LRAB Page 92
Page 92
Stirring up trouble while waiting for Victor to ignite the stadium!
"By the way, the conversion of a new batch of RVs has been completed and they will be ready for use tomorrow."
Fiona added, her fingers unconsciously stroking the edge of the folder.
Ever since Victor took her in, she had been trying to prove her worth, as if she wanted to make up for the unpleasantness that had happened before with her work—no one would have thought that she would be robbed by the American people in America after leaving with $40,000.
Viktor turned around, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her:
"Have you checked the quality of the modification? There was a problem with the insulation layer in the last batch."
"I went to see it myself three times,"
Fiona immediately replied, "The mechanics also did a full test. There will definitely be no problem this time."
Viktor nodded slightly.
He chose to believe Fiona not because of feelings—after Max's teachings, he had long since learned not to put feelings first—but because she was indeed capable, and now she needed the job more than anyone else to make a living.
"Go prepare the materials for tonight. Call Jimmy; we need to give those old guys a proposal they can't refuse."
"Victor said, tapping his fingers lightly on the table," he said.
Fiona nodded and left the office, gently closing the door behind her.
Viktor walked back to the window. That intelligent and resilient woman had taught him a lot, not only about boxing and business, but also about how to survive in this cruel world while maintaining humanity—they were both nineteen years old, but the woman who had gone to college was different from him.
He put the photo back in his pocket, picked up his cell phone, and dialed a number:
"Ethan, has the quote for that batch of new equipment arrived yet?"
"Okay, let's negotiate the price down another 10%. Don't worry, their cars are very cheap."
"...Tell them we can pay half in cash upfront...Yes, do as I say."
After hanging up the phone, Victor opened his desk drawer and took out a share transfer agreement.
This was his next carefully planned move—by selling a small number of shares, he could not only obtain the funds needed for expansion, but also tie himself to key figures from one of Chicago's most powerful factions.
$18 is not a large sum for him now, but the support from those boxing gym leaders is priceless.
In the evening, Victor drove his black Mercedes to an inconspicuous Chinese restaurant in the South District.
Two burly Asian men stood at the entrance, and they nodded respectfully when they saw Victor—they were from Zhao Quanshi Bajiquan.
"Victor! You've come at the perfect time!"
Zhao, the boxing master, had a booming voice coming from the inner room. This Chinese boxing gym owner, who was over sixty years old, was one of the most influential figures in the Chinese triad, the Green Dragon Society. Influence did not equate to wealth; Bajiquan was quick to learn and powerful in combat, making it a favorite among triad members.
He was also Viktor's earliest coach.
There were already seventeen or eighteen people sitting in the back room of the restaurant; they were all people in charge of various boxing gyms.
The air was filled with the mixed aroma of cigarettes and Pu'er tea.
Viktor smiled and shook hands with everyone, behaving with both respect and humility.
"Dear seniors,"
After the waiters finished serving the dishes, Victor raised his glass and said in a steady and powerful voice, "Thank you for taking the time to see a junior like me."
"Don't give me that, Victor, you've stolen a lot of our business!"
A man with a scarred face interrupted him, "Old Zhao said you have a money-making opportunity to share with us?"
“I have never been to Chinatown, and I have never actively promoted myself to Chinese people. You all need to know this. I was able to make money from foreigners only after I had the police and the IRS under my control.”
Viktor calmly took a sip of tea:
“But Mr. Zhao is right, I am a straightforward person. SHW Company now has a monthly net profit of more than $60,000, and it is still growing.”
He paused for a moment, letting the number settle in the room.
“But I’m a boxer first, then a businessman, and my business dealings are for the sake of boxing, so I’m willing to give up 15% of my shares for $180,000.”
A hushed discussion immediately broke out in the room.
Viktor waited patiently, knowing that these seasoned veterans needed time to process the information.
"Why are you looking for us? You're so close to those foreigners..."
One female boxer questioned, "Aren't banks a cheaper source of funds?"
Victor gave a knowing smile: "Maria, we all know what bankers are like. I'd rather work with someone who understands the streets, who understands real Chicago."
He looked around. "Besides, it's good for everyone—legal income, clean taxes, and it provides decent jobs for the guys at the boxing gym."
Master Zhao chuckled and said something in Chinese, which elicited knowing smiles from the several Asian leaders.
“Victor, you understand the importance of ‘relationships’ better than most Chinese people. Many Chinese Americans who come to America now are corrupted; they actually treat this place like paradise… Some even say the air here is sweet! I just threw that idiot into the latrine and gave him a bath.”
"Tell me about it,"
Over the next two hours, Victor explained in detail the company's operating model, expansion plans, and equity structure.
