Simon returned to Dume Cape Manor, where Johnston and his son had already arrived in advance. An Indian girl greeted him at the door of the Shell Villa. Seeing Simon enter, she whispered a few words and gestured towards the curtain wall. Without needing Aria's guidance, Simon had already spotted the two men standing in front of the glass curtain wall with the best view of the villa.
Simon walked straight over. Anthony Johnston noticed his return and approached him proactively. Raymond Johnston, however, didn't move, seemingly lost in thought as he gazed out at the sea beyond the curtain wall. Despite his gray hair, his lean and upright figure still carried the sharpness and authority accumulated from a lifetime of business battles, showing none of the decline typical of a 75-year-old man. Instead, he resembled an old cowboy who could still mount his horse and draw his gun at any moment.
Taking his eyes off the old man's back, Simon hugged Anthony. Only then did he notice that his brother-in-law's usually gentle smile was mixed with various emotions—scrutiny, realization, awkwardness, and relief.
After the hug, Anthony patted Simon's shoulder but didn't explain his obvious confusion. Instead, he gestured towards the old man still standing with his back to them.
Simon walked up and greeted, "Ray."
The old man didn't turn around, instead suddenly asking, "Simon, what does the surname 'Westeros' mean?"
Simon thought for a moment and said, "It's nothing special, really. If you need an explanation, Westeros probably means 'people from the west.'"
Saying this, Simon stood beside the old man, looking out at the sea and sky together. Anthony Johnston, meanwhile, sat down on a nearby sofa, understanding Aria's intent from the Indian girl's inquisitive look but simply gestured that nothing needed to be prepared.
By the glass curtain wall, the old man fell silent for a moment upon hearing Simon's explanation. Then he abruptly asked, "Would you be willing to revert to the surname 'Johnston,' Simon Johnston?"
Simon was stunned. The old man finally turned to look at him, his gaze calm yet relieved, without the complex emotions Anthony had just displayed. Over the years, as the husband of his most cherished daughter and being so outstanding and dazzling, Raymond Johnston had observed Simon many times, fully understanding his character.
Personal career aside, in terms of family and Janet, despite some private recklessness, the old man was certain that Simon cherished his daughter deeply, which was enough. He had seen too many people who appeared affectionate and loving on the surface but were hypocritical and selfish inside.
Raymond Johnston never imagined that the young man he had always considered his prized son-in-law had another identity. When he first heard the news, he was wary. But he quickly dismissed certain thoughts. Knowing Simon for so many years, Raymond Johnston was entirely sure Simon had no ill will towards the Johnston family, more like a natural sense of belonging. He once thought this sense of belonging was because Simon, an orphan, had finally found a family. Now, it seemed it wasn't 'finding' but 'returning.'
Sensing Simon's shock, Raymond Johnston didn't keep him guessing and said, "Vinnie confessed your situation to me yesterday."
Simon quickly recovered. Veronica had left too many clues; no matter how well concealed, this day was inevitable.
Simon remained silent in response to the old man's previous question. Seeing his silence, Raymond Johnston continued, "Actually, the family knew about your existence back then. My father had only me and Vinnie, and Vinnie was a daughter he had late in life, so he cared a lot. When we first got the news, I personally flew to the UK."
Simon listened quietly. He had no interest in these old stories, but another soul within him might be very keen to know.
Raymond Johnston glanced at Simon again and said, "You were already born then. My father and I discussed bringing you back. The Johnston family had few descendants, so adding you would have been good. As for other things, our family didn't have the face-saving rules of those declining nobles. But your mother probably didn't think so. She was only 16 at the time, panicked and at a loss, maybe felt she had disgraced the family, and desperately wanted to keep things quiet, so she quietly found a foster family to send you away."
The old man paused, looking at Simon. "Do you want to know who your father is?"
Simon shook his head almost without hesitation. The old man smiled, revealing still neat and white teeth, his smile somewhat roguish, which shouldn't exist at his age. "Not wanting to know is fine too. He was a bastard with no sense of responsibility, using his background to seduce women everywhere. I checked back then. When your mother told him about the pregnancy, he ran to another city to shirk responsibility and didn't show up until you were born."
Simon felt a flash of curiosity, but it quickly passed. The old man, sensing this, didn't hide anything. "I stayed in the UK for a month, watching Vinnie arrange everything for you, and there was a bastard who died."
Simon's heart raced for a moment, but he quickly exhaled, looking out at the blue sea beyond the curtain wall.
"Since Vinnie quietly fostered you with the Levinsons, a well-off couple without children, my father and I dropped the idea of bringing you back. Even though our family didn't care, Vinnie still had to get married. But later, the Levinsons took you on a trip and vanished. Your mother searched for you, and the family did too, but found nothing." The old man looked at Simon again, puzzled. "You were five then, old enough to remember, right?"
Simon hesitated and nodded slightly. The old man pressed, "So, back then?"
Simon lowered his head, then, a bit stiffly, uttered a single word, just like the old man had: "Died."
Raymond Johnston was stunned for a moment, then keenly asked, "That couple, did they treat you badly back then?"
Simon lowered his head further, his body briefly exuding a dark, cold aura that even Raymond Johnston could clearly feel. It reminded him of the tremor he felt years ago in Kenya when a dying lion, shot and desperate, pounced on him.
