Back in his hotel suite, Pierre showered and changed before collapsing into the soft spring mattress.It was one of those indulgent hotel beds — the kind that seemed to swallow you whole.He let his mind go slack, his nerves relax, and fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
By the time he woke again, sunlight from the Caribbean had poured across the room in soft golden sheets.
He turned his head toward the window, caught sight of the sparkling sea, and allowed a faint smirk.
"All right then," he muttered."Let's see what today brings."
An hour later, at the hotel's open-air café, Pierre sat across from Envoy Dujun and another man — Song Chengjun — and said nothing.
He sipped his coffee in silence while the two waited.
Eventually, Song spoke.
"Mr. Pierre," he began, "the Americans are using their control of shipping lanes to force local merchants to sell sugar at unfavorable rates."
"If we give in," he continued,
"they'll tighten their grip on the market entirely. We need an alternative buyer."
He added, shifting to business:
"They're offering 15 cents per kilogram.
If you're willing to buy, I'll sell at 13."
Thirteen cents per kilo.Roughly 6 cents per pound.
At official U.S. market prices, that was nearly tenfold profit.Black market? Nearly twentyfold.
Pierre recalled something an old tycoon once said — the numbers didn't matter much now.Twentyfold was dynasty money. That was all he needed to know.
He stayed silent, sipping his coffee and studying Song.
"Zhi Yuan—"
Envoy Li began to speak, faltered, then fell quiet.He had no leverage here and knew it.
After a beat, he tried a softer tack:
"This isn't just about money. There's a larger stake at play."
Pierre raised an eyebrow, then smiled faintly.He didn't bother replying.
Then he looked directly at Song.
"Tell me, Mr. Song. If the Americans are paying 15… why offer me 13?"
"Because, Mr. Pierre," Song said without hesitation,"I don't intend to deal with them. I'd rather cut my losses with you than hand the advantage to outsiders."
He added flatly:
"If they take the lead today, they'll never let go."
Pierre leaned back in his chair, unimpressed.
"Business always comes with risk, Mr. Song. If you're prepared to take a loss for principle… that's your problem."
Song's tone hardened.
"We've worked our way up over the years. Built everything from the ground up. I won't let it collapse under foreign pressure."
Pierre's expression didn't change.Sentimentality wasn't part of his equation.
Song pressed on:
"I'll sell at 13 cents. Even 10 cents, if needed. Because this trade matters."
He stopped speaking and exhaled. Pierre gave nothing away.
What mattered to him wasn't legacy, or defiance, or nationalism. It was numbers. Percentages. Leverage.
The rest was noise.
He studied Song again.
A decent negotiator, maybe. But far too caught up in pride.
Pierre considered the potential slice of the U.S. market. He wouldn't dominate it — but even a fraction could generate obscene profits.
"Mr. Song," he said at last,
"why would I pay 13 cents a kilo…"
"I told you, Father! Men like him can't be trusted!"
A sharp voice cut through the table.
Pierre turned his head. A tall young woman was approaching, striding toward them with visible fury.
Her eyes locked onto him.
"Foreign profiteers are bad enough — but collaborators? Disgraceful."
Pierre blinked.
Tall. Striking. Somewhat familiar. Perhaps he'd seen her before in a news piece or ad campaign?
But more than her presence, it was the tone that amused him.
He raised his eyebrows.
"You think I'm here to be noble?" he said casually."No. I'm here because there's profit to be made."
She looked stunned.
"You—"
Pierre didn't flinch.
"Yes. Me. A businessman. Shocking, isn't it?"
She fell silent, momentarily speechless.
Song turned to her sharply."Bing'er. That's enough."
"But Father—"
"He's what?" Pierre cut in."Taking advantage of a crisis?"
He chuckled.
"Exactly. That's what businessmen do. If I wasn't, I'd be out of business."
Her glare sharpened, but Pierre didn't care.
He turned back to Song.
"And you?"
Song hesitated, then said in a low voice:"In business… we speak of profit."
"Exactly," Pierre said with a thin smile."But not all profits are equal."
He leaned forward.
"Some are worth taking. Others… not worth the complications."
Then, he set his cup down.
"Market price."
The girl blinked.
"What?"