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His gaze swept over the group of people whose expressions were shifting: "By joining TWC, your previous money can be laundered and invested in legitimate industries. Your people can get stable jobs. And I can guarantee that during the transition, no one will touch your profits. In fact, your previous 'channels' can even provide 'facilitation' for some of TWC's import and export businesses. This is your last chance. Either clean up your act and go ashore, or find another place..."
Victor didn't continue, he just stared at them coldly.
The old man's cloudy eyes were fixed on Viktor, as if trying to discern the truthfulness and resolve in his words.
The office was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, while the laughter downstairs seemed to come from another world. Finally, the old man slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, his wrinkles appearing to deepen: "...We need time to consider this, and we also need concrete solutions."
“Okay. We can discuss the details with Franky. But the principles I just stated are non-negotiable.”
Victor said firmly, "If we're going to take a shortcut, we have to cut corners."
When the last visitor left the office, it was already past midnight, and the noise downstairs had long since subsided.
Viktor seemed to have all his strength drained away, slumped in the chair, his face as pale as paper, his shirt soaked with cold sweat.
Every breath brings excruciating pain.
Frankie came in quietly and draped a blanket over him.
"It's over, Viktor. They've basically all agreed. The framework for TWC is set."
His tone carried a hint of excitement and relief.
Viktor didn't open his eyes, but said very softly, "The glory won't belong to me alone! It belongs to everyone!"
He was overwhelmed by both immense exhaustion and a sense of accomplishment.
He wove a vast network with his own pain, prestige, and future plans, initially integrating the intricate forces within Chicago's Chinese community—both the bright and the dark.
He knew this was just the beginning.
The challenges ahead will only be more numerous and complex.
The support of a legislator is not permanent; internal interests need to be balanced; and a watchful adversary will not stand idly by and watch him grow stronger.
But at this moment, he just wanted to stay a little longer in this silent pain.
He could almost hear a colossal ship, named "Skywind City" (TWC), with him at its core, slowly and irreversibly sounding its horn to signal its departure in the deep darkness of the night.
He himself was both the captain of this giant ship and the sacrifice nailed to the keel, bearing all the pressure and tension to ensure that it would not fall apart.
Victor instructed Frankie: "Take care of all those shady characters in two days! Settle all the Chinese accounts! Let the Chinese know that we really care about them!"
Chapter 102 Skywind City and the Audit Department
In Chicago's late autumn, the cold wind, carrying a chilling premonition, swept across the dilapidated streets of the South Side and the somewhat bustling atmosphere of Chinatown.
In early November 1985, an unusual restlessness permeated the air.
It all began with Victor Lee's insightful and ambitious eyes, and the seeds he sowed with great force.
The office of Congressman Ubelman was warm and cozy, a stark contrast to the bleakness outside the window.
On the heavy mahogany desk, a registration document for "Skywind City Group Co., Ltd." stands out prominently.
Congressman Ubelman gave Blair, who was sitting opposite him, a meaningful smile.
"Blair, Victor's ideas are always...full of energy."
The councilor's voice was smooth, with the characteristic shrewdness of a politician: "The Southern District needs vitality, it needs jobs, and I'm happy to see young people like you step forward and take responsibility. These procedures..."
He pointed to the document, "It's just clearing away some unnecessary bureaucratic obstacles, but it's worth it for the prosperity of the community."
Blair nodded slightly, his face displaying just the right amount of respect and gratitude, but deep in his eyes lay a calm lake, undisturbed and even annoyed by Ubelman's grandstanding.
He knew full well that the price behind this "fast track" was far more than just polite words. What Ubelman was after was the growing voting potential of the Chinese community and the potential "sponsorship" that might flow to the Victor Political Action Committee in the future.
But most importantly, Ubelman was completely overwhelmed by Viktor.
This is an unspoken deal, trading speed for future influence.
“Thank you very much for your support, Mr. Councilor. Skywind City will not let you down, and we will give the South District a completely new look.”
Blair's words were sincere—he was not Victor, and did not need to learn from Victor.
However, it cleverly places "Southern District" rather than "Ubelman" at the center, implying the sharing of achievements rather than one-sided dependence.
Ubelman was a lustful fool, but he wasn't deaf. He keenly sensed a possible hope in Blair's words and tried, "Blair, we're both white, aren't we?"
Blair's expression tightened, and he then gave up on currying favor with Ubelman—because Victor had witnessed Ubelman's terrible moments, so there was no way they could share wealth and power.
“Mr. Congressman, I work for Mr. Victor.”
Ubelman's face was grim, his anger palpable—Blair was telling him that he had long been labeled as Chinese.
In just two days, all the documents were ready, a speed that was astonishing.
However, this company, named "Skywind City Group," doesn't even have a proper headquarters at the moment.
It's like a soul without a body, desperately needing to find a physical form to attach itself to.
This task fell to the newly appointed CEO, Blair.
Blair stood in front of the University of Chicago’s magnificent Gothic buildings, tightening the collar of his trench coat.
Jimmy McGill and Frankie Lee were standing next to him.
Jimmy's eyes held a mixture of eager shrewdness and a hint of barely perceptible anxiety, while Franky remained as taciturn as ever, only subconsciously touching the heavy, unassuming canvas bag beside him.
"Knowledge is power, gentlemen."
Blair took a deep breath, as if to encourage himself or to declare to his companions, "And now, we're going to 'buy' this power."
His inner thoughts were complex: on the one hand, he was thrilled to be in charge of such a vast (at least in the blueprint) empire, and he was flattered by Victor's trust.
On the other hand, this almost entirely unprofitable start, along with the projects in the company's business portfolio that clearly had a shady background, made him feel like he was walking on thin ice.