"Janet often says you're very strong," the old man remarked after a while, suddenly grinning with that roguish smile again, patting Simon's shoulder. "So, even if you don't want to change your surname, you're definitely one of us Johnstons."
Thinking about his daughter's return to Melbourne and what she had told him, Raymond Johnston realized that this kid was even more unruly than the already unorthodox Johnston family.
Simon's body swayed from the old man's pat, remembering something. "Ray, does Janet know?"
The old man shook his head. "No, you should tell her yourself."
Simon agreed. Knowing Janet's temperament, if she knew, she'd have returned with the old man, not stayed in Australia.
Raymond Johnston realized this too. This kid knew his identity but still married Janet. But thinking about it, it wasn't so bad. Recalling the little girl his daughter had shown him, he thought, under five months old and already calling 'Grandpa'—a little imp. Initially upset, the call of 'Grandpa' eased his mind. Now thinking about it, the girl was also Johnston blood.
Simon stood beside him, the joy of recognizing this nephew still fresh. Yet Raymond Johnston also felt angry, sternly saying, "Even if you don't change your surname, all three children must have 'Johnston' as a middle name. No negotiations."
Simon hadn't expected the old man to bring this up angrily. But hearing him say 'three children,' implicitly acknowledging Seattle, Simon naturally didn't object. Adding 'Johnston' as a middle name was fine.
His assistant had mentioned this too; the Rebold family also wanted their surname included.
When Jennifer returned, they could add it. Seattle Rebold Johnston Westeros. Perfect. As an atheist, Simon had no plans for baptizing his children, which would have added another name.
Seeing Simon nod, Raymond Johnston calmed down, glancing around before pointing towards the outdoor pool on the west side. "Let's talk about your recent matters. How's the investigation into the assassination attempt?"
As he spoke, he walked towards the west. Simon followed, "There are many clues, and it should be resolved soon."
The old man nodded. "I've reviewed the files. This was a very unprofessional hitman, more like someone instigated to stir trouble, so there's no need to worry too much. In time, you'll see that incidents like these are quite common for families like ours."
Simon shook his head, "You know, Ray, my situation is unlike anyone else's."
The old man understood. Indeed, Simon's vast wealth, capable of influencing national economies, created unique conflicts. Typically, state machines wouldn't tolerate such individual influence, leading to significant tensions.
Raymond Johnston, once awestruck, now felt proud. Even if Simon wouldn't change his surname, he was undeniably a Johnston, making all this their glory. Though this couldn't be publicly declared, in private circles, it wouldn't be a secret.
Walking out the villa's side door to the cliffside pool, Anthony followed, sitting on a lounger to ensure no interruptions. "Any incident has clear causes and often signs beforehand. Like assassinated presidents, public conspiracy theories abound, but the real reasons are usually simple, and many insiders can guess the truth. So, you need to be wary of true threats. As for incidents like the recent one, they will happen often but can be managed with proper precautions."
Simon listened patiently, then asked, "Ray, do you mean you don't want me to do it?"
The old man
knew what Simon meant and shook his head. "No, it's a good idea. Given Westeros' scale, you need a strong deterrent to prevent coveting. But I'll handle it. You and Janet stay out of it. Your roots in the USA aren't deep enough, and exposure could be troublesome."
Simon nodded, not insisting. The Johnston family, with its wealth and deep roots in Australia, could handle the situation even if discovered, mitigating risks. At worst, they could present the weapons to the state. Australia, like any nation, harbors ambitions of becoming a major power and wouldn't refuse actual nuclear capability.
Moreover, Simon didn't plan to store the purchased nuclear weapons in Australia or the USA, further reducing risks.
Thinking this, the old man critiqued Simon's plan. "However, your idea of establishing a territory in Africa to store those weapons is terrible."
Simon didn't refute, waiting for the old man's explanation. Raymond Johnston said, "According to your plan, organizing an elite force of ten thousand could easily defeat those local militias and establish control. But this isn't feasible. Do you know why?"
Simon pondered. "International intervention."
"That's part of it," the old man said. "But also, you underestimate the chaos there. Trying to establish a puppet regime would be counterproductive."
Simon replied, "Ray, I only want a territory to store those items, not concerned about costs."
The old man shook his head. "You still don't get my point."
"Uh?"
Raymond Johnston patiently explained, "To us, Africa is a jungle filled with predators. You want fur, teeth, and meat; the best way is to offer some benefits, making them voluntarily give it up, not hunting it yourself."
Simon felt the old man was off-topic. "Ray, I'm not interested in fur, teeth, or meat. I want the territory."
"That's the hardest part," Johnston said. "Do you think you can claim territory with your gun? It's unrealistic. African warlords are smarter than you think, using any bloody means to defend their turf. They don't value human life. So I said, Africa is a jungle. If they find your weapons too strong, they'll play victim, seeking protection. Then those 'animal protection groups' who ignore millions of internal deaths will jump in. They'll say you, the hunter, are disrupting ecological balance. If pressured, they'll use all rules from the civilized world to penalize you. So, getting fur, teeth, and meat is easier than land. We're all civilized now, with rules."
Simon sighed, feeling the complexity but grasping the reality.
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