boyutpedia Page 177
Page 177
When the fire trucks arrived, the building was already engulfed in flames.
Subsequent investigations could only conclude it was a gang fight, and all evidence had been reduced to ashes.
······
In his hospital room, Mickey Green slowly woke up.
The severe headache made it almost impossible for him to think.
The doctor told him that he had suffered a severe concussion and three broken ribs, and would need several months to recover.
"My Motorola,"
There was no one beside Green, so he was very angry and said hoarsely, "Give me the phone!"
The nurse hesitantly handed him his personal belongings.
Green dialed the number with trembling hands, but no one answered.
He dialed the numbers of all the core members one by one, but all the calls went to busy or went unanswered.
Panic began to creep into my heart.
He endured the pain and dialed a private number.
“Mickey, my dear friend,”
The voice inside was as elegant as ever, "I heard you lost the game, what a pity."
"Boss Jin, my men... I can't contact anyone..."
"Ah, yes,"
The voice paused for a moment, then continued, "I'm afraid there's some bad news. Your headquarters suffered an unexpected fire. Unfortunately, none of your people managed to escape."
Green's heart almost stopped beating.
He understood that this was not an accident, but a betrayal.
"why?"
"Business is business, Mickey."
His voice turned cold. "Take good care of yourself and don't go back to Brooklyn. There's no place for you here."
The call was hung up.
Mickey Green lay paralyzed on his hospital bed, staring at the pale ceiling, feeling utter despair and helplessness for the first time.
But then something even more desperate happened—the hospital bills were so expensive that even a $50,000 appearance fee wouldn't be enough:
"So, Mr. Green, in addition to owing the IRS $18,000, you now owe our hospital $32,000."
Chapter 150 Qian Ning is about to collapse
In February, the cold wind in New York was as biting as the heart of a Wall Street broker.
Victor stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of the Waldorf Hotel suite, his fingertips lightly tracing the cold glass.
Outside the window, the skyscrapers of Manhattan gradually lit up in the twilight, like countless greedy eyes watching this city that never sleeps.
"Caroline... what a foolish woman!"
He murmured the name, a subtle, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.
The meticulously handwritten invitation sat on the mahogany table beside him, its gold lettering shimmering in the afterglow of the setting sun.
Martin Channing's dinner invitation—the old fox finally couldn't sit still any longer.
Victor turned and walked toward the wine cabinet, the sound of ice cubes falling into glasses crisp and lonely.
He stared at the amber-colored whiskey. The girl had eyes so different from her father's—Martin's eyes always gleamed with calculation and greed, while Caroline's eyes held a certain longing, a longing for freedom and recognition.
"She invited me into the lion's den, thinking Martin was a lion."
Victor muttered to himself, looking at his wine glass, "Let's see who the hunter is and who the prey is."
The phone rang suddenly.
Victor calmly picked up the receiver and immediately recognized the voice on the other end—Mr. Liu, the unsung leader of the Chinese community in New York.
"I heard you received an invitation from the Qian Ning family?"
Mr. Liu got straight to the point, his voice rough like sandpaper, “There have been a lot of bank people coming and going from that old guy’s house lately, and something doesn’t feel right.”
Victor chuckled lightly: "When on Wall Street doesn't someone from the banking industry come and go? But thank you for the information, Mr. Liu. Tomorrow's meeting will proceed as planned."
After hanging up the phone, the smile on Viktor's face gradually disappeared.
He walked to his desk, opened the encrypted briefcase, and took out a stack of financial documents.
Martin Channing's name appears in dozens of pages of transaction records, numbers that tell the story of an empire on the verge of collapse.
The Channing House is located on a quiet street in the Upper East Side, but tonight it's bustling with traffic.
Extended Lincolns and Rolls-Royces filed through the cast-iron gates, resembling an exhibition of luxury cars.
Victor deliberately chose a rented, ordinary Mercedes-Benz sedan, which seemed out of place in this ostentatious occasion.
“Mr. Victor Lee,”
The butler announced loudly at the door, and the conversation in the hall paused slightly.
Dozens of eyes turned to the doorway, scrutinizing the uninvited guest from Chicago.
Viktor walked calmly into the hall, his gaze quickly sweeping across the entire room.
He wore a well-tailored dark gray suit, which contrasted sharply with the brightly colored guests around him.
In a room full of bankers, lawyers, and speculators, his boxer-turned-physique seemed out of place—but everyone knew that Victor, besides being Caroline's boyfriend, also owned a very successful company in Chicago.
