Charles Sutton left the window and said lazily, “Just ants, why take it seriously? Anyone could crush him with a single move—how could he possibly stir up any real trouble?”

Charles Sutton’s words were clearly alluding to something, and Hagen nodded in agreement. Mark Shaw thought this was Charles Sutton showing off his influence, and with such a friend to protect him, he naturally felt at ease. “That’s good, then. I’ve decided—tomorrow I’ll perform at your bar—‘Chinese American on Stage’—what do you think of that as a gimmick?”

With a “ding,” the elevator doors chimed. The sound broke the silence on the terrace. Charles Sutton pointed at the elevator entrance: “Whoever’s coming up at this hour must be Manager Quinn. You can discuss the details with him.”

Yvonne Quinn walked in, looking uncertain and wary. He glanced around, then smoothed his hair and sat carefully at the table, his gaze landing on the plate of blue crayfish. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Hagen…”

“I know,” Hagen interrupted Yvonne Quinn appreciatively. “It was just a joke. I haven’t lost my sense of humor.”

Yvonne Quinn gave a slightly bitter smile. “A joke, that’s great! But it really was an expensive joke… For these crayfish, we used up clay we’d been saving for years…”

Charles Sutton cut in, interrupting Yvonne Quinn’s complaints. “Nothing going on at the bar, right? Oh, by the way, Little Mark said he wants to perform on stage at the bar. Please arrange it.”

Chapter 6 The Boss Has Run Away (2)

Yvonne Quinn nodded weakly. “Sure, but I’m afraid I can’t afford to pay his salary.”

At this point, Hagen interjected, “I’ve heard that here, joint ventures can get tax breaks, and a lot of trouble can be avoided… Manager Quinn, you know what I mean. Do you have any need for a joint venture?”

“Yes, when it comes to opening a company, the more investment the better,” Yvonne Quinn replied lazily. “But for our bar, the profits aren’t in the restaurant or the bar itself. Our profits are in the wine cellar. Bottling wine is our biggest business. The bar is just to get the tobacco and alcohol retail license… I don’t think anyone would be interested in investing in that.”

“A wine cellar, that’s great. I know a lot of small-time tycoons in Southeast Asia. It’s too hot there for wine storage. If there were a wine cellar nearby…”

Hagen’s meaning was clear, and Yvonne Quinn immediately straightened up, energized. “How much are they planning to invest?”

“Not them—me,” Hagen swirled his wine glass. “I have a bit of spare cash and some sales channels. If you want to expand the wine cellar and increase your collection, tell me how much you need. Please give me a detailed list.”

“Thank you, I’ll get it for you right away.” Yvonne Quinn instantly became enthusiastic, first raising his glass to Hagen in a formal toast, then hurrying off to prepare the documents.

“I didn’t know you had spare cash,” Mark Shaw said, feeling proud that his new friend was helping his old one. “But cellaring is different from big investments. Sometimes you don’t see returns for years—it all just goes into the cellar. Hagen, can you handle that?”

Hagen didn’t answer. He downed his wine in one gulp and gently set the glass on the table. “I’m going out for a walk… No need to come with me. I just want to wander alone.”

Charles Sutton seemed to understand his meaning. “This city is huge. You don’t speak the language—you’ll get lost.”

“Just follow the scent of blood,” Hagen said cryptically, and, swaying his burly frame, walked into the elevator.

“Where did the guest go?” Not long after, Yvonne Quinn rushed in with a file in hand. Seeing only Charles Sutton and Mark Shaw drinking on the terrace, he immediately complained, “Look at you—that’s our future shareholder! How could you be so casual and let him go out alone?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Charles Sutton said, reeking of alcohol. “Got some personal business to handle. That damned foreigner is coming with me. I think he just went sightseeing.”

When Hagen returned, it was already late at night. Mark Shaw was dead drunk, but Charles Sutton was still as clear-headed as a cat, curled up on the sparkling terrace with bright eyes. “Is it done?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Hagen rubbed his hands together and licked his blood-red lips. “I think you can rest easy now.”

Charles Sutton didn’t ask for details, only showed concern: “No one noticed, right?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve handled big scenes before—something this small is nothing to me.”

The next day, as Yvonne Quinn was packing, he couldn’t help but worry. “Going out during the day—can your eyes handle it? You’re not suited for travel. Can’t you have someone else take care of things?”

After returning to China, Charles Sutton rarely went out during the day. Even indoors, he wore black sunglasses. His explanation was: in a plane crash, his retinas were badly injured. Although he’d had surgery, in strong sunlight he couldn’t see clearly. People saw Charles Sutton’s tearful eyes in the wind and accepted this explanation.

From then on, Charles Sutton was rarely seen in sunlight. But this time, he was going on a long trip, and leaving in such a hurry made Yvonne Quinn even more anxious.

“I’ll accompany him,” Hagen volunteered to help Charles Sutton. “Our plane will land in Mumbai at night. I’ll make sure Mr. Sutton gets to the hotel. By the way, about the joint venture, please mail the documents to this address. My lawyer will sign the agreement with you.”