Chapter: 8 – The Tuohys
"Man, investigating cases is such a pain. I was right—being a lazy, well-paid slacker is way more my style."
Stretching lazily as he walked out of the DEA building, Ron muttered to himself. After questioning Detective Hank, he had also hung around to watch the interrogation of that low-level dealer.
Predictably, it was a complete waste of time.
The punk swore up and down that he'd spent the past three days partying nonstop with a professional entertainer. Judging by his pale, exhausted face and the bags under his eyes, Ron believed it—even if Hank was still grilling him like a dog with a bone.
Seriously, that guy was so strung out he'd probably hook up with anything that moved. If Ron had been in his shoes, he'd honestly prefer using his own hand.
Yeah… after living in the U.S. for so long, Ron had to admit—he'd picked up a few bad habits himself.
By now it was around 11 a.m., and Ron's stomach was starting to growl. He hadn't eaten a thing since morning, but in the proud tradition of frugal Chinese citizens everywhere, he decided to find himself a free meal.
His plan? Drop in on an old family friend.
---
Beverly Hills—right next to Hollywood, and often called "the most prestigious residential district in the world." It's the epitome of wealth and status. Here, you're more likely to bump into celebrities and tycoons than regular people.
Even Kobe Bryant, pride of the LA Lakers, had his mansion here.
Of course, none of that had anything to do with Ron.
Ron's lunch destination today was a house with a nameplate reading The Tuohys—a seemingly ordinary home.
Of course, ordinary only by Beverly Hills standards. If this house were located in downtown L.A. or even Ron's neighborhood of Pasadena, it would've been considered a luxury estate.
He rang the doorbell, and a middle-aged man with striking good looks answered, greeting him with a warm hug.
"Hey, Ron! I can't believe how much you've grown—and still so handsome. Last time I saw you, you were just a little troublemaker running around causing chaos."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Mr. Tuohy, you must be mistaken. The troublemakers were always Little George and Sheldon. I was the one cleaning up their messes."
Sean Tuohy, a former college football teammate of Ron's adoptive father George Cooper Sr., had remained close with the family even after moving to Los Angeles with his own. Despite getting married and settling far away, he and George stayed in regular contact.
So when Ron moved to L.A. for work, George had made sure to remind him to pay the Tuohys a visit. With one condition: Don't bring Sheldon. That would be more like starting a war than a friendly call.
Inside the house, Little Sean ran up to Ron with an excited shout of "Ron!" and snatched the gift out of his hands to start unwrapping it. Collins gave him a polite greeting before returning to her seat with the grace and elegance of a well-mannered young lady.
Even someone as notoriously stingy as Ron wouldn't show up empty-handed. George had helped him prepare gifts in advance—one for each child.
For SJ, it was a football signed by the legendary quarterback Tom Brady, a gift that had taken some effort to acquire. For Collins, it was a high-quality tennis racket.
George, being a well-known college football coach, had instilled in Ron a deep understanding of the American sports hierarchy: football reigned supreme, far above basketball (which ranked third), and even baseball. Hockey barely made the cut.
Ron playfully ruffled Little Sean's hair into a mess before turning to greet the rest of the family:
"Hi SJ, Collins—you're getting more beautiful every time I see you. Aunt Anne, George and Mary asked me to send their regards."
Still, even with his careful preparation, Ron missed someone.
There was one more person in the house—a tall, muscular Black teenager Ron didn't recognize, towering over him at well over 190cm.
Catching Ron's surprised look, the boy smiled shyly, his gleaming white teeth contrasting sharply with his skin.
"This is?" Ron asked, clearly taken aback.
"Ron, this is Michael Oher—we've just adopted him," Mr. Tuohy explained, seeing his confusion.
"Yep! He's my big brother now!" Little Sean added proudly, hugging the signed football. "Even bigger than you, Ron!"
After the usual pre-meal family prayer, they sat down to eat. The atmosphere was warm and full of laughter, and by the time Ron was ready to leave, Mr. Tuohy insisted on walking him to the door.
Ron could tell there was something he wanted to say, so he slowed his pace. Coincidentally, he had something on his mind too.
"Thanks again for the wonderful meal. I'll be staying in L.A. for a while, so I'll definitely be dropping by more often."
"Maybe next time bring Sheldon along?" Mr. Tuohy suggested with a grin, probably remembering one of Sheldon's infamous antics.
Ron laughed bitterly. "I'll pass. That guy's a total buzzkill. Plus, SJ would probably bully him. But hey, if SJ or Collins ever want to go into physics, I can ask Sheldon to tutor them."
A flicker of envy passed through Mr. Tuohy's eyes. "No need for that. No one knows my kids better than I do. Honestly, I've always admired George—doing what he loves, raising three genius boys and a beautiful daughter."
Ron offered a comforting smile. "Collins is gorgeous, and SJ's still young. Who knows what the future holds? He might grow up to be a great quarterback like you. And as for Michael, he's built like a perfect offensive lineman—what a waste it'd be if he didn't play guard."
With a football coach for a father, even though he had never played in his past life, Ron had grown up immersed in the sport—and loved every minute of it.
Mr. Tuohy grew serious. "That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. What do you think of Michael? Do you think he's got what it takes to go pro?"
A kind man by nature, Mr. Tuohy hadn't adopted Michael just to give him food and shelter—he wanted to give him a future.
Ron didn't even hesitate. "From a physical standpoint, he's got everything a top-tier guard needs. He's worth investing in. Actually, you should call my dad—his Longhorns are looking for defensive talent like Michael."
Satisfied, Mr. Tuohy nodded. That was all he needed to hear.
And then Ron casually dropped his own question.
"By the way, Mr. Tuohy, is your neighbor… Elon Musk?"
"That's right," he nodded, pointing to the villa next door. "See that place? That's Musk's. Don't tell me you're trying to meet him? Mind if I ask why?"
"As far as I know," Mr. Tuohy continued, "his tax practices are all legal—standard rich-people stuff. Your department probably wouldn't find anything shady."
Ron nodded, a gleam flashing in his eyes. "You're right—I do want to meet him. But not to investigate. I want to talk business."