"More than all of them combined? Can I ask—just how much are we talking about?"
Faced with a rare opportunity, Zhu Yihai didn't dare fumble it. He was excited, of course—but he also understood that everything depended on one thing: volume. Could he find enough product, fast enough?
Pierre didn't hesitate.
"Twenty crates."
Zhu blinked. "Crates?"
Each crate held 250 cartons of cigarettes. Not packs—cartons.
He stared at Pierre, stunned. "That's... that's more than half of Chinatown's inventory."
Pierre didn't respond. He didn't need to. He wasn't here to impress anyone. He was here to buy, fast, and at scale. And if Zhu couldn't deliver, someone else would.
Zhu finally recovered. "I do know someone. Not Chinese—but reliable. During Prohibition, his family ran liquor. Now it's cigarettes. Half the Chinatown stock still goes through him."
Pierre nodded once. "Fine. But no games. We go to him after I liquidate what I brought. Cash first."
"Of course," Zhu said quickly. "Let's start with your watches."
"I brought top-tier pieces," Pierre said. "Longines. Patek. All clean."
Zhu's eyes flicked to the satchel. His grin returned. "Then we'll visit Corville. He's expensive—but fair."
—
They crossed out of Chinatown and into a quieter, wealthier block.
"This is Mr. Philip Corville," Zhu introduced. "Finest watch dealer this side of Manhattan."
Corville's shop gleamed with precision—glass cases, velvet lining, everything designed to display value without shouting it.
"Mr. Pierre," Corville said warmly. "A pleasure."
Pierre returned the greeting but cut the formality short. "Let's get to it."
He placed a Longines flyback chronograph on the table. 13ZN movement. Pre-war.
Corville's hands moved with reverence. "This is... exceptional."
He brought out his loupe, adjusted the light, examined it in silence. When he looked up, he was already calculating margins.
"Two hundred," he offered. "That's fair, given the market."
"Two-fifty," Pierre said flatly. "And I have five."
Corville paused for only a second. Then nodded. "Done."
Zhu blinked. Just like that—twelve-fifty in under a minute.
But Pierre wasn't done.
From his satchel, he drew out a slim, elegant piece: a Patek Philippe Ref. 96 Quantième Lune.
Corville visibly inhaled.
"Where—how did you get this?"
Pierre didn't answer.
He already knew the value—he'd read about one at auction. Fewer than ten known to exist. In Asia, one had sold for nearly fifty million HK dollars. He'd considered keeping it. A legacy, perhaps.
But legacies didn't buy inventory.
"How much?" he asked coolly.
Corville handled it as if it might vanish.
"1,800," he finally said. "That's top dollar. No one else will go higher."
"2,500," Pierre replied, unblinking.
A beat.
Then: "Done."
Pierre allowed himself a short exhale. A smirk flickered at the corner of his mouth.
"Well ... There goes the family heirloom."