I became a son-in-law in the United States

The next few days were uneventful. Aside from waiting for news of the goods from Europe, Luther spent his time teaching young Kennedy.

It's heartening to know that ever since Luther told him the principle that "no investigation, no right to speak," young Kennedy has believed it wholeheartedly and put it into practice.

If you don't understand something, don't speak up easily. If you do understand it, then firmly express your opinion without any ambiguity.

Old Joseph also noticed these changes, and Mrs. Rose bluntly stated that Luther was much better than those expensive governesses.

Luther accepted his parents-in-law's praise without any modesty.

After all, no matter what, as a young man from the Dragon Kingdom who has transmigrated here, having lived two lives, educating a little Kennedy would be a piece of cake.

In terms of language, Luther also took a gradual approach, slowly teaching him more.

In addition to European languages, Chinese lessons have become an indispensable part of Johnny's learning.

He was very studious and resilient. He persevered under such heavy academic pressure and did not slack off in any aspect.

"He should go to Harvard," Luther thought.

Of course, Joseph had already made preparations in this regard. Harvard at that time was not like it would be in later years; it was mainly based on recommendation. Joseph himself was a Harvard alumnus and had become a celebrity in Boston over the years, so getting his son in was incredibly easy.

And so, on the fourth day, news finally came from Europe—the ship had finally docked.

According to the Tariff Act of 1922, all imported works of art are exempt from tariffs in the United States.

Of course, there are prerequisites for tax exemption, such as quantity restrictions, and that the goods must be originals and not copies.

That's why the old butler didn't send many antiques this time; they were mostly collections from Luther's ancestors and some collateral relatives.

The next morning, after settling Johnny Jr. in, Luther got in his car and drove off.

Although it was still summer, the morning air in Boston was cool, and a thin mist was even shrouding the Charles River. It was hard to tell whether it was formed naturally or caused by industrial pollution; Luther was more inclined to believe it was the latter.

He drove east along Storr Avenue and, as he passed Boston Public Garden, saw several homeless people huddled there.

They were there with their families, holding up signs that read in capital letters:

"I need a job!"

"Could the economic crisis have already begun?" Luther muttered to himself.

As we all know, the economic crisis that followed began in October two years later. Counting the time now, there are at least two years and three months left.

But to Luther's surprise, some respectable people began to lose their jobs at this time.

However, upon closer reflection, this is not something difficult to understand. Rome wasn't built in a day, and an economic crisis doesn't form overnight.

If the incident on October 24, 1929, can be considered the final outbreak and the final result, then there were actually signs several years earlier.

The revelry had reached its climax, and the party was drawing to a close, yet those in the party were completely unaware.

Luther didn't dwell on it too much and continued driving forward. The customs building was on the main street of India; it was a white granite building.

The porch is spacious, the hall is bright, and several thick Doric columns stand in front of the door, making it look solemn and somber.

Soon, Luther parked the car in a nearby parking lot, turned off the engine, and took out the briefcase he had prepared beforehand from the passenger seat.

This contains delivery slips and some family documents sent by the old butler from Europe; these documents had traveled halfway around the world to reach Luther.

Upon entering the lobby, one finds a constant flow of people and noise, with various sounds and smells mingling together.

Sunlight, ink, sweat, and a strange, fishy stench permeated the air.

Several men in dark coats were queuing at the window. Like Luther, they were there to pick up their goods, holding their receipts and waiting patiently.

Luther also queued at window number one and waited for about ten minutes before the clerk called his name.

He stepped forward and handed the delivery order and family documents through the window.

The employee inside was a white man in his forties with thinning hair and wearing glasses.

He took the receipt, glanced at it casually, then turned to look at Luther and scrutinized him closely.

"Did this shipment come from Hamburg?" he asked casually.

"Yes."

"Antiques and works of art?" The clerk glanced at the invoice again, carefully checking it. "Are the goods inside family heirlooms?"

"That's right."

Upon hearing this, the employee put down the receipt, took out a form from the drawer, and began to fill it out.

Because Americans have become quite fascinated with European antiques in recent years, many antiques have entered the United States through this method, which is nothing new to those working in customs.

However, Luther was different from ordinary people. While ordinary people brought things in to sell, Luther filled in items as family heirlooms.

In Europe, families that can inherit these things must be quite extraordinary.

He worked quickly, finishing one of the forms in no time. He glanced at Luther before asking, "Sir, what is your race?"

Note that this is not a casual question; it is a necessary work process.

As we mentioned before, in the United States in the 20s, discrimination was open and legal; in that era, racial discrimination was politically correct.

Therefore, whether it's customs, a police station, or a place like the White House, it's perfectly normal for someone to ask, "What is your race?"

Especially when dealing with personnel and goods exchanges with other regions, this information is often further categorized and even used as the basis for review.

The employee asked casually, but Luther dared not be careless.

"I am Germanic."

"I see."

The employee smiled, and paused for a moment while writing.

He then looked up at Luther a second time and smiled amicably.

"German," he nodded slightly, filling the form with the two words, "and a nobleman at that?! Ha!"

"I guess I used to be," Luther added simply.

In his view, Bavaria has a longer history than Germany.

Upon hearing this, the employee's expression softened.

In Boston in 1927, the Unsa people held the highest social status, but educated and wealthy German immigrants were also welcome.

Unlike the Irish and Italians, these Germans were disciplined, hardworking, and well-mannered. They made significant contributions to the United States and earned the respect of white people.

"Bavarian," the clerk nodded, "I know that place. I've heard the mountains there are beautiful. I've never been, but a friend who used to live in Munich said it's a good place to retire."

Luther smiled faintly: "Indeed."

The two chatted for a few minutes, and once the employee heard that he was German, he immediately stopped being wary.

He didn't ask any further questions, but instead pushed the completed form and a delivery order back to Luther, pointing to an iron gate at the end of the road and saying:

"Go to warehouse number three and find McFarlane. He will take you to pick up the goods."

"Thank you." Luther took the receipt and turned to walk towards the iron gate.

Warehouse No. 3 is located behind the building. It is a fairly large warehouse where most of the goods from Europe are unloaded after each ship docks.

The warehouse was dimly lit, making it difficult to see clearly. The swaying overhead lights cast shadows of varying shades on the people inside.

Luther gave his name, and a middle-aged man in overalls turned around.

"I am McFarlane, come with me."

Soon the two arrived at the container where the items were stored. McFarlane took out the box labeled Luther, and Luther handed him a banknote, which the man accepted skillfully.

A dozen minutes later, Luther received his antique, but he was still stunned when he opened the wooden box.

P.S.: Have a great weekend everyone! It's a pity we only have one day off. Everyone should go hiking! Hiking makes you feel good...