Chapter 55.2

Chapter 55.2

André responded with a faint smile to the formal welcome greeting and entered the apartment. Harold Hughes, the white-haired concierge, stood behind the concierge desk and politely doffed his hat in André’s direction.

[Mr. Lafayette, welcome home!]

André nodded lightly and passed by him, stopping in front of the elevator and pressing the old brass button. Above the door, a semi-circular analog floor indicator, resembling a halved clock, was installed. The arrow pointing to the 6th floor, where he used to stay, slowly tilted to the left.

The original manual elevator, installed in the 1920s, was a relic of a bygone era. Even when André was a child, there were quite a few of these elevators scattered throughout Manhattan. However, when they broke down, it was difficult to find replacement parts, and the cost of employing an elevator operator was also a significant expense. For these reasons, five years into the 21st century, manual elevators had become a luxury exclusive to the upper class.

This was also due to the unique sentiment of the upper class, which tended to interpret the word “automatic” as something that was “equal and uniform for everyone.” They preferred things that were made with human hands, requiring time and effort, and rare items that others couldn’t possess. Their emotions often led them down a path that contradicted common sense, and this was a matter of sentiment rather than reason.

The elevator doors slowly opened.

Elevator operator Ramon Sanchez, upon seeing André, sprang to his feet and gave a playful, sloppy salute.

[Salute, Captain Lafayette, sir!]

André chuckled and responded with a casual, finger-to-eyebrow salute.

[How have you been, Ramon?]

Ramon, who had started working as an elevator operator when André was in middle school, had been constantly ferrying people between floors, and as a result, he knew everything that went on in the apartment building. He was aware of who had come down with a cold, who was fighting with whom, and who was on the verge of getting a divorce.

[I’ve been doing well, thank you. Did I tell you that our eldest son, Raul, is going to college this year?]

As Ramon pulled the lever of the manual elevator to the right, the elevator began to ascend.

[Congratulations.]

André responded briefly.

[We even threw a block party before Raul moved to his dorm. After all, he’s the first person from our neighborhood to go to college. It’s all thanks to the Lafayette-Lowell Foundation’s scholarship. Bless the late Marchioness de Lafayette in heaven.]

Ramon glanced up at the ceiling, making the sign of the cross.

The chairman of the scholarship foundation was Grace. Currently, her secretary was temporarily managing it, but they would soon need to appoint a new chairman. André’s mental checklist grew by one more item.

As the elevator arrived at the penthouse, Ramon opened the manual door and stepped aside.

[Welcome home, Captain Lafayette!]

The elevator opened directly into the gallery of the Lafayette residence. Just by looking at the ancestors’ portraits that lined the walls of the long, oval-shaped gallery, one could see the changes in art movements at a glance. The marble sculptures placed here and there, the French antique furniture in the Restoration style, and the portrait of his mother and father in their youth, which hung in the center of the gallery, all added to the ambiance.

Nothing had changed here in 10 years. What had changed was André, who now felt like a stranger in this place.

The gallery, lit by antique chandeliers and sconces on the walls, felt dimly lit. He smiled wryly to himself. It seemed that he had grown accustomed to bright lighting during his three years in Korea.

The gallery, filled with artworks and antiques, smelled like the musty library of the Auvergne region. A smell that clung to the air from the poor ventilation. The gallery he remembered smelled strongly of flowers.

Now that he thought about it, there were no fresh flowers on the round table, only a lone vase. During Grace’s lifetime, she would personally call a florist once a week to create a beautiful centerpiece with seasonal flowers.

Without her, the apartment was empty and unsettling. The employees who had come out to greet André were as old as the apartment itself.

[Welcome back, Mr. Lafayette.]

Alfred Higgins, the butler, greeted André with a stiff, British accent, his thin, wiry shoulders straightened to attention.

A decade ago, Higgins was already an old man, his face full of wrinkles. However, his hair, which was as white as silk, was slicked back with pomade and lay flat against his head, with a perfectly straight part down the middle. His classic butler’s suit was also immaculately tailored, without a single wrinkle.

[Higgins.]

André nodded towards him with elegance, as he had been taught to do since he was a child.

A proud smile flashed across Higgins’ lips for a brief moment.