“The boss has come down,” Yvonne Quinn explained. “That’s a private elevator, going straight to the fourth basement… You know, each of these large oak barrels holds about two hundred kilograms of liquor. To enter the bar, or to be put on the shelves, the liquor still needs to be further bottled into smaller bottles. Currently, all foreign liquors sold on the market are shipped into the country in oak barrels, and then bottled domestically.

　　Unfortunately, we’re living in an era lacking in trust. Many bottling plants with no credibility often add a bit of extra ingredients during bottling. Or they cut corners to reduce costs.

　　Liquor bottled this way often gets contaminated with bacteria, develops off-flavors, and can’t be stored for long. That’s why, nowadays, bars and restaurants catering to high-end customers have started bottling their own imported liquor. Our bar is one of them.

　　As I mentioned earlier, this is a wine cellar dedicated to storage. One level down is our fully enclosed storage workshop, mainly for high-end liquors, with even stricter regulations than here. The private elevator goes directly there, with constant temperature and humidity all year round. Only after sterile cleaning can anyone enter…”

　　Evelyn Lewis quietly interjected, “Constant temperature and humidity all year round—that must use a lot of electricity, right? Our bar doesn’t seem to have that many customers. Can we even make enough to cover the electricity bill?”

　　Yvonne Quinn looked at Evelyn Lewis with satisfaction. “The fact that you’re thinking about costs means you’re starting to get into your role.

　　You’re right, maintaining true constant temperature and humidity is very energy-consuming. But, that’s just a selling point. We always insist on this in our publicity, but in reality, no one actually achieves it—not even French wineries.

　　There are ways to save money. For example, a wine cellar twenty meters underground—the temperature and humidity barely change throughout the year. In a sealed environment, we only need to run the air compressor once a month to dehumidify the cellar, and then we can advertise it as such.

　　I believe there aren’t many cellars in the country that can even do this, so compared to other wineries, we’re already being very honest.

　　Alright, enough talk. The boss has gone down to the cellar, which means we have a big client tonight. The boss is down there bottling liquor. Xiao Liu, let’s go upstairs right away and check tonight’s menu.”

　　“Menu?” Evelyn Lewis asked in confusion. “Aren’t we a bar? Why…?”

　　“There’s a restaurant above the bar…” Yvonne Quinn hurriedly led Evelyn Lewis outside.

　　At this moment, on the fifth basement level, Charles Sutton was pacing in the hall with his hands behind his back, his expression shifting between joy and sorrow, a mix of emotions.

　　After a while, faint footsteps sounded, and the muscular Hagen slowly walked down the stairs.

　　“You’re late,” Charles Sutton said darkly. It seemed as if black mist was emanating from him, making everything around him appear hazy.

　　“I needed an excuse to leave your friends,” Hagen replied, his eyes glowing blood-red as he walked, surveying the surroundings.

Chapter 5: Only the Loyal Girl Remains

　　The fifth basement level—yes, you read that right, this is the fifth basement.

　　The fourth basement of the The Sutton Family courtyard is a fully enclosed wine cellar, usually filled with “exhaust gas” to maintain constant temperature and humidity. But if, as Charles Sutton claimed, it was “just for storing wine,” it would hardly be worth the cost, since the money from selling wine could never cover the electricity bill.

　　The real purpose for doing this is only one thing—to create a completely oxygen-free environment, making it impossible for living things to survive, thus preventing anyone from entering.

　　Each month, only when the cellar is open does the fourth basement vent the exhaust and let in fresh air. Then, Charles Sutton takes the private elevator down to the fourth basement, and from there, descends a hidden staircase to the fifth basement. That is the true private space of the The Sutton Family courtyard.

　　Tall shelves display all his secrets, and in the corner, a concealed induction stove emits thousands of degrees of heat, able to precisely fire all kinds of “ancient porcelain.”

　　“Secrets,” Hagen said mockingly, ignoring Charles Sutton’s combative glare as he examined the items in the hall. “For a creature of the night, you sure have a lot of hobbies…

　　Ancient weapons, even stone axes from the Stone Age… Hmm, maybe it’s a shovel. Aha, there are quite a few clay tablets here, inscribed with ancient cuneiform. Are these real…? I didn’t expect you to be a forger and a smuggler of antiquities. If the Egyptians or Iranians knew about all this, they’d eat you alive.”

　　“Your eye isn’t sharp enough. That’s not a Stone Age axe, but a piece of imitation jade from the Song dynasty, called a huang. There was an emperor in the Song dynasty who was especially fond of antiques. He set up a jade workshop in the palace specifically to forge imitation jade artifacts from the Stone Age. This is one of them.

　　It’s an imperial fake. The emperor himself took part in the forgery. Is there anywhere else in the world like that? That’s why its real value far exceeds that of genuine Stone Age pieces—it fetches a higher price at auction than the real thing.”

　　Since Hagen didn’t bring up the main topic, Charles Sutton had no choice but to go along with the banter.

　　“Are you sure it was forged by the emperor and not by you?” Hagen seemed to be making a joke, but his tone was icy.

　　“Who cares?” Charles Sutton replied lazily. “They’re all called fakes anyway.”