He deliberately downplayed the risks and emphasized the benefits, but without making it seem unrealistic.
When he showed the bank statements for the last three months, even the last few hesitant people wavered.
Frank finally made the decision, "But my people will be involved in the delivery process."
Viktor had anticipated such conditions:
"Of course, outsourcing the business is the best option; I need someone to guarantee my raw material supply!"
“Our three gyms can do it, and we will contact the farm.”
"My next step is to add food trucks near the university town."
"Don't worry, we'll have Siri handle the communication. As long as it's not about selling heroin, those black bastards and foreigners won't say anything."
Victor raised his glass. "Cheers to our cooperation."
That evening, Victor left the restaurant with the signed agreement and a check for $180,000.
In the cold wind, his breath quickly dissipated into the night.
The money was no longer so important to him; what mattered was that he had successfully brought key figures in the Chicago Chinese mafia into his network of interests.
From then on, SHW Company not only had a catering license from the municipal government, but also the protection of the most ruthless group of people on the streets.
Back at his apartment, Victor took off his suit and changed into his training clothes.
The calendar on the wall showed that there were less than two weeks until the match on July 11.
He put on his boxing bandages in front of the mirror and began his daily routine of training.
Left straight punch, right hook, combination punches... Sweat quickly soaked through his vest.
Even with his commercial success, Viktor never forgot that he was first and foremost a boxer.
That opponent will be the first challenge of his professional career, and he cannot afford to be complacent.
After training, Viktor took a cold shower and then sat down at his desk to check his emails—on a bulky computer with expensive internet access.
Fiona has already sent over today's sales figures and tomorrow's schedule—Victor rejected them all, leaving the restaurant business entirely in Old Joe's hands.
After quickly reviewing the information and replying with a few key points, he opened an encrypted folder containing information secretly collected by the catering van about several important political figures and businessmen in Chicago.
In this city, information is power, and Victor is weaving his own network of power: all he has to do is give them photos of important people and tell them to let him know if they see them, and there will be a reward.
Suddenly, Victor's landline rang.
Victor answered the phone, and Max's voice came through:
"I heard you've expanded again? Are you doing a great job?"
Victor smiled slightly and replied, "I haven't forgotten. Chicago is just the beginning."
In a five-minute phone call, Victor told Max that his professional match was about to begin.
After hanging up the phone, Victor went out onto the balcony and looked down at the Chicago night view.
The city that once nearly devoured him is now about to become Viktor's maw.
"I never expected to face Tyson in my very first match!"
Chapter 74 Atlantic City Signing Ceremony
On June 30, 1985, Victor stood on the Atlantic City boardwalk, the sea breeze carrying a salty, fishy smell.
He squinted at the magnificent building in the distance—the Plaza Hotel, shimmering dazzlingly in the setting sun, like a modern Tower of Babel built with money.
"Sign the contract tomorrow, don't cause me any trouble."
Foucault, with a cigar in his mouth, patted Viktor on the shoulder.
The promoter wore a dark blue Armani suit today, with a solid gold tie clip on his tie that glittered in the sunlight.
Viktor turned his neck, his cervical spine cracking: "As long as that Japanese guy behaves himself."
Foucault watched as Victor pulled out a Black Liqun cigar, lit it, and set the cigar aside.
Viktor understood and took one.
The lighter was lit, and the two men puffed on cigarettes.
"Fuck!!! This cigarette is really strong! It's like it's been smoked with leaves!"
Foucault gripped the railing behind him, enduring the dizziness from the nicotine's onslaught, and it took him half a cigarette to regain his senses: "Victor... how do you manage to pass through your lungs without affecting your cardiovascular system?"
Victor certainly knew that rapid absorption led to strong internal organs, and strong internal organs led to extremely rapid red blood cell turnover.
But he shook his head.
Foucault, half dizzy and half deliberate, said, "Don't go too far tomorrow."
Viktor took a drag on his cigarette, rubbing the butt out with his fingers: "How can you attract attention without going to the fire? How can you get in the newspapers without attracting attention? How can he make money if he doesn't get in the newspapers? How can we make money if he doesn't make money?"
He answered casually, but his gaze was fixed on the huge 'TRUMP' sign on the top floor of the hotel.
That's Trump's private office, which is said to overlook the entire Atlantic City.
Foucault followed his gaze, grinned, and said, "Old Trump is shrewd. Do you know why he chose us?"
Before Victor could answer, he answered his own question: "Because you are of Chinese descent and Fujimoto is Japanese. Forty years after World War II, Asians fighting each other can still motivate audiences to spend money."