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“Seriously, Victor,”
Trump cut a piece of steak, leaned forward, and looked curious. "I watched your fight last month, and my God, that last hook was beautiful! But... I don't understand why you're still fighting? It's too risky for someone like you."
He swung his fork, "With our wealth and status..."
He gestured with his hand, indicating the wealth present, "There's absolutely no need for me to personally step into the ring anymore. Just let those poor kids make money for you. That place is dangerous, and... well, not respectable enough."
Ivana nodded slightly in agreement: "Yes, Mr. Victor, your business achievements are already dazzling enough. The boxing ring seems a bit out of place for your current status."
Victor put down his wine glass and gently wiped his mouth with a napkin.
He knew this was a test, Trump's way of trying to understand his logic, and perhaps even to find some weakness or exploitable fanaticism.
He had already prepared his answer.
"Thank you for your concern, Donald, Ivana."
He said calmly, “Boxing is more than just a sport or a way to make money for me. It’s a part of me, a way to stay alert and…hungry. Being in the ring reminds me where I come from. It’s just a personal hobby.”
His eyes were honest, yet unfathomable.
The Trumps exchanged a glance, clearly not believing their explanation.
Trump laughed: "A hobby? Wow, that's an expensive hobby! I prefer golf; at least I won't get my nose broken."
But the probing look in his eyes didn't disappear. He had seen too many people; Victor Lee was definitely not the kind of person who would endure physical pain and enormous risks just for a "hobby."
There must be a deeper reason behind this, perhaps it's about image building?
Perhaps it's some kind of obsessive desire for control?
Trump speculated on it but couldn't be sure.
Victor said no more, simply raising his glass in a gesture of respect, and lightly changed the subject.
He knew perfectly well that the real reason—the immense prestige he gained from boxing among Chicago's underclass and beyond, thereby building a moat to protect his business empire and personal safety—could never be spoken aloud.
In this jungle world, showing weakness or completely revealing your hand can be fatal.
Popularity is his armor, and the boxing ring is his stage; he is acutely aware of this.
As the dinner drew to a close, the waiters cleared away the plates and served fragrant coffee and cigars.
Trump took a deep drag on his cigar, and amidst the swirling smoke, his expression became more serious and direct.
“Victor, I have a proposal, a proposal that can make us all a lot of money.”
He leaned forward, lowered his voice, and sounded very sincere, "The Italians have turned a desert into a world-class gambling city in Las Vegas, and so can we!"
Atlantic City, the future jewel of the East Coast! My 'Trump Casino Center' will be the most dazzling palace there.
Your Skywind City gaming company has operational experience and a customer network. Why not make it even stronger? I invite you to invest, and together we'll make all the money on the East Coast!
Trump's eyes gleamed with a thirst for wealth and expansion, and the blueprint he painted was incredibly enticing. It seemed like a golden opportunity for a powerful alliance and mutual benefit.
Viktor was silent for a moment, then tapped his fingertips lightly on the table.
The only sounds in the private room were the silent flow of cigar smoke and the distant buzzing of the city outside the window.
His mind raced. Trump's offer was tempting; the Atlantic City casino business was indeed a huge pie.
But he instantly saw through the true nature of this "good intention":
Trump is eyeing the customer base brought by Skycity, hoping to leverage his influence to quickly establish a foothold, and perhaps even eventually acquire it.
More importantly, as an Asian, he has no chance of gaining a real voice and fair treatment in the traditionally white-dominated East Coast sphere of influence, especially in projects led by local bigwigs like Trump.
It was more like a trap, a magnificent cage tailor-made for him.
He looked up, a regretful yet determined smile on his face: "Donald, thank you very much for your appreciation and invitation. It sounds like a grand plan. But,"
He then changed the subject, saying, "Currently, Skywind City's focus and all its energy must be concentrated in Chicago. We've just established ourselves, and there are still many expansion and integration plans to be made."
"Don't bite off more than you can chew; I want to secure my own backyard first. I'm sorry, I'm not able to participate in the Atlantic City project at this time."
The refusal was straightforward and well-founded, with irrefutable reasons.
Trump's smile froze for a moment, and a barely perceptible shadow of gloom and surprise flashed across his eyes.
He hadn't expected Viktor to refuse so directly, without even trying to negotiate.
He quickly regained his composure, laughing to cover his embarrassment: "Haha! Caution! I like cautious partners! It's alright, Chicago is indeed a big market. This suggestion is always valid, Victor. Come find me anytime you change your mind!"
But the atmosphere has subtly changed.
The previous enthusiasm was now overshadowed by a faint shadow.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Viktor got up to take his leave.
The Trumps politely escorted him to the restaurant door.
As they rode the elevator downstairs, Caroline asked in a low voice, "Victor, are you really not going to reconsider? My father said Trump is a very wise man and he will succeed."
Victor watched the elevator numbers jump around, a cold smile playing on his lips, a sharp glint in his eyes like that of a boxer in the ring:
"The real money-making opportunities will never be handed to an Asian person unless he wants you to be a stepping stone or a scapegoat."
Chapter 133 Second Strike Perfect KO
October 27, 1986, Trump Plaza Hotel, boxing ring.
