"How much is an exclusive diamond annual membership for Mission Hills?"
In the living room, Zhang Peng finally finished his work. His gaze drifted involuntarily toward Lin Chu's room. The presidential suite was well soundproofed, so he couldn't hear a thing—not that he had any intention of eavesdropping. Glancing at the card on the table, he casually looked it up.
He quickly found the answer.
2.6 million.
His sharp Adam's apple bobbed. Zhang Peng took a deep breath, lit a cigarette, and took a long, hard drag before exhaling a thick plume of smoke, his eyes wide with shock.
'What the hell?'
'2.6 million!'
'This one card is worth half the company! A Bentley! A third of a condo!'
Then he thought about what Lin Chu had said—that it was a gift from a friend. What kind of friend gives a gift like that?
He searched again: "Can a Mission Hills golf annual membership be transferred?"
He quickly found the answer to that, too.
