The Expanding Empire of Charlie
In this era, there's no such thing as a "limited company." Charlie could only accept this kind of low pressure.
The McDonald's kingdom was advancing in an orderly fashion. The owners were leaving their communities, going through the streets to find suitable shops in the planned areas.
Charlie was not idle. He gathered the black families of the 24 districts to hold the first owners' congress of the 24 districts.
"I believe you all know that I've created a new business model for Chinese families, like McDonald's, the fast-food and chain industries, so they can earn a superior and prosperous life with their own hands and efforts."
Seeing the envy in the eyes of the black people present, Charlie smiled with satisfaction: "Now, I want you to join in and share the feast together…"
It wasn't McDonald's that Charlie wanted the black families to join. If someone visited Bluestar like him, they'd know its name: "Subway."
"There are 6 million IL people, 120 million people in the United States, and 2 billion people worldwide. Not everyone likes hamburgers made with meat patties, onion powder, sour cucumber, and cream. Some prefer French food, others like Chinese food or Italian. I need you to create different kinds of fast food, sandwiches, mainly cheese and salad…"
Meanwhile, Ben and others were returning from their vacation. There was still a lot of work to do. Samuel's industry had entered the review stage, which would be taken over by an outsourced accounting firm and a lawyer group. The think tank was only responsible for overseeing the review process and progress.
On the other hand, the 400-410 buildings in Michigan had started preliminary contact and negotiations. Theater 13 was progressing faster, directly entering the negotiation stage, though it would take time.
And then there was the copper issue, which was a real headache. Why was the boss so persistent on copper mines, to the point of renaming FSC to "Freeport Copper and Gold Company"? Only when they acquired 65 percent of the shares would they rename it.
If Ben had known all this was because of his suggestion, he would have smoked himself.
"The boss's taste is so unique…" While the heads of other families were focused on reforming, strengthening control, making profits, and ensuring the company earned a lot of money, Charlie's concern was something else: "What should we name the company?"
Ben remembered a conversation from the past: "Boss, why don't we call it Copper Gold Diamond Mining Company?"
Charlie had turned around and looked at him with a kind of care for the mentally challenged. "Copper is too lowly; it will lower the grade of diamonds. We'll just buy another company someday."
Parking his new Ford in front of Club 22, Ben adjusted his brand-new crimson tie and walked into the club.
At this point, Club 22 had become more of a professional think tank. The members rarely appeared, but whenever there was a need, they would be called in to provide help or professional insight.
"Ben." When Ben came back, all the colleagues who were working greeted him warmly.
"Thanks." Raising his hand to greet the crowd, Ben sat at his desk. He opened his bag and placed his glasses case, book, and pen on the table. Then he knocked on the table with his hand, making a "bang bang" sound.
When everyone looked up, Ben straightened his face and said, "Now, I need to know all your progress within an hour."
His decisive voice made the office come alive, with everyone rushing around to speed up their work.
Once the plan was completed, the annual salary for the nine-person team was tentatively set at $20,000, while the annual salary for other core members was $10,000.
In this era, even the top investment bank CEO's salary was only $6,000, so no one wanted to lose such a job.
Everything was progressing as planned, except for Wang Dagou, who had been searching the slums for two days without making any progress.
"FK, I'm getting bored with those reporters, Wang. You need to speed up," Grant's broad police uniform was now tight from the stress, and his face was filled with frustration.
"Don't they know where this is?" Wang Dagou didn't have much goodwill toward the reporters, but he knew better than to offend them.
The New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, the Los Angeles Times, the New York Post, and the Washington Post were all influential newspapers with large circulations. The sharp-nosed reporter from the Times had found something.
"Those influential newspapers across the United States are paying attention to this. If something bad happens, both of us will suffer. Wang, be careful," Grant warned with a pale face. He had known this would cause trouble, but he hadn't expected it to escalate like this.
"George." After Grant left, Wang was lost in thought and called George over: "We need to speed up and avoid any violent actions. That could cause problems for Charlie. Right now, any negative publicity could spark a protest."
After finishing his training each day, Wang Dagou also had to stay on top of language, culture, and social interactions.
Wang understood the current situation. The United States was a powder keg, and any small incident could trigger a massive explosion.
"Maybe we should offer a reward. Five dollars can buy a life here," George suggested.
"Alright. Tell them that if they can prove who did it, I'll pay $100," Wang Dagou growled, his eyes fierce.
