Give Up, Mr. Lawyer! This is Not Your Child-Chapter 150: 57th Street, No. 75

Justin Holden hung up the video call from his mother, his gaze coldly sweeping across the bustling taxi queue outside New York Kennedy Airport.

His peripheral vision caught a figure.

An Asian woman in a simple beige trench coat was holding the hand of a little girl about four or five years old, with two braids, quickly heading towards a yellow cab that had just stopped.

The contour of the woman’s profile, the height and build of the girl, all seemed very familiar to him.

Justin unconsciously took half a step forward, his brow furrowed tightly.

He forcefully stopped himself and didn’t walk over.

The third time.

This was already the third time he mistook a stranger for Jean Ellison and Jesse at different places.

Once at the hospital, once on the street, now at the airport.

Has severe insomnia and immense mental stress already started to make him frequently hallucinate?

He closed his eyes tight, took a deep breath of the cold air, and forced himself to turn around, no longer looking at the cab.

It must be an illusion.

Jean and Jesse should be in Meriden now, not New York.

The vibration of his phone timely interrupted his thoughts.

It was a colleague from the New York branch calling.

Justin quickly gathered all his exposed emotions, returning to his usual stern demeanor, and answered the call.

"Lawyer Holden," came the colleague’s voice, "Lawyer Joanne has been officially transferred by Professor Thorne to the South America branch, and the paperwork is done."

"Got it."

Justin’s reaction was quite indifferent, just a small matter.

"Also, the supplement agreement for the cross-border acquisition case you urgently needed, the law firm has finalized it, and the hard copy is ready. Where would it be convenient for us to send it to you?" the colleague inquired.

Justin thought for a moment.

His original long-term apartment lease had ended, and this hurried return meant he could only temporarily settle.

He gave an address: "Send it to 57th Street, No. 77, to my temporary apartment. Contact my secretary upon arrival."

"Okay, got it, I’ll arrange for someone to send it over immediately."

Ending the call, Justin hailed a luxury sedan, heading towards his temporary residence in Midtown Manhattan.

He leaned back in the comfortable back seat, watching the swiftly passing skyscrapers outside the window, yet his mind could not find peace.

A weather notification popped up on his phone screen, showing the location as Meriden.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to care about things in Gresten.

He wasn’t there, but his mind had long been preoccupied.

Even he disliked himself, escaping did not make things better.

Meanwhile, the yellow cab carrying Jean and Jesse was weaving through New York’s slightly congested streets.

The driver, an enthusiastic Black man, asked through the rearview mirror, "Ma’am, what’s the exact address?"

Jean looked down to confirm the message Aunt Mason had sent on her phone, replying softly.

"Please go to 57th Street, No. 75, thank you."

Jesse snuggled next to her mom, curiously looking at the completely strange foreign scenery outside the window.

After a while, she turned her head and whispered, "Mommy, what kind of place is 57th Street, No. 75? Are we going to live there?"

Jean hugged her daughter tighter, trying to disperse her unease in a new country with her warmth, speaking as lightly as possible.

"Yes, Jesse, that’s where Grandma Mason lives now."

"We’ll be living with Grandma Mason for quite a long time."

"Grandma Mason?" Jesse blinked her big eyes, not familiar with the term, "Who is Grandma Mason? I’ve never met her."

A warm smile appeared on Jean’s face as she patiently explained, "Grandma Mason is someone Mom has known since she was little, a very close family. She watched me grow up, and was very good to me. She will definitely like you too, Jesse."

Jesse nodded in partial understanding; her mother’s words relaxed her a lot, sparking an anticipation to meet Grandma Mason.

The taxi finally stopped in front of a brownstone apartment building that looked aged but well-maintained.

The number was indeed 57th Street, No. 75.

Jean paid the fare, carrying her luggage with her, holding Jesse as they got off the cab.

They entered the building using the password Aunt Mason had given, walked up the staircase with dark red carpet, and arrived at a dark wooden door on the third floor.

Jean took a deep breath and gently rang the doorbell.

The door was opened almost immediately. An elderly woman with gray hair, slender yet full of energy, appeared at the doorway.

She was in simple home clothes, with a bit of flour on her apron, clearly in the midst of something.

When her eyes fell on Jean’s face, she was initially stunned in disbelief, then her eyes quickly reddened, tears welling up.

"Miss..."

"It’s really you, Miss."

Aunt Mason’s voice was choked, excitedly reaching out with trembling hands to hold Jean’s hands.

She habitually used the old title.

"Aunt Mason."

Jean couldn’t help but feel a pang in her nose, stepping forward to embrace the old woman who had watched her grow.

Aunt Mason hugged Jean tightly, as if holding a treasure regained, tears flowing uncontrollably.

After a while, she noticed the shy little girl beside Jean, gripping her mother’s clothes, with big eyes curiously observing her.

Aunt Mason released Jean and squatted down, looking at Jesse in disbelief, her voice even more trembling.

"Is this child... Miss, is this your child, are you a mom now?"

Jean nodded, gently nudging Jesse forward: "Jesse, say hi to Grandma Mason."

Jesse was a bit shy, but still obediently whispered, "Hello, Grandma Mason."

This greeting brought tears to Aunt Mason’s eyes even more violently.

She extended her wrinkled hand, wanting to touch Jesse’s face, but feared frightening her, so she ended up just gently holding her little hand.

She lifted her head and looked at Jean Ellison, her eyes filled with endless affection.

"Miss, this child, was she..."

She didn’t finish her sentence, but the meaning was clear.