Victor Lee vs. Andy Ruiz: The odds of the latter winning are 1:10, but if he is knocked out in the first round, the odds will be 1:20.
If the former knocks out the latter, the odds are only 1:2; if it's a knockout in four rounds, the odds are 1:3—those casinos still don't believe in Victor's strength!
The spotlight was focused on the center of the boxing ring, and the cheers from the audience were almost enough to lift the roof off.
Victor Lee, clad in a red battle robe, his eyes cold, steadily ascended the steps.
He could feel the hostile and greedy gaze that Ruiz was casting at him from across the way—it was as if he were looking at a moving vault.
The starting bell of the first round was like a starting gun, instantly igniting a barrel of explosives!
Without any probing, Ruiz, like a wild bull completely enraged by the red cloth, stomped his feet on the ground and charged forward with his massive body carrying an aura of savagery!
His strategy was simple, crude, yet extremely effective:
Exploit Viktor's potential post-traumatic stress and psychological trauma, unleash a barrage of attacks with the fastest, fiercest, and most concentrated firepower, overwhelming him with a storm of punches, ending the fight as soon as possible, and taking away that life-changing sum of money.
A chaotic yet powerful combination of punches! Left hook, right straight, uppercut... Ruiz's arms were like two out-of-control pile drivers, whistling through the air as they furiously pounded into Victor's head and torso.
His goal was crystal clear: to repeat the "unexpected" result predicted by the media and crush skill with absolute power.
"Here it comes! Ruiz launched a fierce attack right from the start! Is he going to replicate his miracle against Joshua?"
The commentator's voice suddenly rose, filled with astonishment.
The audience gasped continuously, each time a heavy punch grazed Viktor's cheek or slammed into his arm armor, it drew gasps of astonishment.
Viktor seems to have fallen into a passive position at the start.
But Viktor's choice surprised many people - instead of retreating and maneuvering immediately, he chose to confront them head-on!
But he used a different method.
His movements were as agile as if he were dancing a dangerous tango, and his small movements in all directions always allowed him to avoid the most fatal attacks without the slightest delay.
His head swayed rapidly, leaving a blurry trail, and with the help of his sturdy arm armor, he deflected most of Ruiz's powerful punch.
But at the same time, he kept retaliating with his powerful punches!
The precise straight punches, like the forked tongue of a viper, repeatedly struck Ruiz's forward momentum, the dull thuds of his body hitting his ribs clearly audible.
This is not passive defense, but an active, calculated exchange of fire!
"Come on! You fat chicken! All you can do is hide? Fight like a man!"
During a break in the exchange of punches, Ruiz spewed out vulgar trash talk, his spittle almost landing on Viktor's face.
He tried to provoke his opponent with words, disrupt his rhythm, and plunge him into a more bloody back-and-forth, which was exactly the rhythm he preferred.
But Viktor's expression remained as unmoved as a frozen lake.
The voices from the outside world, the insults from the opponents, and the clamor of the audience all seemed to be shut out by an invisible barrier.
His brain was working at high speed, like a sophisticated computer, calmly analyzing Ruiz's attack patterns:
The habitual forward lean after a left hook, the subtle shoulder drop before a powerful right punch, the fractions of a second of breathing space between punches...
Compared to veteran James Toni, who is technically skilled and has a meticulous mind like a chess player, Ruiz may be more powerful and wilder, but his rhythm and intentions are also more obvious, and he relies more on instinctive outbursts.
Victor waited, like a patient viper coiled on a rock, calculating the wind speed, the distance, and every muscle twitch of its prey.
His punches kept coming out, both to counter his opponent's attacks and to fuel his opponent's frenzy, drawing him deeper into his pre-set rhythm.
In just one minute, the two had already exchanged sixteen punches!
The visceral sounds of punches reverberated throughout the venue via microphone, stimulating everyone's adrenaline.
Ruiz's attacks became increasingly fierce. He felt that although his opponent's punches were accurate, they seemed unable to truly shake his thick layer of fat and hard muscles.
Confidence was swelling, and the blueprint for victory seemed to be unfolding before their eyes.
He lunged forward again, his massive body creating an intense sense of pressure. A long-prepared left hook drew a fierce arc, tearing through the air, aimed directly at the wounded opening in Victor's head!
This was the breakthrough he found after studying the videotape countless times, and he was determined to succeed!
Viktor's pupils suddenly contracted.
Instead of retreating or panicking to block as Ruiz had predicted, he made an inexplicable move—facing the heavy punch that was enough to reopen his wound, he made a very small, lightning-fast dive and dodge!
Time seemed to slow down at that moment. Ruiz's left hook, imbued with all his strength and carrying an aura of destruction, grazed past the tips of Viktor's thick black hair!
The force of the punch even ruffled a few strands of his hair.
The huge opening created by Ruiz's full-force punch was exposed in that instant—his entire chin and neck were completely exposed to Victor!
A split-second opportunity!
Victor has spotted it!
The power in his body suddenly rose from the soles of his tense feet, like a suppressed volcano finally finding an outlet.
The power traveled up his calves and thighs, through a violent, explosive rotation of his waist and hips, and finally poured into his right arm without reservation.
There were no unnecessary swings, no exaggerated pulls back, only short, fierce, and efficient right uppercuts like cannonballs!