Negotiations and Ambitions
Jesse stepped forward, holding a cigar box, and said, "Charlie, you come to serve and let them go." Charlie Lee opened the cigar box, pulled out one, and placed it on the table. The others followed suit, selecting cigars for themselves.
Lawrence sniffed the cigar under his nose and exclaimed, "Top-quality tobacco from the Canary Islands. Charlie, you really know how to live."
"…" Charlie resisted the urge to roll his eyes, secretly envying Lawrence's flair. "If you like them, I'll send you two boxes when you leave."
Lawrence gave a thumbs-up, lighting his cigar with deliberate grace. Soon, smoke drifted lazily around the sofa area, creating a hazy atmosphere.
"Charlie, what's this crazy beer? Is it called QD?" Emmond picked up a blue beer bottle, squinting at the "QD" logo on it.
"Qingdao! It's Qingdao, not QD!" Charlie corrected sharply, suppressing his frustration.
The abbreviation "QD" had been Miller's idea—designed to attract foreign buyers. Instead of the collective recognition Miller had envisioned, the nickname became a running joke. Ironically, the beer's popularity had skyrocketed.
Recently, sales of "QD" beer had surged. At the distillery's gates, rows of carriages waited to haul cases of the beverage, drawing envious glances from competitors.
Paul, who managed the brewery, could barely contain his joy. Each day, he laughed heartily, his pockets filled with profits. Meanwhile, Alexander, who owned a modest 2.5% stake in the business, found himself catapulted into wealth, earning admiration and envy alike.
"How did that lucky Mexican boy land such a windfall?"
"Charlie, we need to talk privately." Samuel's voice cut through the convivial chatter. His tone was serious, and his timing was awkward.
Charlie considered the request, puffed his cigar, and finally nodded. "Sure. This way, please."
He led Samuel to a private reception room adjoining the banquet hall. The space, equipped with a cigar bar, was designed for confidential discussions. As Samuel excused himself to follow, Aiken frowned.
"Do you think Samuel's in trouble?" Yevich asked quietly.
"Maybe," Aiken replied with a shrug, unwilling to say more.
The festive atmosphere in the sofa area dimmed. The weight of Samuel's troubles seemed to cast a shadow over the gathering.
"Could Samuel really be on the brink?"
Meanwhile, William Dover—the mayor and co-host—looked visibly uneasy. The banquet was about to begin, but both Charlie and Samuel were absent. He muttered under his breath, "This bloody timing couldn't be worse."
"William, be considerate," Yevich chided. "Samuel's troubles have broader implications. If something happens to him, you'll be drowning in headaches before your reelection campaign even starts."
In the private reception room, Charlie Lee leaned back, cigar in hand, listening to Samuel's desperate plea.
As Samuel laid out his financial woes, Charlie's thoughts raced. With $25 million in capital, Charlie controlled an empire worth $500 million, thanks to leveraged investments. Even so, he recognized Samuel's precarious position.
The debt-ridden businessman was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Without a massive cash infusion, his collapse was imminent.
Samuel finished his explanation, looking expectantly at Charlie. The man before him—an enigmatic figure from the East—had quietly amassed staggering wealth in just two months. Samuel couldn't believe the rumors until Aiken vouched for Charlie personally.
Samuel's proposal was bold: a $100 million investment in exchange for 15% of his new public utilities conglomerate. The plan would merge various enterprises, including power, railways, gas, and more, into a giant that would dominate public services.
Charlie weighed his options carefully. Lending money outright wasn't appealing; the interest wouldn't cover his taxes, let alone his investment goals. But acquiring Samuel's industries outright? Now that was tempting.
Public utilities were a gold mine. Controlling basic services like electricity, water, and transportation would give him unparalleled influence. He could already envision the chaos if these systems failed: cities plunged into darkness, transport grinding to a halt, and families left without essential services.
"This is practically holding people's livelihoods hostage," Charlie thought, his excitement growing. "I have to seize this opportunity."
"How much do you need?" Charlie finally asked, his tone casual.
Samuel, sensing an opening, responded confidently, "$100 million. With that, I can stabilize everything, merge my companies, and create a utilities giant. You'll own 15% of the new group and enjoy enormous returns in the future."
In truth, Samuel only needed $50 million to escape his crisis. But he saw Charlie as a golden goose ripe for plucking.
Charlie nodded and reached for the phone. "Get me Ben," he said curtly.
When Ben answered, Charlie instructed, "I need you to bring Mahdi and Michelle to the Ritz Hotel immediately."
Samuel's expression faltered at the mention of Ben. The shrewd negotiator had a reputation for uncovering the truth behind financial smokescreens.
"Ben will take over from here," Charlie said, standing abruptly.
Leaving Samuel to sweat under Ben's scrutiny, Charlie returned to the banquet hall. By now, the party was in full swing. Guests danced under glittering chandeliers, their laughter mingling with the strains of lively music.
Charlie paused, observing the scene. The women's elaborate dresses, reminiscent of red-carpet glamour, reminded him of a saying: "Fashion is cyclical. Every 30 years, what's old becomes new again."
In his previous life, Charlie was far removed from the world of fashion. Now, surrounded by Chicago's elite, he marveled at the grandeur.
"Charlie, scoping out tonight's prey?" Yevich teased, joining him with a beer in hand.
"Hmph." Charlie dismissed the comment, returning to the sofa area. Aiken and Emmond were still there, but Lawrence was conspicuously absent.
"Where's Lawrence?" Charlie asked.
Aiken gestured toward the dance floor. "Enjoying the perks of youth."
Charlie shrugged off the remark, declining Jesse's suggestion to dance. Instead, he nursed his beer, silently strategizing.
"Charlie, are you really going to help Samuel?" Aiken asked, lowering his voice.
"Of course. I believe in helping others," Charlie replied, his tone deceptively sincere.
In reality, Charlie had no intention of merely helping Samuel. He planned to absorb the man's assets entirely, ensuring Samuel retired quietly while Charlie reaped the rewards.
As the night wore on, the party began to wind down. Guests departed in groups, bidding their hosts farewell.
Finally, the small door to the reception room creaked open. Ben emerged, followed by a visibly drained Samuel.
"Mr. Samuel, I'll draft the contract tonight. Let's meet at the club tomorrow at 10 a.m.," Ben said with a polite smile.
"…I'll be there," Samuel muttered, his voice tinged with resignation.
"Boss, care to join us?" Ben asked, glancing at Charlie.
"Of course."
Charlie bid farewell to his companions, including Lawrence, who was still charming his latest conquest.
As he left, Charlie felt a surge of satisfaction. Tonight had solidified his position, not just as a businessman but as a force to be reckoned with. Samuel's industries were as good as his. Now, it was just a matter of time.