Liao Guilin returned alone to his luxurious apartment in the city center. It was nearly midnight.
He dragged his exhausted body to the study and called his son, Liao Ziqiang, in the United States.
The phone rang once before Liao Guilin remembered he shouldn't be making a video call. He quickly hung up, switched to a voice call, and dialed again.
A moment later, the call connected, and an eager voice with a slight, tinny reverb immediately came through the phone.
"Dad, is it settled?"
"No!"
Liao Guilin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed softly. "It's a bit complicated. That kid's connections are surprisingly solid, and even Mr. Hou isn't in a position to speak for us."
"We'll have to go and plead with him ourselves."
"And, we'll have to throw money at him."
Liao Ziqiang's voice came through the phone again. "Then throw money at him. In the end, it's just about money."
"Dad, it's not like we're short on money!"
