible," Mr. Bennet replied. "There's no way I have a connection with Director Prescott. Someone must have intervened on our behalf and spoken to him—but who? I asked everyone I contacted, and they all said they never reached out to Director Prescott. Sigh… I want to repay our benefactor, but I have no leads."
"Huh?"
Lila was stunned. How could this be?
"Lila," Bennet continued, "didn't you say you called your friends? Could one of them have helped?"
Lila's mind raced. Of course—if no one on Dad's side had spoken to Prescott, perhaps one of her friends had.
After hanging up, Lila told everyone the latest development. Their interest was piqued again.
"Wait—people helped your family so much, and you still don't know who?"
"If it were me, I'd spare no effort to find that person and thank them properly."
"It shouldn't be hard—Lila, who did you call? You can use process of elimination."
Lila thought it over. He was right—a process of elimination.
"First, all of you here knew about our situation. Jace—was it you?" she asked.
Jace hastily shook his head. "I did call my parents, but when they heard it was Sterling Gate Group, they said they were helpless."
"What about you, Indie, Avery, Maya?" Lila pressed.
All three shook their heads in turn.
Lila asked the few friends Grayson didn't recognize—they all said no.
Finally, she looked at Miles and Tyler. Though she asked politely, it was obvious she wasn't expecting them to be the ones. Miles and Tyler quickly denied it—they had phoned contacts too, but none could help.
Noticeably, Lila hadn't even asked Grayson. He alone remained unasked—an awkward silence fell. Clearly, Lila never imagined he could have arranged it.
Jace and the others saw how Lila deliberately excluded Grayson. Though stung, they kept silent.
"Since it wasn't any of you…" Lila frowned, thinking hard. "Could it be—?" She trailed off in musing.
Just then, her phone rang.
"Ryan Walker?" Lila answered eagerly.
"Lila, I told my dad about your family's situation. He said he knows the Tax Bureau Director. He went there this morning—said he wanted to see Director Prescott. I'm not sure if it helped, but I wanted to tell you right away…" Ryan began.
Before he could finish, Lila interrupted, excited: "Ryan, I knew it was you! That's wonderful—this is so helpful! Our family is saved, and your dad was crucial. Thank you so much!"
Tears glimmered in Lila's eyes. Whatever her flaws, she was genuinely grateful: Sterling Gate had sought to destroy her family. Without help, they would have been ruined. This was truly a life‑saving favor.
"No problem, it was nothing," Ryan said, surprised but pleased.
"Ryan, come to The Ivory Room by the school—I'm treating everyone here. Hurry over!" Lila urged.
"Ha, sure." Ryan was delighted. Although he attended the neighboring polytechnic rather than Lila's university, the schools were adjacent. He had long admired Lila and had quietly pursued her—but she'd never responded. Now that he'd come to her aid and she'd invited him, he wasn't about to miss this chance.
Soon, Ryan arrived. He was of average height, slightly pudgy, wearing a big‑logo Nike shirt and high‑end "Yeezy" sneakers.
"Hey, Ryan—I'm over here!" Lila waved him over as soon as she saw him.
"Wow—so many people!" Ryan had expected Lila to treat just him, so he could grow closer to her. Seeing a full table of eleven guests made his stomach twist with jealousy, though he hid it.
"They're all my friends here to celebrate with us. Today you're the guest of honor!" Lila declared, quick to soothe.
Although the others felt a pang of discomfort, they said nothing. And Lila was right: Ryan's father had done so much for her family that he deserved the spotlight.
Ryan felt proud as he took the seat she offered.
"But this table's already full—where should I sit?" he asked, shrugging.
Lila bit her lip. With Lila's four roommates, Grayson's three roommates, plus Lila's other friends, eleven people were already squeezed around a table meant for ten. There was no room for a twelfth.
"Well…" Lila hesitated, then pointed at Grayson. "Grayson, please give your seat to Ryan. You can move to that small two‑top over there—don't worry, I'll ask the server to bring your dishes."
Her words dropped the room into silence. Miles and Tyler's faces flushed with anger—this was a crushing insult to Grayson's dignity. Jace frowned in consternation.
"It's fine—please continue eating. I've got something to take care of, so I'll leave," Grayson said quietly. He didn't want Lila to know he'd secretly arranged her family's salvation; he simply didn't wish any more connection with her or her gratitude. This favor would be the last.
Grayson walked out.
"Grayson!" his three dorm brothers rushed after him. "If you're not eating, neither are we!" Miles said angrily. "Damn it—how degrading! Lila looked right through you!"
"Let's go eat in the cafeteria!" Tyler added.
Jace hesitated—Indie was still inside, and if he left with Grayson, he'd have to explain to Lila. "You guys should head back," Grayson insisted, gently but firmly. Reluctantly they returned to the Ivory Room; he watched them go, then strode away alone.
He wandered the campus's tree‑lined paths, feeling a sudden loneliness. He thought of Sienna: at this time yesterday, they would have eaten together and she would have dragged him along shopping or errands, her every need centering him. Now she was gone, and he felt adrift.
His phone rang—it was Grandpa Jenkins.
"Young Master Grayson, your family's Western Branch head, Sebastian Caldwell, heard you're studying in Oregon. He begged for a meeting to admire your presence. How would you like to proceed? Shall I set it up?"
Grayson recalled that his family had five regional branches—East, South, West, North, and Central—to cover the nation. Oregon fell under the Western Branch.
"All right," he said. "If he wants to see me, fine."
"Very well," Jenkins replied. "I'll let Caldwell know. He'll likely visit your campus for the meeting."
"No—Grandpa Jenkins. Ask him not to come to campus. Have him choose an off‑campus venue, and I will go to meet him."
Grayson hurried to explain: as a direct heir of the family, meeting a branch head on campus would draw undue attention—luxury cars, a retinue, the works. He wished to remain discreet.
"Hmm," Jenkins said thoughtfully. "Young Master Grayson, frankly, he might feel unworthy if you come to him. He may be uncomfortable."
"Don't worry about it," Grayson insisted.
Seeing his resolve, Jenkins agreed and hung up. Shortly after, Jenkins called again. "Young Master Grayson, I spoke with Caldwell. He's reserved a table at the penthouse of the Celestia Grand Hotel."
"Excellent—I'll head there now."
Grayson felt pleased. Having been chased away and unsure where to eat, now he was invited. He caught a cab to the hotel.
The taxi driver gave him a thumbs‑up: "Nice—you work here now? Good on you!"
Grayson merely smiled.
Stepping into the Celestia Grand's lobby, he was awestruck. It was fit for royalty: white Italian marble floors with gold inlay, ten‑meter‑tall walls of brass relief and ruby‑inlaid murals, an eight‑meter Swarovski crystal wave chandelier, a twelve‑meter blackwood front desk with fingerprint touchscreens, Hermes leather sofas and climate‑controlled crystal tables in the lounge, an eighteen‑meter holographic water‑screen projection of stars, and the scent of custom agarwood‑rose fragrance drifting through the air. Each uniformed staff member was as tall and poised as the next.
As Grayson marveled, a sudden shove sent him aside.
"Move!"
A breeze of perfume followed, and a woman with an extraordinary figure slipped past him into the closing elevator doors, leaving Grayson stunned.