Chapter 334 - 216: Struck It Rich
Martin froze for half a second, clearly not expecting the topic to shift so suddenly.
He adjusted his collar with a touch of reserve and cleared his throat. "I did spend a few years in Manhattan back in the day. Greenhill, a boutique investment bank specializing in M&A. You’ve probably heard of it."
When Don Quixote heard this, a playful smirk touched his lips.
"Greenhill... yes, a fine firm. Small and exquisite," he said, swirling the wine in his glass nonchalantly, as if he were just discussing the weather with Martin. "My luck wasn’t as good as yours, though. I didn’t get to enjoy life at a boutique bank like that. I was stuck grinding it out at JPMorgan Chase for years. Didn’t even make Executive Director until I was around thirty."
Martin’s smile froze on his face.
In the world of finance, JPMorgan Chase might as well be God. When it came to prestige in investment banking, only a handful of firms, like Goldman Sachs, could even compare.
In the face of JPMorgan Chase, a "boutique investment bank" was separated not just by the scale of its assets, but by an absolute chasm in the power hierarchy.
Don Quixote turned to Jin Heon. "Xiaojin, what do the numbers look like now?"
Jin Heon’s expression sharpened. She opened her laptop and her fingers flew across the keyboard.
"Mr. Martin, please take a look at the real-time monitoring," she said with a sweet smile. "In the three minutes since Li Wei’s touchdown, sales of his number 1 blue jersey have nearly matched the total jersey sales for the entire Buccaneers team!"
"So, take this contract—or letter of intent, whatever it is—back," Don Quixote said, crossing his legs. "I want a two-year deal at 15 million USD per year. Or, a one-year deal for 18 million."
Martin stared at the document on the table and suddenly understood how Don Quixote had guessed he’d worked on Wall Street before.
Pushing a document two-thirds of the way across the table—it was an unwritten rule, a technique drilled into nearly everyone who’d ever worked at a Wall Street investment bank.
It was known in the business as the "reaching distance." The goal was to make the other party have to lean forward slightly to retrieve the contract, a psychological ploy that signals both eagerness and submissiveness.
But now he was in a real bind.
"That’s impossible," he said, looking up at the unflinching Don Quixote. "That price is far too high."
"I’m not haggling with you, kid," Don Quixote said, rising to his feet. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the sixty thousand roaring spectators below.
"This is Li Wei’s market price right now. Either you draw up a new draft with that number and sign it."
He shrugged and downed the rest of his wine. "Or, we can end this pleasant meeting right now."
"You can wait until the season’s over. Wait until Li Wei makes the playoffs, plays in the Super Bowl, and we hit the off-season. You can try to schedule a meeting with us then."
Jin Heon glanced at Martin, who was on the verge of sweating, then at Don Quixote, who looked as relaxed as if he were on a leisurely stroll.
"We’re about to win this game," Don Quixote said, gesturing out the window. "We’re about to make the playoffs. Do you really think that once he’s in the playoffs, once he’s on his way to the Super Bowl, his price will still be that of a rookie Quarterback?"
Don Quixote now had complete control of the negotiation.
Martin knew Don Quixote had him by the balls, but there was nothing he could do.
He had chosen this specific time to approach them precisely because he wanted to sign Li Wei just as his career was taking off, getting the jump on other major brands that were still waiting and watching.
Right now, Li Wei was like a super-growth stock still on the rise. Fifteen million was an absurdly high price, but if Li Wei actually set foot on the turf of the Super Bowl and became a national, or even global, icon, then people would be fighting to sign him for double that amount.
Another earth-shattering roar erupted from outside the suite.
The halftime whistle blew, and Joe Buck’s voice boomed through the VIP suite.
"If you went to the bathroom before halftime, you might have just missed the craziest thirty minutes of the season," he yelled. "Is this an NFL game? Or an NFL team absolutely demolishing a high school squad?"
"Twelve for fifteen, 235 passing yards, two long-pass touchdowns, one 40-yard rushing touchdown, zero interceptions, and zero sacks," Troy chimed in. "Frankly, I think Li Wei is sending a message to the Buccaneers’ defense: You’re too slow, and you’re too weak."
"That’s Li Wei for you," Joe Buck concluded. "He didn’t come here to play a game; he came here to take over a city. The King of New York is now in Florida, surveying his new territory!"
...
Inside the suite, Martin listened to the commentary and glanced out the window at the figure in the dark blue number 1 jersey heading for the players’ tunnel.
He gritted his teeth and shot to his feet.
Under Don Quixote’s amused gaze, he strode forward and snatched up the contract he had previously pushed away.
"Two years, 15 million USD per year," he scrawled in the blank space on the draft, a number large enough to make Jin Heon faint. He then signed his name. "Fully guaranteed. Mr. Don Quixote Cervantes, you truly are an old bastard. A true veteran of Wall Street."
"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Martin," Don Quixote said, finally rising to shake Martin’s hand politely. "I believe you’ll be proud of your decisiveness today."
Martin’s expression was grim. Without another word, he and his two assistants left the suite. They needed to contact their legal department immediately to draw up the official 30 million USD contract.
The heavy, solid wood door slammed shut with a THUD behind Martin and his entourage. The VIP suite fell silent again, leaving only the muffled roar of the stadium from beyond the bulletproof glass.
