The moment the contract dropped into the trash can, Regan Conner felt like he'd been slapped, his right cheek burning. Anger accumulated in his chest, but he forcibly swallowed it down.
Damn Luke Shaw! Damn ShowMe!
Emily haughtily glanced at him.
"The young master said that anyone who mentions acquisition will be kicked out. Since you were the first, I won't hold it against you."
"Does anyone else have a contract? Bring it out."
The managers exchanged puzzled looks, and for a moment, no one spoke. Business is typically about mutual exchange and polite discussion, but they had run into someone who refused to play by the rules and immediately threw down the gauntlet.
They realized the other party had no intention of negotiating on their terms. With this in mind, they turned their attention to the organizer of the meeting—Robert Downs.
Robert's head was spinning. The plan was originally for Luke to play the bad cop and him the good cop, working together to give the major banks a firm warning so they wouldn't underestimate ShowMe's strength.
Instead, a purple-haired beauty had shown up and completely bewildered everyone with her aggressive posture. However, judging by the result, things seemed to be going well.
Robert cleared his throat. "What are the boss's requirements?"
"A ceiling of 20% shares and a floor of 30 million US dollars in funding. If you can't meet that, there's no need to talk."
Brent Quincy, the manager of Wells Fargo Bank, frowned. "Miss, the numbers you are quoting are far too excessive. According to the latest market research reports, your company's valuation is less than eighty million US dollars. If we agree to your terms, we would essentially be paying double the commission."
"Double is already cheap. The young master is aiming for five times."
"Such arrogance!"
Regan Conner, twitching his neat mustache, said coldly, "A company that hasn't earned a single cent wants a valuation of four hundred million? What a joke."
Emily said expressionlessly,
"I will relay that comment to the boss."
"Suit yourself!"
Regan Conner smirked dismissively. A seventeen-year-old kid was not worth paying attention to.
The only woman present, Wendy Bronwen, Financial Director of Queen Investment, spoke gently.
"May I know your name?"
Emily turned around. Seeing a white-haired, elegant lady speaking, she quickly replied,
"Hello, my name is Emily Song."
"Hello, Emily. I am Wendy Bronwen, Financial Director of Queen Investment. You may call me Mrs. Bronwen. I have a question: When does your company plan to start being profitable? What are the specific measures? Do you have a contingency plan?"
"I apologize, Madam. I am not privy to those details. The young master only told me that he won't consider profitability until the total user count reaches twenty million."
Twenty million!
Hearing that number, everyone was shaken.
Mrs. Bronwen smiled.
"The total population of the fifty states in the US is only two hundred and fifty million. That means to meet that standard, one out of every ten Americans would have to be a ShowMe user..." She paused deliberately.
"I'm not doubting your company's ability, but the number you mentioned is simply shocking. Even if you manage to achieve it, how long will it take? Five years? Or ten? Investing is about returns, and we can't wait ten years."
This question was sharp and hit the nail on the head. The reason ShowMe, with millions of users, was only valued at eighty million was its lack of profit.
No matter how excellent, promising, or future-oriented a company is, if it can't make a profit, it's all meaningless.
Emily chuckled lightly.
"The timeframe the Madam mentioned is too long. It won't take five years, nor ten. It will only take five months for ShowMe's user base to reach twenty million."
Five months?
Everyone shook their heads, completely disbelieving her.
Emily continued, "This is what the young master told me. You don't know the young master's capabilities. He is most adept at creating miracles. Look at ShowMe: not long ago, it was a newly registered small company. Now, it's an industry leader with eight million users. It took two months to go from zero to eight million. How long will it take to go from eight to twenty million?"
Silence fell over the conference room once again.
Everyone was deep in thought. Wendy Bronwen's eyes showed a look of approval.
Neither servile nor overbearing, composed and steady. This girl is very impressive.
Luke's Calculation and a Newcomer
In the brilliantly lit main hall, Luke leaned back on a sofa, drinking wine and enjoying a Broadway song and dance performance.
Charlie rushed over frantically, his voice urgent.
"It's bad, boss! Something's happened."
"What is it?"
Charlie glanced around and whispered,
"The bank just called. Eleven thousand dollars is missing from the account."
"Oh, that's what this is about." Luke pushed him aside. "Don't bother looking for it. I spent the money."
"But that's eleven thousand dollars! How did you spend it?"
"I bought a dress, a pair of bracelets, a pair of high-heeled boots, a pendant, and a pair of earrings. That's how it's gone."
Charlie realized what he meant and hesitated.
"The purple-haired girl."
"Exactly, her." Luke raised his eyebrows proudly. "What do you think? Pretty, right?"
Charlie's face was strained. "Is this really the time to be focused on chasing women? Even if you are, you shouldn't be pursuing her! Have you forgotten? She's FBI, an agent under Roger Consius."
"Of course I know she's FBI. I also know she's here tonight specifically to get close to me."
"Then why are you still..."
Luke sighed, frustrated.
"Charlie, you're only twenty-four. Why are you acting like a fussy old woman? Whether she's a spy or not is irrelevant. The key is her inherent value."
Charlie grew more confused.
"What value? She's just a twenty-year-old girl. Besides being pretty, what value could she possibly have?"
Luke instantly lost interest in the conversation. Charlie was good in every way—loyal, reliable, never fought back, never complained, hardworking, and never grumbled—but his only issue was his intelligence. He was missing a screw somewhere; nothing could fix it.
"Alright, alright, stop bothering me here. Go upstairs and check on the meeting. Bring the person down after it's over."
"Okay!"
Charlie answered and left.
As soon as he left, the dance performance ended. Bored, Luke stretched out on the sofa, lying flat, contemplating ShowMe's future development.
The first phase goal had been achieved; next was all-around expansion.
The video and picture sections had a lot of potential. The 'Black Coffin Dance' concept should also be put on the agenda. Of course, the most important thing was the superheroes. Superheroes meant hype. To develop rapidly, he needed their endorsement.
Just as he was thinking, a scent of fresh perfume wafted over his nose.
"Luke Shaw?"
Luke stared blankly at the sudden appearance of a young woman. She looked about seventeen or eighteen, blonde and blue-eyed, with a great figure—especially her substantial chest, which looked heavy and clearly a rare specimen.
"You are..."
"I'm Ivanka Trump. Donald Trump is my father."
"Oh!!!! I see."
Luke suddenly understood. He looked her up and down and complimented her.
"You are truly beautiful, like a world-class supermodel."
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