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Jimmy interjected, pushing a folder over, "This is SHW's operational data for the past three months."
Blair opened the file, and his professional instincts immediately put him into focus.
His eyes scanned the numbers quickly, sometimes frowning, sometimes nodding.
Victor and Jimmy exchanged a glance and waited quietly.
"Sixty mobile food trucks... a monopoly around the University of Chicago... stable monthly cash flow... turns out to be street food vendors!"
Blair muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously tapping the table, "Have you considered a franchise model?"
Victor smiled: "That's exactly why we need you."
Blair looked up, a long-dormant light rekindling in his eyes: "You know, rebuilding a brand takes time and is risky."
"We have plenty of patience,"
"And I believe that sometimes the greatest comeback is not about going head-to-head with your opponent when they are at their strongest, but about finding the way they hate to win," Victor said.
This statement made Blair seem thoughtful.
He looked down at the document again, this time taking even longer.
The restaurant lights cast shifting shadows on his face, as if he were engaged in a fierce internal struggle.
Finally, Blair closed the folder, took a deep breath, and said, "I need to visit your operations in person, meet with the management team, and then I can make a decision."
Victor extended his hand: "My car will pick you up from the hotel at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Jimmy can spend the whole day touring the various operations in Chicago."
When their hands clasped again, Victor felt that Blair's grip was much firmer than when they first met.
He knew that this disillusioned Wall Street elite had regained some of his fighting spirit.
As they left the restaurant, Jimmy couldn't help but ask, "Do you think he'll say yes?"
"It's like boxing, Jimmy. When you give someone a chance to get back on their feet, very few people will refuse."
Victor gazed at the brightly lit Atlantic City skyline, a smile playing on his lips. "And what can he do? He just threw all his stuff out of his house in New York because someone else was moving in."
"Nowhere to go?"
Jimmy laughed: "Victor, you're so cunning!"
Chapter 83 The Godmother Chili Black Bean Sauce!
Blair Parfa stared at the gold-edged employment contract in his hand. The Chicago afternoon sun shone through the shabby blinds on the second floor of Snowy Windy City Catering Services (SHW), making the numbers on the paper gleam—an annual salary of $20,000, plus 2% of the company's annual profits.
This salary is already quite high, not comparable to Wall Street in New York, but it belongs to the top 5% of elites. This salary could even allow Blair to own a house immediately, and with the lowest interest rates.
For a young person who has just graduated from business school, these conditions seem too good to be true; for an unfortunate person who harbors ideals but was rejected on the first day of the interview because he stained the big boss's clothes, it is even more of a dream.
"Mr. Paffa, Jimmy will be here in five minutes."
An Asian female secretary gently reminded Blair, interrupting his thoughts.
Blair nodded, placed the contract on the conference table, and looked around the office in the South Wing.
Maps hung on the wall, one showing ninety communities, the other a map of the entire United States, and a faint sandalwood scent wafted from the incense burner.
This mix of Eastern and Western styles both intrigued and confused him.
The door made almost no sound when it was pushed open.
Jimmy walked in wearing a well-tailored dark gray suit, followed by a burly Asian man. Blair recognized him as Old Joe, a well-known figure in Chicago's South Side—because his sons, apart from his good-for-nothing eldest son, were all doing quite well.
"Welcome to SHW, Blair."
Old Joe's handshake was firm and strong, his voice deep and resonant, as if emanating from the depths of his chest, "I suppose Jimmy has already given you a tour of headquarters?"
"Yes, Mister Lee."
Blair cautiously replied, "But I still have some questions..."
Old Joe interrupted him with a smile: "Just call me Joe. We can talk about the issues while we eat; I've booked the private room next door."
During lunch, Blair learned more about SHW.
On the surface, this company operates from a mobile catering van, directly providing fast food to consumers, and has already built a flat, two-phase management network.
In reality, with raw materials still in other people's hands, suppliers not being screened, and personnel being highly skilled, many vehicles have been targeted for robbery.
What this company needs to do is a new reform: from Chinatown to the city center, nearly 70% of the area needs SHW coverage.
"Our advantage lies in resource integration,"
Old Joe skillfully picked up a piece of Kung Pao Chicken with his chopsticks. "We can quickly get the food to the customer's mouth, and it's hot. Compared to hamburger fast food, we can provide relatively hot food. Many customers have told us that hot food is actually better than cold food, and a bowl of rice with toppings can be eaten quickly with a spoon."
Jimmy added, "We even help them with 'neighborhood relations'."
He blinked as he said this, and Blair felt a chill run down his spine.
Back in his office, Blair finally saw the complete shareholding documents.
Victor owns 70% of the shares, Joe owns 5%, Michael and Ethan—Bryer knows who these two are—together own 5%, Jimmy's people own 3%, 2% is the executive bonus pool, and the remaining 15% is scattered among more than a dozen Chinese community groups in Chicago.
"This structure..."
Blair frowned. "Very unconventional. Outside investors will be deterred."
Old Joe leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers interlaced on his stomach: "Victor said that SHW doesn't need Wall Street's money and won't go public. What we need are professionals like you to help us replicate the Chicago model in other cities."