If it weren't for the reporters, this matter would have been resolved long ago. Now they could only conduct a blocked investigation under the guise of assisting the Chicago police. Any mistake, however small, would be seized by the reporters, which frustrated Wang.
Similarly, Charlie hadn't expected the situation to become so troublesome. He had started the fight to give a voice to the people who were shot, but more importantly, he wanted to show those watching that he was "stronger."
With money, people, and weapons, only in this way could the greedy powers understand whether it was worth provoking him before they took action.
Ben's $500 million stock market sale couldn't escape the notice of those with interests. Perhaps they hadn't noticed initially or midway through, but once the large amounts of funds started moving, their attention was inevitable. Charlie wasn't sure whether anyone would connect him to this, but he remained vigilant.
"With Grant believing everything will be fine, it's time for Brother Dogg to handle his own," Charlie thought, hoping that one day he would be able to support the aegis independently.
"Jesse." Charlie called out from the door.
The little secretary stepped onto the soft carpet and ran in. Her face was flushed, and she mumbled, "Boss, it's time to work now."
Seeing her expression, Charlie smiled. "Is this beginning to collapse?"
"Think about it. Give this to Ben and ask him to reply as soon as possible," Charlie handed her the document.
As the little secretary left with the document, Charlie's eyes followed her seven-point long skirt and straight legs with admiration.
"Boss." A smiling monk appeared at the door.
"Come in, you're a good boy!" Charlie leaned back in his chair and smiled at him. His self-cultivation suit seemed clean and tidy, and his spirit was elevated.
"It was Mr. Wister who paid the bill," the monk scratched his head and sat opposite Charlie.
Wister was an old, experienced figure who ran an antique store in a quiet passageway of the city. He was known for dealing with rare items, and many of the items he sold had rich histories, which made them highly valuable. His shop, a dusty yet charming place, had been in business for decades, offering everything from rare paintings to delicate porcelain.
"It was a hard trip for you." Charlie took two bottles of beer from the wine rack, popped the caps, and handed one to the monk. "Try this."
"Boss, this wine is delicious!" The monk exclaimed, his eyes bright as he downed the drink.
"I've got 20 boxes ready for the training camp. I'll go back and celebrate. Tonight, we drink anything," Charlie said, gesturing to Lao Huang to prepare.
"Thank you, Boss." The monk stood up excitedly and then took out three folded checks and placed them on the table. "Boss, this is the reward for the next three months."
Charlie looked at the checks. The first was for $66,000, and the second and third were for $126,000 each.
"It's yours. I'll give you more points for this trip," Charlie said, putting the first and second checks into the monk's pocket, leaving the third in the drawer.
The monk looked at him excitedly, his eyes moist with emotion.
The Shendun Bureau's tasks were divided into 55 divisions, and Charlie had given them an extra $33,000, with 80 people receiving more than $400 each—an amount equivalent to the income of middle-class families for half a year.
"Don't cry! The new carpet is handmade in India. It's expensive," Charlie joked, causing the monk to laugh through tears.
"Yes." Crying and laughing, he wiped his eyes. "I'm going back now."
"Go, go! I'm giving you three days off. Rest well." The training camp had strict requirements, and without Charlie's permission, they would have to return the next day.
Everything that could be done had been done. There seemed to be no conclusion to the meeting earlier, but Charlie had to make another trip for a special task.
The vase that Wister had sent him still hadn't returned. He needed to go there personally because the old man might play tricks and keep an eye on the porter. He couldn't afford for it to get damaged.
"Jesse, get the car ready," Charlie instructed, preparing to visit Wister's antique shop.
As he opened the door, he was surprised to see an unexpected person. "Juliana, how are you here?"
"Charlie?" Juliana seemed equally surprised.
"I'm here for Wister. I need to move some of my things," Charlie said, frowning at the old man sitting behind the table.
"You little bastard, that's what I gave you," Wister muttered, blowing his beard in irritation.
"It's mine if you gave it to me. Don't you understand that?" Charlie enjoyed seeing the old man angry, which always carried a special meaning.
"Uncle Wister, how do you and Charlie know each other?" Juliana asked with a strange expression, sensing the closeness between them.
"Uncle?" Charlie was taken aback.
"Want to go after Juliana? Don't worry, I'll help you." Wister teased with a grin, his hands clasped.
"Ha ha…" Charlie chuckled as he staggered over to the vase on the shelf. "Move that."