Chapter 77

"Charles, did you come alone?"

Charles Clark scratched his head. "Yeah, just me."

He peeked into the kitchen. "Michael, need any help?"

The dishes on the stove were nearly ready.

"No need, it's almost done," Emily Johnson said with a smile, waving him off. "Go wait in the living room."

Charles nodded and turned away.

"Uncle Charles!" The two little boys chirped in unison.

Charles crouched down and pinched their cheeks. "Wow, you've both put on weight and gotten fairer."

It had only been a month since he last saw them, but the boys had clearly grown rounder.

"Uncle Charles..."

Samuel Bright and Daniel River joined in, teasing the children. Daniel playfully asked David, "Tell me, what delicious food did your mom make?"

David counted on his fingers. "Braised pork, seaweed soup... Mom said there's also fish-flavored eggplant."

Just then, Emily walked in with a steaming plate of braised pork. The rich aroma instantly filled the room.

"Dinner's ready!"

Everyone gathered around the table, eyes wide. Golden pan-fried dumplings, glistening braised pork, refreshing cold sliced pork head, and piping hot seaweed soup.

The meal was exceptionally delicious. Even those who often traveled for business rarely enjoyed such a feast.

After dinner, Emily stood to clear the dishes. Michael Stone helped.

"I'll wash the dishes," Emily said.

They had used a lot of oil today—dish soap was a must.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Michael murmured in her ear.

In the living room, the children were sent off to play. John Stone Sr. stood and said to his son, "Michael, come to the old house tonight."

"Got it, Dad."

Once his parents left, only the four of them remained.

Michael took out a cloth bundle containing their earnings. He carefully counted and divided the money into four shares.

"This is yours, yours..."

"Thanks, Michael!"

"You're the best, Michael!"

By the time the money was distributed, the rain had stopped. The group said their goodbyes and left.

Emily finished washing the dishes and ran into Michael. He handed her a thick stack of bills—easily over a thousand.

"For you," he said.

Emily froze. The average worker only made thirty-something a month. This was a year's salary for most people.

"I don’t want it. Keep it yourself."

"We didn’t invest much, so the profit isn’t big," Michael said flatly.

Emily nearly choked. This wasn’t big?

"Then keep it as capital."

She wasn’t the original owner—this money burned her hands.