He leaned forward, “New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco… there are bigger Chinese food markets there than in Chicago.”
Blair felt a mixture of excitement and unease.
The opportunity was greater than he had imagined, but also more complicated.
He noticed that Old Joe was referring to the Chinese food market, not the Chinese community, a subtle difference that made him think.
"I have a question,"
Blair mustered his courage, "That 15% community share...how exactly does it work?"
Jimmy and Old Joe exchanged a glance, then smiled: "On the second Sunday of every month, there's a SHW shareholders' meeting in the conference room at the Chinatown Community Center. The seniors bring their ledgers and abacuses, and we provide refreshments and translation. They oversee whether we treat each restaurant fairly, and we ensure their pensions receive a stable return."
He paused for a moment, then said, "It's a... mutually beneficial relationship."
Blair suddenly understood why SHW had been able to almost monopolize the right to eat Chinese food in Chicago for non-Chinese people in just a few months.
This is not an ordinary business strategy, but a carefully woven symbiotic network that tightly intertwines business interests with community ties.
On August 12, 1985, Blair arrived in Atlantic City with a detailed expansion plan and met with Victor again.
He studied the Chinese restaurant market in New York over the past two weeks and found it to be more fragmented and competitive than in Chicago.
“This structure won’t work in New York,”
Blair bluntly stated, "The gangs there... I mean, the community organizations, are more fragmented and hostile to each other. We can't replicate Chicago's integrated model."
Victor seemed to have anticipated this: "So we started from the periphery. There are a few fusion restaurants run by Chinese on the edge of Little Italy in Brooklyn. They are neither fully accepted by Italians nor recognized by Chinatown."
He pulled out a map with several locations circled in red. "Start from here and build a small network. There's no need to swallow up the entire Chinese food market in New York all at once."
Blair was surprised by Victor's detailed knowledge of New York, and even more surprised by his choice of targets—restaurants caught in the cultural cracks that were exactly in need of SHW's "protective umbrella."
"I'll go and investigate first,"
Blair offered several suggestions: "We need enough suppliers. We either need our own farms or factories that can produce basic processing. Do you have any ideas about buying a food processing plant?"
Victor was stunned: "We only have a monthly income of $60,000, how can we buy a food processing plant? That would require millions of dollars!"
Blair nodded: "It does require several million dollars, but we don't need to go alone. We can buy it after the other party devalues it. Small food processing plants don't need millions of dollars either."
Victor nodded: "Then you do it."
Blair said, "But I need more operational guidelines on... well... the non-commercial part."
Victor smiled and pushed an envelope toward you: "Jimmy will contact you. He's in charge of our 'Special Relations' department."
Just as Blair was about to leave, Michael rushed in and whispered a few words in his ear.
Victor's expression turned playful: "Blair, perhaps you should meet this woman. She might be helpful to our plans in New York."
A few minutes later, a blonde, blue-eyed young woman was led into the office.
She was wearing a slightly worn but neat beige trench coat, and was holding a notebook and a recorder.
“Mr. Victor Lee, this is Alice Moretti from The Brooklyn Eagle.”
Her voice was more resolute than her appearance suggested: "We'd like to do a feature on your fight against Razor Rudock."
Blair noticed a glint of light in Victor's eyes.
But he didn't know that Victor was thinking about the strength of Alice's firefighting team last time; the blonde woman with the best taste was very memorable.
For the next half hour, Victor displayed a completely different charm than during business negotiations, talking about boxing philosophy, training anecdotes, and even inviting Alice to dinner so they could 'have a deeper conversation'.
However, Viktor's coach Frankie ruined things—because a major battle was imminent.
After Alice left, Victor immediately picked up the phone and dialed Jimmy's number: "Check the Brooklyn Eagle's finances...yes, that old newspaper...no, I don't mean to place an ad."
After hanging up the phone, Victor turned to Blair: "Do you know why Chinese restaurants never get featured in the food columns of mainstream media?"
Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Because we don't have our own voice. If the Brooklyn Eagle is really in trouble as I suspect..."
Blair suddenly realized.
This isn't just about food or boxing; Victor is playing a much bigger game.
He recalled what his business school professor had said: true power lies not in how much money you have, but in how many nodes you control in the flow of information.
That evening, Blair received a call from Jimmy in his hotel room.
The voice on the other end of the phone was visibly excited: "Guess what? The parent company of the Brooklyn Eagle is drowning in debt to the banks, and they're secretly looking for a buyer. Victor's idea might actually work."
Blair looked out the window at the Chicago night view, where countless lights twinkled like stars.
He suddenly understood the true meaning of the three letters SHW—Snow Honey Wind was just the surface meaning, and the deeper meaning was perhaps only known to Viktor and his inner circle.
But he must be responsible for Viktor:
"It's impossible for us to simultaneously expand and buy newspapers; that's completely unrealistic."
Victor was holding a jar of condiment sauce. There was no other name on it, only a thick, deep red soybean paste inside—Lao Gan Ma hadn't been released yet, but the condiment sauce had always been there.
"Then let's buy the food processing plant first, then produce this one type of food, and then open up sales channels."