"Excuse me, Mr. Don Quixote," Jin Heon said, springing up from the sofa. "I need to use the restroom."
Before Don Quixote could even nod, she had already clicked away on her high heels, vanishing like a gust of wind into the suite’s luxurious private bathroom and locking the door firmly behind her with a CLICK.
The spacious bathroom was tiled with expensive Italian marble, and the air was filled with the scent of a high-end, woody fragrance.
After quickly using the toilet, Jin Heon went to the sink. She washed her hands, staring intently at her reflection in the mirror.
The girl in the mirror wore exquisite makeup, her natural features rivaling those of any idol debuting in South Korea. Though she had maintained a mature, capable, and cool facade during the negotiation, her mind was now a complete blank.
’Fifteen million USD... for two years... that means this is a 30 million USD deal...’
’She stared at the mirror, her lips trembling as she did the math. ’I was the one who initiated this deal... According to the contract, I get 1% of the annual value... that’s 150,000 USD!!!’
"’One hundred and fifty thousand USD!!! Jackpot!!!’ she whispered, covering her mouth."
To make sure she wasn’t dreaming, or that she hadn’t just fallen asleep on that comfortable leather sofa outside, Jin Heon reached down and gave her side a hard pinch.
"Ouch—Aigoo!"
The pain was immediately followed by a wave of ecstasy that shot straight to the top of her head. ’It’s real! I’m not dreaming!’
’Good lord. She, Jin Heon, had lived for almost twenty-two years. She’d fought tooth and nail to claw her way out of a Korean enclave, relying on scholarships to get into New York University. She’d scrimped and saved over every thousand or two USD, even brewing her own coffee to save money. In her entire life, she had never even dreamed of seeing this much money!’
’I’m rich... This time I’ve really latched onto a golden goose...’ Jin Heon thought, looking at her reflection. She couldn’t help but let out a "pfft" of laughter, clutching her side as she giggled foolishly.
She quickly sent her mother a message:
[Heon]: Mom, I made some money today! I’ll come home to see you after I get paid. How about we get some Korean barbecue?
The faint sound of the second-half kickoff came from outside. Jin Heon immediately put her phone away, fixed her makeup, and then pushed the door open and walked out.
The second half ended just as predictably.
[You led your Knight Order and encountered a band of pirates by the sea. In the face of these vicious marauders, your heroic valor has left a permanent and deep impression upon them. They will now never have the chance to burn, kill, and plunder again.]
[You have upheld the Knightly Virtue: ’Valor’.]
[You have obtained 0.1 Attribute Points.]
Li Wei looked at the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, whom he had driven to despair, and accepted the system’s praise as usual.
As Li Wei walked toward the players’ tunnel, enjoying the cheers from all sides—which even included some from the home team’s fans—he looked at the [Chattering Court Jester’s Skull] that had popped up.
The rubies in the eye sockets of this talkative Gold skull were flashing rapidly, its jaw clacking open and shut with frantic speed. For once, it wasn’t spewing its usual acrid venom. Instead, it seemed to be suffering from some kind of cognitive dissonance.
[’By the gods! This is completely illogical! You’re a half-baked Knight who can’t even perform a simple sword flourish, so why has your power become even more terrifying?’]
A waterfall of text boxes cascaded across Li Wei’s vision:
[’No need for ascetic training, no need for meditation, not even a journey to the abyss for Magic Potions! Just by beating those southern barbarians to a pulp on this patch of grass, your soul and body are expanding at an incredible rate! Could you be the mortal agent of the God of War? Impossible! Not even the greatest Sword Master in the Royal City can defy this insurmountable law!’]
’I’ve got a cheat system, you idiot.’ Li Wei couldn’t be bothered to argue with the skull. He headed back to the locker room to take a shower.
’I’ve saved up another full attribute point. I can find some time to level up.’
After showering and changing into a well-tailored, dark casual suit, Li Wei pushed open the door to the VIP suite.
"Boss!" Jin Heon chirped, bouncing around like an excited sparrow. "You were absolutely awesome out there!"
Don Quixote held up the freshly signed draft, unable to contain his grin. "Take a look, my superstar. A two-year, 15 million USD per year global endorsement, fully guaranteed. This is Xiaojin’s first masterpiece, and it’s the price you deserve right now."
"A watch deal," Li Wei said, taking the contract. "Is it exclusive?"
"If it were exclusive, it wouldn’t be this price," Don Quixote boomed with laughter. "I’m still in talks with Rolex, you know."
Jin Heon looked at Don Quixote with a twinge of envy.
’A Rolex deal... the endorsement fee for that would be astronomical.’
"Nice work," Li Wei said, glancing over the numbers and terms. "Today’s a good day to celebrate."
He turned to Chen Haisheng and Jin Heon and clapped his hands. "Alright, let’s pack it up. We’re not eating in Tampa tonight. We’re flying straight to Miami for a seafood feast. My treat!"
A cheer erupted from Jin Heon, and even Chen Haisheng cracked a smile.
However, just as everyone finished packing and Don Quixote placed his hand on the doorknob to leave, the door was pushed open from the outside.
Several burly bodyguards wearing tactical earpieces entered first, followed by a middle-aged man in a dark polo shirt who strode into the room.
It was the man from the big screen, the one who’d been eating a hot dog—the Governor of Florida, Ronald DeSantis.