Jean Ellison silently nodded, her gaze dimming for a moment.

Aunt Mason’s heart wrenched at once, and she could no longer hold back, covering her face and sobbing quietly, her shoulders softly trembling.

"My poor miss, my pitiable child, how hard it must have been back then."

Whenever she thought of Jean Ellison having to give birth in such an environment, her heart ached, making it hard to breathe.

Jean Ellison squatted down, holding Aunt Mason’s shoulders, softly comforting her, "Aunt Mason, it’s all in the past, see, Jesse and I are doing well now."

It took quite a while for Aunt Mason to gradually stop crying, wiping her tears with her apron.

When she lifted her head, Jean Ellison clearly saw a light pink scar about two inches long near her hairline.

"Aunt Mason, your head..."

Noticing Jean’s gaze, Aunt Mason subconsciously brushed her hair to cover it, sighing.

"This was left five years ago, back when the Caldwell family first got into trouble, and you were taken away by the police. Some agitated people from Sudland Province, unable to find you and Mr. Holden, rushed to our home, clamoring to harm Mrs. Holden to pay for their crimes."

"I happened to be by her side at that time and blocked them desperately, but got pushed and hit the corner of the table, leaving this scar."

"Fortunately, the police arrived in time, and Mrs. Holden was unharmed."

Jean Ellison held Aunt Mason’s hand, filled with gratitude and heartache.

"Aunt Mason, thank you for protecting my mother at that time."

Aunt Mason shook her head, "Why say such things, Mrs. Holden has been like a mountain of grace to me. By the way, how is she now?"

She asked with concern.

Jean’s expression dimmed a bit, "My mom is still the same, her awareness fluctuates, and she needs long-term care. But now there are professional doctors and nurses taking care of her, so her situation is relatively stable. Please don’t worry too much."

Aunt Mason nodded and looked lovingly at Jesse again, smiling once more, "Alright, let’s not talk about sad things anymore. Come on, come inside, you must be tired after such a long flight. I’ve made wontons, specifically waiting for your arrival. Jesse, grandma will cook some delicious wontons for you, okay?"

Upon hearing about the food, Jesse’s eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously.

Aunt Mason’s face burst into a radiant smile as she quickly tied her apron and turned to the kitchen.

"You all rest for a bit, it’ll be ready soon."

Jean couldn’t sit still, put down the simple luggage, and followed into the kitchen, "Aunt Mason, let me give you a hand."

The kitchen wasn’t big, but it was bright and clean.

Aunt Mason had already taken out pre-prepared wonton wrappers and filling from the fridge.

The filling was the classic pork with cabbage, enhanced with some shrimp and seaweed for flavor, and smelled incredibly fragrant.

Aunt Mason worked rapidly.

She picked up a square wonton wrapper, swiftly scraped up a ball of pink pork filling with a small bamboo strip, and placed it in the center of the wrapper.

Her fingers flew, folding the wrapper diagonally, pinching the sides, and then sticking the corners together effortlessly, creating a plump little wonton, that seemed like an ingot, landing steadily on the plate beside her.

The entire process flowed smoothly, taking only two or three seconds.

Jean assisted by arranging the wrapped wontons neatly, watching Aunt Mason’s wrinkled yet nimble hands, and smelling the familiar aroma of the filling. In a trance, it felt like she was back five years ago, or even further back.

Back then, her father, Timothy Caldwell, was still around.

He was so kind, always with a smile, treating his only daughter like a treasure, giving her stars if she wanted stars, giving her the moon if she wanted the moon.

Contrarily, her mother, Susan Kingston, had strict requirements, imposing many rules.

If she was mischievous and made mistakes occasionally, and her mother would sternly reprimand her, Aunt Mason always interceded, shielding her behind her, continuously persuading, "Madam, Miss is still young, she doesn’t understand, she needs to be taught patiently, not with violence."

Her father would also chime in, "Susan, let it be, let it be, she’s just a child."

Then he’d discreetly wink at her.

Back then, the house was always filled with laughter and joy.

The wontons made by Aunt Mason were the most anticipated breakfast on weekend mornings, and also the warmest midnight snack when she was hungry from practicing the piano at night.

That was the taste of home, the taste of being unconditionally doted upon, carefree, and happy.

"The water is boiling."

Aunt Mason’s voice pulled Jean back from her memories.

She lifted the lid, and the steaming white vapor instantly spread, carrying the unique fragrance of noodles.

Aunt Mason slipped a tray of plump white wontons into the boiling water, stirring gently with a spoon.

Soon, the wontons bobbed up and down in the pot, perfectly cooked.

Aunt Mason initiated another small pot, skillfully preparing the broth.

A small spoonful of lard, a bit of soy sauce, a pinch of salt, then sprinkled with finely chopped green onions and tender yellow egg strips.

The rolling wonton soup poured into the bowl, instantly releasing a rich aroma.

Finally, she lifted the perfectly cooked wontons, with thin skins and ample filling, showing hints of pink, into the soup bowl, finishing with a few drops of sesame oil.

"Come on, eat while it’s hot."

Aunt Mason served the first bowl in front of Jesse, looking at her lovingly.

Jesse scooped one up with a spoon, blew on it, taking a careful bite, the savory broth and filling’s flavor melting in her mouth.

Feeling satisfied, she squinted her eyes, "It’s delicious."

Jean also picked up a bowl, sipping a mouthful of soup, and the familiar taste surged to her tongue, straight to her heart.

It was still the taste from her memory, unchanged.

Her eyes warmed, and she lowered her head, eating in silence.