He kept telling himself that this was a huge opportunity, a leap in social class, and he had to seize it.
As Blair walked into the academically vibrant campus and brushed past the energetic yet somewhat naive college students, he felt a strange sense of dislocation.
They are looking for top students in finance, accounting, law, and management, especially those who show strong ambition or are interested in getting rich quickly—only those with strong desires would choose a small company and work for a Chinese boss.
The interview was held in a small conference room next to the library.
Two stern-faced young Chinese men, one of Frankie's henchmen, stood guard outside the door like door gods. At their feet were neatly stacked cash bags, exuding a primal yet alluring scent.
A bespectacled economics master's graduate sat nervously across from Blair, explaining his macroeconomic theories.
Blair listened patiently, then leaned forward, his voice low but enticing: "A brilliant theory. But wouldn't you like to participate in a real, rapid economic experiment? Theory can tell you about the circulation of money, but here..."
He pointed to the canvas bag, "You can feel its warmth immediately. The starting annual salary is twice the market rate, plus performance bonuses. We are a new group with strong political backing and unlimited prospects, and you will become a founding member."
The students' eyes gradually shifted from confusion to shock, then to greed and struggle.
Finally, he swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly.
Jimmy McGill immediately handed over a thick contract, the language of which was rigorous and complex, but the high salary and stock option clauses were in bold.
In this way, one after another, the framework of human resources was quickly built up.
Cash became the most direct and effective catalyst, overcoming countless moral concerns and career plans.
Blair felt a little more at ease seeing the influx of new blood, but his sense of urgency intensified—he had to get the company up and running as soon as possible, and he had to give an account to Victor, Ubelman, and even to these young people who were there for the money.
Throughout November, Blair was like a spinning top, shuttling between various industries run by Chinese Americans in Chicago.
Victor's SHW company was the core foundation, which was quickly split up, reorganized, and injected with new funds (a large portion of which came from franchise fees), expanding into specific projects:
Restaurant RVs expanding across the US, farms being established, urban vegetable farms, cold chain fresh produce... these are legitimate businesses on the surface, adorned with labels of innovation, community service, and healthy living, making them look incredibly appealing.
Meanwhile, department store transportation, construction, and decoration projects have begun to quietly integrate the existing scattered resources in Chinatown, and have even touched on logistics and real estate in some peripheral areas.
As for the people in charge of entertainment (bars), entertainment gambling, entertainment sports activities, combat sports promotion, brokerage companies, Sky Security, etc., they are often Chinese gang leaders with fierce tattoos and rough voices.
Their meeting with Blair was filled with a different kind of tension.
Backstage at a smoky bar, Blair faces a gang elder nicknamed "Big Mouth Snake," who is in charge of "Skyline Security Maintenance Fees" and part of the gambling business.
"Mr. Blair,"
Big Mouth Snake puffed out smoke rings, his Chicago English thick with accent, "Victor values you, so we'll give you face. We'll make money. We'll protect our territory. But don't try to impose those company rules on us. We have our own way of doing things."
Blair felt a cold sweat trickle down his back—Big Mouth Snake had chosen a day when Franky wasn't there to show up, but he maintained a calm demeanor.
"Sir, I'm just an executor. What Victor means is that if you want a business to grow, you need rules. Security needs to be professional, like the military, not like street fights."
Gambling also needs procedures; it can't be done arbitrarily. This isn't a restriction, it's to protect everyone and for long-term profits.
He cleverly brought up Viktor, applying pressure while avoiding direct conflict.
Big Mouth Snake chuckled. "When Franky was a kid, fighting for territory on the streets, there weren't so many rules. Fine, since he's brought it up, we'll watch our behavior. But the score needs to be settled."
He gave Blair a meaningful look. "Our money, not a penny less, not a moment slower."
This kind of confrontation occurs in almost every project involving gang backgrounds during its establishment.
Blair was caught between a scholar and a ruthless bandit, leaving him exhausted.
During the day, he is dressed in a suit and tie, chatting with bankers, lawyers, and college students he recruits, outlining his grand vision for a business empire.
At night, he sometimes has to venture into the corners where the neon lights don't reach, to shake hands, negotiate, and compromise with those who control the dark side of the city.
His mind was constantly torn between idealistic business fantasies and harsh realities of profit. The only thing that sustained him was the power Victor had given him, the $350,000 after-tax income, and his vanity driven by an extreme desire for success.
Victor Lee, the source of all this, seemed to be completely detached from it all.
He rarely appeared at any specific business site, more like a chess player hidden behind the scenes.
However, he did not remain inactive.
While Blair was frantically building his business empire, Victor brought in Old Joe.
"Uncle, we need eyes, eyes that belong only to us."
In a quiet tea room, Victor said to old Joe, "Blair is doing a good job, but he's too busy, and... he associates with too many different kinds of people. When money goes out, you need to know how it went, where it went, and whether it went to places it shouldn't have."
He interviewed a Chinese accountant who had gone bankrupt due to poor management and was being ostracized by his peers.
This person looked dejected, but his professional skills remained. More importantly, he harbored resentment towards the existing system and desperately craved opportunities and recognition.
"You need to find someone to set up an audit team, starting work after June next year, to help me keep an eye on the entire group's finances,"
Victor's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority: "You report directly to Old Joe, and only to him. Your audit department, independent of all business departments, has the highest authority to view any accounts. Find loopholes, find waste, find... deception."
He didn't explicitly state his deepest concern: the misappropriation of funds or their flow into the pockets of some uncontrolled mob, but they both knew perfectly well that Blair and Jimmy were, after all, white people.