American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

The Gulfstream G650 cruised smoothly at an altitude of 30,000 feet.

Jin Heon was still hard at work.

Now that she was working for Li Wei, she had become the kind of person who regularly flew on private jets.

Anyone who frequently flew on private jets knew that they had specialized oxygen systems. Unlike commercial airliners, which might subtly increase carbon dioxide levels during cruising to make passengers sleepy, private jets could use their oxygen systems to keep passengers feeling energized throughout the flight.

But she was leaning back on the sofa, lost in thought.

The intel from Los Angeles had come back. It was all true: Ethan Horton, surgery tomorrow afternoon, three-day post-op observation period, attending physician Weber.

She glanced up at Li Wei, who was playing on his Switch, then thought for a moment and closed the chat window.

The Super Bowl was tomorrow. She didn't want to add to Li Wei's mental burden.

"Just say what's on your mind," Li Wei said without looking up from his game.

Jin Heon froze. "Boss, how did you know—"

"You've been sneaking glances at me, looking like you want to say something," Li Wei glanced at her. "What is it? Is the plane about to crash? And are there eight of us on board, but only seven parachutes?"

"Don't say that!" Jin Heon blurted out instinctively. "Boss! How can you say something like that? We haven't even landed yet!"

Li Wei chuckled and pressed the home button, pausing his game.

"So, what's going on?" he asked. "The sky isn't falling. It's fine."

Hearing this, Don Quixote chuckled and turned a page in the document he was holding.

Jin Heon scratched her head, a little embarrassed, and turned her laptop screen toward him.

"Boss, it's a post I found on Twitter about a 7-year-old boy," she said, speaking quickly. "I've done a background check and verified everything. The situation is real. He's a huge fan of yours, but he can't watch the Super Bowl because of a surgery."

"His mom is also having a tough time. She's a contract warehouse worker for our LW Beverage," she added, pulling up the chat history and handing him her phone. "She's a single mother, and they waited half a year for this surgery slot."

"So what do you want me to do?" Li Wei asked after a glance, handing the phone back to her. "Film a video to wish him well, or go visit him?"

"My thinking is... if it's possible," Jin Heon began, choosing her words carefully, "after the Super Bowl, if we could stay in Los Angeles for an extra day or two and visit Ethan Horton after his observation period ends, we could coordinate with filming and a media release. The promotional effect would be—"

"No problem," Li Wei said casually.

"Huh?" Jin Heon was taken aback.

"I said, no problem," Li Wei repeated, unpausing his game. "I trust your judgment. Just handle it as you see fit."

Jin Heon paused. She had prepared a whole speech to convince Li Wei, but she hadn't needed to use a single word of it.

"Thank you for your trust, Boss," she couldn't help but say, standing up and heading to the back of the cabin to make a call. "I'll go arrange it right now."

"Go on, go on." Li Wei woke up his screen again.

Because of the time difference and the speed of the G650, the sky over Los Angeles hadn't completely darkened by the time the plane landed.

This was Li Wei's second time in Los Angeles. As the airstairs were lowered, he thought for a moment that he had arrived at some kind of business jet exhibition.

The tarmac of the private terminal was lined with all kinds of business jets.

Gulfstreams, Bombardiers, Dassaults... there were more than twenty parked just within his line of sight.

"What's that huge one?" Chen Haisheng asked, dumbfounded, pointing at a behemoth with a custom livery. "It looks more than twice as big as ours."

"That's a Boeing BBJ," Don Quixote said with a glance. "Probably belongs to some ten-billionaire. A jet like that starts at 100 million USD, and the inside is like a fucking mobile palace."

Chen Haisheng had his eyes opened today. He quietly looked away.

When they walked out of the terminal, two black Cadillac Escalade ESVs and two Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) police motorcycles were already waiting for them.

"Mr. Li Wei," a security lead in a suit and earpiece greeted them, "I'm the Super Bowl week security coordinator assigned by the league. We'll be escorting you to your hotel."

"Also, if you have any drones with you, please keep them in your luggage during Super Bowl week," he said. "The FAA (Federal Aviation Administration) has issued a special Temporary Flight Restriction for the Super Bowl. The entire ten-mile radius is a no-fly zone, and the hotel we're staying at is within this area."

"That strict?" Li Wei laughed. "It's like a presidential visit."

"Yes," the security officer replied with a smile. "Exactly. You'll see tomorrow when you head to SoFi Stadium. The Department of Homeland Security has designated the Super Bowl as a SEAR-1 level special event, the same level as a presidential inauguration."

Two motorcycles led the way, followed by the two Cadillac Escalade ESVs, as the convoy entered the I-405.

Li Wei had previously asked John Mara why, during negotiations with NFL executives, they couldn't just seize the hosting rights for this Super Bowl, which would have saved the Giants from playing an away game.

