LRAB Page 59
Page 59
Max stopped in her tracks, sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting dappled shadows on her face.
She bargained, "I'll only take 5% for the first six months, and then increase it to 8% after I prove my worth."
Victor raised an eyebrow. "Are you haggling with yourself?"
"I'm investing in your future,"
Max held out his hand. "I thought about it for a whole day after receiving the message. I believe that what I'm investing in is my future."
Victor took her hand and felt the warmth and strength in her palm.
"Welcome to the team, Ms. Blake."
“Mister Lee, you can call me Max.”
“Okay, Max, my name is Victor.”
······
Back at the apartment, Victor pulled out a standard brokerage contract from a drawer, and the two filled out the details at the kitchen table.
Jimmy snapped a picture of the signing, while Michael and Ethan stood behind him grinning.
After signing the last name, Max capped his pen. "Let's get started tomorrow. First, we need to redesign your public image, and then—"
Victor interrupted her, "Where do you live?"
Max blinked. "Currently? My friend's sofa. What's wrong?"
My friend is Millie.
Victor looked at Michael, who nodded slightly.
"There are empty rooms on the third floor that you can stay in. The monthly rent is 600, including utilities."
Max opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then opened it again: "Are you inviting me to live with four grown men?"
"There are three,"
Jimmy corrected, "Ethan and his girlfriend live on the third floor. And we have a strict cleaning schedule."
Max looked around, saw the three expectant faces and Victor's expressionless face, and suddenly burst into laughter.
"If I agree, I must be crazy."
She shook her head. "I'm currently staying at my friend's house."
After Max left, Ethan leaned close to Victor and asked, "Do you think she's up to the task?"
Victor looked out the window; the Chicago sky was turning from blue to orange.
"have no idea,"
He honestly said, "But she's the only person I've ever met who's hungrier than I am."
Ethan said mischievously, "Then you can devour each other."
Victor chuckled: "She's even more pessimistic than I am."
"How to say?"
"When I was going all in, I had the option of joining the underworld as a backup plan, but she didn't have any backup plan at all. I guess she really went to wash dishes!"
Chapter 48 Max's Promotion and Initial Success
Walking down the main road, Max Black's fingers left a sweaty stain on the contract paper.
The weather in Chicago in March was already somewhat humid and muggy, with heat and coolness seeping in from the cracks in the South Side, mixed with the smells of sweat, leather, and male hormones.
Back at her lodgings, she stared at Victor Lee’s bold signature on the paper and realized she had just become the agent of a potential professional boxer—even though she only had three dollars and twenty-five cents left in her pocket.
There were also seventeen debt collection bills in the bag.
"So, Max,"
Millie lay on the sofa, her long legs and ample breasts accentuated by an A cup, tapping her fingers on the table. "How do you plan to make Victor commercially valuable?"
Max recalled the behemoth that was 185 centimeters tall and weighed 371 pounds.
Victor Lee, 19 years old, Chinese American, is the secret weapon of Foucault Boxing Gym. His neck is thicker than his head, his chin is almost invisible, his belly under his T-shirt looks like half a beer barrel, and his pectoral muscles are about the same size as his own.
But there was a dangerous glint in those eyes—like those stray dogs driven to desperation on the streets of Brooklyn.
“I think Victor needs a pair of shoes, a pair that is sturdy and tough enough, so this can be a short-term contract.”
"pretty good idea."
"Viktor should be a tough guy; he needs to be tough enough. I'll tell him to align his statements in life and in the media with that image..."
Millie frowned: "That's not necessary. You just need to have Victor tone it down a bit."
Max continued, "But that's all after the boxing tournament, at least until the Chicago regional tournament is over."
Millie asked in surprise, "Is Viktor the only way to gain some fame now?"
"That's too slow!"
Max made up his mind: "I have to make sure that everyone who loves boxing knows Viktor within two days!"
Coach Foucault scoffed from the side, "Young lady, do you know that professional boxing agents usually have to prepay for training and publicity if they can't secure investment?"
Max felt a familiar stomach cramp.
It's always fucking money.
Damn Franklin!