Many people come for this reason, hoping to get a share of the profits.
"Victor!"
Caroline's voice rang out like a silver bell through the crowd.
She wore a royal blue dress, her blonde hair styled in an elegant updo, but there was a hint of tension in her eyes that she couldn't hide—the two sides had just broken off relations not long ago.
“Caroline,”
Victor took her outstretched hand and gracefully kissed it. "You look breathtakingly beautiful tonight."
A blush rose on the girl's face, but she was quickly interrupted by a loud voice.
"Come quickly, Victor, greet my friends!"
Martin Channing strode over, arms outstretched as if to embrace, but there was no smile in his eyes.
He was shorter than Victor had imagined, but he exuded an aura of someone accustomed to giving orders.
"Mr. Qian Ning,"
As Victor shook hands with the other person, he felt the deliberate increase in pressure. "Thank you for the invitation. Your house is truly amazing."
Martin looked around smugly: "This is nothing. I have a estate on Long Island that's twice the size of this."
He placed his hand on Victor's shoulder and whispered intimately, "If you're serious about Caroline, perhaps you'll have these things someday too."
At the dinner, Victor was seated to Caroline's right, directly opposite Martin.
During the two-hour dinner, he silently observed the family's behavior.
Martin was talking at length about his latest investment plans, his voice so loud it was as if he was afraid no one would hear him;
Caroline's mother—a well-maintained woman with tired eyes—maintained a stiff smile throughout, only revealing a hint of true emotion when drinking.
Caroline tried to speak with Victor several times, but was interrupted by her father each time.
Martin seemed eager to showcase his wealth and connections, repeatedly calling out the names of the guests: "That's a friend from the Securities and Exchange Commission," "This is a director from Morgan Bank," and so on.
Victor nodded and smiled in agreement, but inwardly he became more and more convinced of his judgment—Martin's performance was too forceful, like a desperate actor trying to attract the audience's attention before the curtain falls.
After the meal, the ladies moved to the sunroom, while the gentlemen stayed in the restaurant to enjoy cigars and brandy.
Victor noticed that after Martin had a brief conversation with several bankers, the expressions of those men all became serious.
After the last guest took his leave, Martin placed a heavy hand on Victor's shoulder.
"Victor, come to my study for a moment."
Martin's voice was still loud, but he had shed the cheerful mask he had been deliberately maintaining. "Let's talk about your future and my daughter's future."
Viktor calmly assessed the situation.
Martin's study was like a huge trophy room.
The mahogany walls were covered with deer heads, bear skins, and various hunting rifles, each polished to a shine, yet lifeless—Martin's fingers didn't even have calluses.
Victor couldn't help but think that these dead animals, like Martin's wealth, were merely proof of past glory.
Martin pointed to a leather sofa, then walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself two glasses of whiskey. “Let’s get straight to the point, Victor. I’ve done what you needed me to do; I’ve introduced you to the upper class.”
"Oh? Is that all?"
Victor raised an eyebrow, then burst into laughter: "Hahaha, Martin, I know what you mean, so I know you're using my name to get investment for you, but nobody's that stupid!"
Martin snorted and slammed his glass down on the table: "I didn't!"
He suddenly leaned forward, placing his hands on the armrests of Victor's chair. "Qianning Enterprises will not be swallowed up by anyone, nor will it collapse, especially not by some yellow-skinned kid who made his fortune through underground boxing!"
Victor remained unfazed, even taking a leisurely sip of his whiskey: "Good whiskey. At least 25 years old. Looks like you're not completely bankrupt yet."
Martin's face instantly turned ashen: "What do you mean?"
"It means you need people with enough real estate to help you out of trouble, and you need a company that's about to go public to prove your investment to Wall Street!"
Victor slowly rose, forcing Martin to take a step back. "I know your Ponzi scheme is about to collapse. Three major investments failed—the Las Vegas casino project, the Texas oil exploration, and that ridiculous biotech company. Without new funding, how are you going to pay back the early investors?"
Fine beads of sweat appeared on Martin's forehead, but he still tried to remain calm: "Nonsense! I have plenty of assets—"
"Fixed assets?"
Victor burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the study. "Your Long Island estate was mortgaged to the bank three years ago. The Park Avenue apartment? It was transferred last month. With that little cash on hand, you can't even pay your employees' salaries this month."
Victor pressed forward relentlessly, taking a step forward with each sentence, while Martin involuntarily retreated.