Now he understood why. With only two to three months to prepare, there simply wouldn't have been enough time.

As far as the eye could see, all of Los Angeles had been transformed for the Super Bowl.

The billboards along both sides of the pletely taken over by the NFL and its major sponsors. The deep blue of the Giants and the gold and red of the 49ers appeared on alternating lampposts.

In the commercial districts they passed, some bars had moved their LED screens to their entrances, while some restaurants had painted "Go Giants!" and "Let's Go 49ers!" directly onto their windows.

The closer they got to Inglewood and SoFi Stadium, the denser the crowds became. More and more fan encampments appeared, with people waving and shouting wildly at Li Wei's convoy.

The convoy finally stopped in front of the InterContinental in Century City.

Compared to normal, the place looked more like a military fortress than a hotel.

Armed corporate security from the NFL and LAPD officers guarded every entrance and exit. Every vehicle entering or leaving had to undergo an undercarriage scan and a credential check.

In the underground garage, more than half of the regular parking spots had been cleared out. The empty space was now occupied by NFL logistics vehicles, broadcast equipment trucks, and mobile command centers for federal law enforcement agencies.

A triple-layered security cordon was set up at the entrance. A massive official NFL flag hung next to the hotel's sign. By the time Li Wei entered the lobby with Don Quixote, Jin Heon, and Chen Haisheng, a number of players and staff were already in line for check-in.

Everyone received a sheet of instructions. In line ahead of Li Wei was a wide receiver he was vaguely acquainted with, accompanied by his personal trainer and a man who looked like his cousin.

"Mr. James," the staff member behind the check-in desk said, flipping through a roster and handing over a few key cards. "Your room is 1208, a Deluxe King. Your entourage—"

She flipped through another booklet. "One standard double room, to be shared by the two of them."

"Are there any other rooms or room types available?" the wide receiver asked with a frown. "Can my trainer and my agent each get their own room? I can pay for it myself."

"I'm sorry, Mr. James," the staff member apologized, shaking her head. "During Super Bowl week, all hotel rooms are allocated by the league. The rooms for players' entourages are all standard rooms and cannot be upgraded or have extra beds added."

"But..." the wide receiver, James, paused, then waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind."

He took the key cards and went to squeeze into an elevator with his trainer and agent.

His trainer was clearly unhappy. He was carrying a lot of equipment, all in large and small bags that he had to lug up himself. He muttered something to the agent as they got in line.

When it was Li Wei's turn, the staff member was just about to open the player roster when she looked up and froze.

"Mr. Li Wei?" She put down the player roster, said something into her radio, then looked up. "Could you please wait just a moment?"

After about ten seconds, a manager with a higher-level credential came out and whispered a few words to the staff member.

The check-in staffer nodded. Then, instead of taking a key from the stack on the left for players, she turned to the right—to the area for league executives, board members, and VIPs—and pulled an envelope from a different binder.

"Mr. Li Wei," she said, "your room is the penthouse Presidential Suite. Here are your key cards and welcome letter."

After handing the envelope to Li Wei, she pulled out two more sets of key cards from the binder to show him.

"Ms. Jin Heon, Executive Suite 3802, single occupancy. Mr. Don Quixote Cervantes and Mr. Chen Haisheng, Executive Suite 3806." She glanced at the manager behind her, who gave an affirmative nod before she continued, "This is a special arrangement from the league. Your entourage will not need to share elevators or common areas with other players' staff. The executive lounge is open to you, your luggage will be delivered to your rooms by a porter, and you may order breakfast directly to your rooms."

"Are there any other questions?" she asked, looking at the group.

"No," Li Wei said, pocketing the key cards. "Thank you."

The four of them crossed the lobby and entered a dedicated elevator for the executive floors.

From this point on, Li Wei would be temporarily separated from Don Quixote and the others. They wouldn't meet again until after the game and the post-game interviews were finished.

When Li Wei swiped his key card and opened the door to the Presidential Suite, his personal belongings and the custom suit with gold-thread stitching had already been delivered inside.

The room was ridiculously large, easily over 2,000 square feet. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a night view of all of Inglewood and the distant Los Angeles skyline. The living room held a dining table that could seat eight, a grand piano, and a bar, with the bedroom and bathroom on the other side.

A fruit basket and a bottle of red wine sat on the coffee table, with two handwritten cards tucked beside them.

"Wishing Mr. Li Wei a pleasant stay and a successful Super Bowl trip. —CEO, InterContinental Hotels"

"Watch your diet. Don't drink. Contact the team doctor immediately if you have any stomach issues. —Giants Head Coach Dabor."

Li Wei smiled, casually tossing the cards aside. He plucked a grape from the welcome fruit basket and popped it into his mouth.

Just then, his phone rang.