Charlie Lee handed the signed contract to Ben before leaning back in his chair. "Lunch together?" he offered casually.
"I'm afraid not," McCormick replied, adjusting his coat. "I'm flying to Washington, D.C. I have some work to do."
Charlie nodded, understanding. McCormick needed to meet with several members of Congress—ensuring the interests of his consortium were well-protected. The division of power wasn't just between Illinois industrialists and their two families. Every level of the system had to be managed. Otherwise, at any moment, the federal government could decide to call in old debts.
Having been deeply rooted in America for over a century, McCormick understood the art of sharing power and profits better than most.
"See you next time, then," Charlie said with an easy smile. He watched as McCormick exited, only then allowing himself to exhale deeply.
Despite his composed demeanor during negotiations, Charlie had felt the tension. He had pushed hard, risking a deal-breaking fallout. But Elan had assured him of invisible compensations—concessions beyond the financials listed on paper. Otherwise, he wouldn't have dared demand a 25% share of the profits like a lion claiming its territory.
"Ben, can you calculate our profit?" Charlie asked eagerly.
Ben's lips curled in a rare, satisfied smile. "The think tank has analyzed the numbers in detail. Based on projections, it will take five years, and our profits will range between $2 billion and $3.5 billion."
Charlie let out a slow whistle, impressed.
Beneath his excitement, Ben had also gained a deeper understanding of how real financial empires operated. These consortiums weren't just wealthy—they were strategic predators, always a step ahead in finding new ways to make money.
And the best part? The interest from bond purchases was tax-free. A loophole that turned an already lucrative deal into a financial goldmine.
"Yes, that's it," Charlie said, snapping his fingers.
Even at the lower estimate of $2 billion, his personal share would be $500 million—$100 million a year. Few ventures could deliver such staggering returns, even for seasoned tycoons.
"How much do we need to invest?" Charlie asked, knowing full well that buying bonds required upfront capital.
"$20 million initially," Ben replied. "Depending on market conditions, additional investments may be required later."
The past ten days hadn't just been about negotiations. The think tank had been working around the clock, analyzing risk factors, making valuation assessments, and consulting with market experts. The numbers had been scrutinized from every angle.
"If that's the case, don't hesitate—go in with the full amount," Charlie ordered. More capital meant greater returns. Only a fool would hesitate.
As negotiations wrapped up, another critical project was unfolding—the site selection for Dewey West College.
Under the leadership of Samor and coordinated by Mr. Saliev from the Department of Justice, the team was engaging with the local government and community representatives regarding land acquisition in Area 18.
The government side was surprisingly cooperative—perhaps because William, a key political player, wanted to earn favor. The Urban Planning Bureau approved the project without delay.
However, dealing with the property owners in Area 18 proved to be a different challenge.
"They're trying to exploit the situation?" Charlie asked, eyes narrowing.
Initially, the assumption had been that acquiring land from 50 families would be straightforward.
But to their surprise, the property owners had secretly united, demanding a payout four times the market price.
"Yes," Ben confirmed. "They're asking for $40 per square foot. That comes out to roughly $600,000 per household."
The total cost? A staggering $32 million.
Charlie didn't care about spending money when necessary.
He could casually throw $2 million into a shipyard just to build himself a luxury cruise ship.
He had once ignored financial advice and bought the Chicago Grand Theater simply because he liked it—even though maintenance alone cost him hundreds of thousands every month.
He allowed his secretary, Elk, to indulge in lavish expenses, running into tens or even hundreds of thousands each month.
To Charlie, wealth was a tool, meant to be used.
But what he despised was being cornered and extorted.
"Do we have other suitable land options nearby?" he asked, keeping his temper in check.
In business, brute force had its limits. This was a legitimate project, and he didn't want to taint it with coercion.
As he grew in power, Charlie knew he had to play by the system's rules—because one day, he wouldn't just be part of the system. He would be the system.
"If we shift to the area behind the park, there's a 600,000 square-foot plot available," Ben suggested. "It's only 200,000 square feet smaller than the original site."
"Fine. Offer the owners double the standard rate. They have three days to move out," Charlie said coldly.
Compared to the future value of Dewey West College, the extra spending was insignificant.
The project was massive—an eight-year primary school and a four-year secondary school, designed with long-term expansion in mind. Originally, the plan required 1.6 million square feet of land, covering 380 acres.
Charlie wasn't just thinking about the present; he was laying the groundwork for the future. If he had the right education team, he would have poured tens of millions into building an Ivy League-caliber university.
The total cost of the two projects came to approximately $26 million.
Land acquisition alone cost $18 million.
Had he been unable to secure the 1 million square feet in the park at a reasonable price, the total investment could have climbed even higher.
"Boss, Maiton just sent word—the Colts want to meet with you in person," Elk informed him, entering the room.
"When?" Charlie asked, putting down his papers.
"They'll arrive in Chicago tomorrow night."
"Arrange a car and hotel for them. Set the itinerary," he instructed.
Charlie was already swamped with obligations. The last thing he needed was another meeting.
He sighed inwardly. I just wanted to enjoy a peaceful life. Why am I getting busier by the day?
"Boss, still at it?" A familiar voice called from the doorway. It was Samor, leaning against the doorframe.
Charlie turned to look outside—it was already dark.
"I didn't even realize the time," he admitted, glancing at his pocket watch. It was already 9 PM.
"Would you like to grab dinner?" Samor asked casually.
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
If he wasn't mistaken, she was inviting him out. That was… interesting.
"Don't you have to go home?" he asked, testing the waters.
"I'm divorced," she said with a wry smile. "Still adjusting to single life. Tonight, I'd rather have company."
Charlie tilted his head. "Why the sudden change?"
She chuckled, crossing her arms. "Men and their fragile pride."
Charlie smirked, understanding now. Her ex-husband had been unable to handle her success—so much so that he had abandoned everything, choosing to live among drifters in the park rather than confront his failures.
"Should I congratulate you or offer a comforting hug?" he teased as they stepped outside.
"A warm embrace seems more fitting," she said with a sly grin, linking her arm with his.
"Good idea," Charlie murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist.
As they slid into the car, he gave his driver a simple instruction:
"Take us to the Waldorf."