Merchant In the Sea Chapter 8

David Ringo: "Anytime is fine, but I have one condition."

"No problem, I agree to any conditions. Of course, it would be even better if you could have more goods." Charles.

David Ringo: "The goods are shipped from my factory. You can come and inspect them in person. The contract fee is $500."

Charles: "Wow, you're such an A**h0le. I have no problem with this, but will your family agree to such a low price?"

David Ringo: "Don't worry about this. After this order is completed, I will give you an extra point and pay you two points of net profit."

Charles' eyes sparkled: "Really? Did I hear it right?"

A yin-yang contract, and then the two of them divide the spoils. This routine is naturally very familiar.

But usually, he can only get one percent net profit.

"That's not like you, my friend. What's wrong with the goods?"

David Ringo: "The goods are absolutely fine. If you are not satisfied, you can just turn around and leave. Two days later, you can pick up the goods on the high seas. Remember to bring cash."

"Okay, it's a deal."

Charles drafted a contract, and David Ringo made some minor modifications, moving the signing date forward to a week in advance.

"Remember, bring cash when you pick up the goods, otherwise I won't give you a single rubber band."

Charles: "Of course, but I need two days. After all, $100,000 is not a small amount of money."

"It's settled." David Ringo stood up and stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. "Excuse me, this tastes terrible. Don't treat me with this kind of rubbish next time."

Charles switched back to Chinese: "This is a golden Havana, junk?"

David Ringo smiled, turned around and walked out.

Just 100,000 US dollars, and that was it.

Deep down, I still feel a little regretful.

Such a large rubber factory, which started so early, was handed over just like that.

If he is given a few more years, he can use this as a springboard to get involved in petrochemicals.

The levels are all different.

Oil is the blood of modern industry.

Petrochemical industry is the most important pillar industry of a country, even more important than steel, and it represents the level of modernization and technology.

Not to mention fossil fuels.

Let’s talk about its downstream products.

The three major modern synthetic materials, synthetic plastics, synthetic fibers, and synthetic rubber, are all derived from crude oil.

Internationally, one of the most important indicators for measuring a country's technological level is its ethylene production.

The importance of rubber needs no further explanation.

Without synthetic rubber, the necessary insulators would be lacking and even the power grid could not be rolled out.

Both economic development and post-war reconstruction are inseparable from the support of a large amount of rubber.

It is also one of the commonly used sanctions in the game between major powers.

During wartime, importing rubber was tantamount to fighting for oil.

As the world's largest exporter of recycled rubber, this factory is indeed a pity.

In the next few years, we will make a lot of money.

But is there a problem?

Strictly speaking, there is no big problem.

At worst, we can just build a new one.

Two days later, at dawn.

On a deserted island somewhere in the South China Sea, a thousand-ton cargo ship painted with the mark of BSL Circum-India Shipping Company, loaded with 12 red 40-foot high-cube containers, slowly sailed out, going farther and farther in the golden waves until no trace of it could be seen anymore.

A black speedboat was floating on the sea.

David Ringo flicked his finger, and the cigarette B*tt left a trail of sparks in the dark night.

"Let's go, sail."

Henry Yang's heart was pounding.

The motor cable was pulled hard, the hull vibrated, the engine roared, and a long wave was drawn on the sea surface, rushing towards the lighthouse in the distance.

The sea breeze blew on his face. Henry Yang tried hard to keep his eyes open, but still found it unbelievable.

Not far away, two other speedboats also created two long trails of water and sped off in another direction.

Speed   is of the essence in war.

At noon on the third day, No. 269 Yangren Street.

Forty-eight Group Clubs.

Charles, smoking a cigar, pushed a $40,000 cashier's check from Standard Chartered Bank across the table.

A look of pain on his face.

"I'm beginning to envy you. With this money, you can buy an island in the Indian Ocean. You're such a black-hearted vampire!"

David Ringo pinched it with two fingers, put it to his mouth and blew it, with a look of disgust on his face.

"What can you do with this money? Far from enough, just entertainment, Charles..."

Suddenly, David Ringo's eyes turned and he looked at the other person intently, trying to seduce him: "Tell me, Charles, don't you want to own a rose manor full of roses? Don't you want to own your own winery? Don't you want to own a private island in the Pacific Ocean? I can give you a castle full of gold, it depends on whether you dare to take it."

Charles slammed the table and said, "No, don't talk nonsense. Just tell me what to do next."

David Ringo leaned back slightly in his swivel chair and crossed his legs on Charles' large desk.

"I just admire your despicable character. Are you interested in cooperating with me and going to India with me?"

Charles was stunned for a moment, but then he started laughing.

It was like hearing a joke.

He has been in China for more than ten years. He is the chief commercial representative of the Guangdong office of 48 group clubs. He not only has a high annual salary, but also has extremely generous brokerage income.

Even if you are the God of Wealth, you can't pretend to be God, right?

Playing is playing, joking is joking, but you can’t joke about money, right?

What is my identity, Charles?

But he still smiled and said, "What do you mean? Do you want to hire me as your personal tour guide?"

David Ringo smiled and shook his head: "Is it possible? In India, there is nothing that can attract me except money. Even Aryan beauties are not good enough to arouse my interest."

Charles couldn't help but think of the terrible environment over there. As a Saxon, he had an innate sense of superiority.

Aryans from the steppes?

In their eyes, they are nothing more than colonized people.

"Well, of course, my friend, it seems we have much in common in this respect."

Charles turned around sharply, his eyes already somewhat angry: "But why do you think you can discuss this with me?"

Charles was obviously offended.

Especially David Ringo’s stinky feet, which were placed on his desk?

David Ringo rubbed his fingers together: "Money, lots of money."

After finishing his speech, David Ringo suddenly emphasized: "How long do you think you can stay in this land? You are about to return, but you still don't know whether you live or die."

He held up three fingers: "Three years, at most I'll give you another three years before you go back in disGrace Yang . How many people's interests have you harmed?"

"How much do you know?"

"Aren't you worried about being liquidated?"

"It's also possible that you were thrown into the sea on the way. After all, dead people are the most reliable."

Charles's expression changed instantly.

"Have you heard anything, my friend?"

David Ringo: "Why, are you scared now?"

Charles actually nodded obediently: "After all, health is the most precious thing. Have you heard anything?"