She took a deep breath and pulled a piece of paper from her bag, which she had written at three in the morning last night in a cheap motel.
"Look at this,"
She slammed the paper on the table. “Victor Lee, ‘Far East Fat Tiger’—that’s a good name, isn’t it? Independent, resilient, authentic. Not one of those plastic models from the gym, but a real tough guy who fought his way up from the Chicago slums.”
Foucault raised an eyebrow and reached for the paper.
Max noticed that his knuckles were actually quite stiff.
“Listen, Foucault,”
She lowered her voice and leaned forward. "I know I don't have the money. But according to the previous contract, Foucault Gym has a publicity budget of four thousand dollars, right?"
She glanced at Foucault, who shrugged noncommittally: “That’s true, but it’s for promoting Victor Foucault’s gym, not Victor Lee.”
"Foucault, you're being superficial."
Max, who had somehow learned some debating skills, said: "Victor is now with Foucault's Gym. According to the plan, he will only join the World Boxing Organization after he wins a place in the U.S. Boxing Championships. We are one, and we will earn that 20% together."
Foucault's eyes widened: "You're willing to share? Viktor's willing to give up 20%?"
“I don’t know, Foucault, but promoters and agents are separate entities. Don’t you focus more on promoters?”
Max's words made Foucault think, then he nodded: "You can use the four thousand dollars."
At noon that day, Max got through to Victor on the phone:
“And I need $1,500 in start-up capital. Not for Mr. Foucault, but for me.”
Viktor burst into laughter, his voice like sandpaper scraping: "You're borrowing money from me? An agent borrowing money from a boxer?"
"This is for promotional purposes. I'm confident that you'll be known throughout Chicago within two days."
Max quickly said, "I'll use my share as collateral. We can bet that your story won't be in the Chicago newspapers for five days."
She pointed to a clause in the contract: "If I can't get you enough attention before the Chicago regional tournament, you can terminate the contract."
The room was quiet for a few seconds.
Coach Foucault sized Max up with his eyes, his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel plates.
On the other end of the phone, Victor stared at the promotional plan, listening to Max list items such as bar gambling, social media hype, and promotion of underground boxing forums.
After giving a general explanation, Viktor asked a question:
"Why 'Fat Tiger'? My original name was the Far Eastern Tiger!"
麦克斯笑了：“因为你看起来像个和蔼的胖子，直到你把人揍趴下。反差！懂吗？观众会爱死这个。”
Victor let out another sandpaper-like laugh. "I agree. Ethan will give you the money this afternoon, and he will help you."
Max could almost hear her own heartbeat and instinctively refused, "No, I'm alone..."
Victor emphasized, "This is Chicago, and Ethan will be carrying a gun."
"Okay, you won't regret it, Mr. Gian."
Max stopped refusing: "In three days, all of Chicago will be talking about 'Far East Fat Tiger'."
In the afternoon, Max counted the money—1,500 dollars, plus the 4,000 promised by Foucault, for a total publicity budget of 5,500 dollars.
For a professional boxing match, that's not even a fraction of the money.
But she once survived a month in Brooklyn on five dollars and orchestrated a party that drove the entire neighborhood crazy with fifty dollars.
Five thousand five hundred dollars?
This is practically a king's budget—Max is that king.
She took out her contacts, found a number saved as 'Cousin Tony', and then dialed it from the landline.
"Tony, it's me. Yes, Tony. Listen, are you still in Chicago?"
"I need you to spread a message in every bar in Chicago..."
"No, it's not fake news, it's a real betting game..."
"Victor Lee, the 'Far East Fat Tiger' of Foucault Boxing Gym..."
"Yes, that's the fat Chinese guy who can eat a whole cow..."
"Chicago regional tournament, $100 bet on him knocking out his opponent in the first round..."
"What? You're asking me why? Because I want all the poor people in Chicago to remember this name! And then I'll make a fortune following him!"
After hanging up the phone, Max walked into an advertising store.
Forty minutes later, she emerged carrying a stack of bright red flyers featuring a photo of Victor shirtless, a striking mix of muscle and fat, with the headline in bold black: