Chapter 34 — Foundations in Disguise
By early spring, the paperwork on Li Ming's desk wasn't just contracts anymore — it was deeds. Heavy, permanent, and smugly stamped in red.
Three More Pieces on the Board
Harbor District — a corner building with two floors and a view of the ferries, perfect for an Italian chain outlet. Li Ming bought it outright, paying 12% above market just to make sure no one else so much as breathed on it.
University Row — a narrow but tall structure facing the main gates. The lower two floors would become a Patriot Burger; the upper floors, staff apartments. The seller offered a five-year lease. Li Ming waved it away. "If I'm losing money," he said, "I want the receipts to have my name carved in stone."
Industrial Ring Road — a plot that most saw as an ugly rectangle of gravel beside a truck stop. Li Ming saw the perfect location for a satellite cold-storage facility and warehouse. His managers saw… a mystery.
The Cheese Delay
Just when the Italian kitchens were hitting their stride, their main cheese supplier claimed a customs holdup on imported starter cultures. The explanation was bland, but the timing coincided suspiciously with a national brand opening stores nearby.
Instead of yelling, Li Ming took the long road:
"Order a month's worth from the southern plant," he told procurement. "Pay the freight; double it if they fuss."
It was overkill for a short disruption — and he knew it — but overkill was the point.
Two Chains, One Spine
While Li Ming was focused on throwing money at problems, his logistics manager, Lin Qiang, was quietly running numbers. The second cold-storage hub, originally meant just for the Italian chain, had been handling Patriot Burger shipments for weeks. Shared trucks, shared routes, shared refrigeration.
The numbers told an inconvenient truth:
Italian chain's per-unit shipping cost: down 8%.
Patriot Burger's per-unit cost: down 6%.
Nobody dared put the report on Li Ming's desk. Instead, it sat in Lin Qiang's drawer like a secret everyone shared but the boss.
The Staff's Whisper
One night, after a long day at the riverside flagship, some managers lingered in the break room.
"With this setup," one said, "we could take both chains to the provincial border and beyond."
Another chuckled. "Boss thinks he's losing money. He's really building a fortress."
They laughed — but not at Li Ming. If anything, the joke was a kind of admiration. They were inside something big, and every new deed, every truck, every cold room was laying the groundwork.
Li Ming, oblivious, leaned back in his office, thinking only about the next property. His current ratio of ownership to rental was exactly where he wanted it: about 85% owned. To him, that meant more capital tied up, more money "wasted."
To everyone else, it meant the foundation of a group that would be nearly impossible to dislodge.