America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

In the office on the second floor of the House of Beast, Vincent's cowboy hat was pressed low on his head, casting a large shadow across his face where a protruding hawk-like nose seemed ready to peck at one's soul.

Nightclub PR Michael felt an inexplicable anxiety and quickly covered it up with words, "House of Beast has been open for less than a month; it needs time to accumulate customers, fame, and reputation."

He had promoted bars geared towards male customers before, but this was his first time focusing on a female clientele, and he wouldn't take the blame: "You're being too impatient, business management inherently requires a process."

Vincent spoke evenly, "25 days ago, when you took your commission, you didn't talk this way."

Thinking of the 10,000 US Dollar commission, Michael bucked up, "Give me another month, it's not that I'm not trying, it's the environment that's the problem."

There was no possibility of returning the money, as he didn't have that much at hand: "You know about those damned regulations in Georgia, we can't advertise directly in the media or commercial spaces, only promote privately. Now with the Conservative Methodist Association stirring up trouble everywhere, media opinion is adding fuel to the fire."

Vincent didn't even lift his eyelids, "What about the big celebrities you promised would hang out at the club?"

Unable to advertise directly, but having celebrities appear in side news stories about the club wasn't a problem.

Michael said, "I'm still in contact."

Vincent slightly lifted his head, his hawk-like nose appearing even sharper, "Georgia's female stars, if you can't get Julia Roberts, Holly Hunter will do."

Michael was taken aback, these were two Oscar-winning actresses!

Vincent said slowly, "You wanted a 10,000 US Dollar fee, and I gave it to you. Do you know why?"

Michael, holding his ground, said, "I'm worth that amount."

Vincent raised a finger, "First, I wanted to motivate you with money." He raised another, "Second, I am confident I can claim an appropriate price in return."

Michael leaned forward, his tone unintentionally pleading, "Just give me a little more time."

Vincent picked up the phone and called the bar, "Bruce, announce that we're clearing out in fifteen minutes. No one is allowed to leave work; we are holding an internal meeting."

Michael couldn't suppress his worries, sweat beaded on his forehead, "What… what are you going to do?"

"House of Beast is a lawful operating institution that abides by the law, we won't do anything illegal," Vincent stood up and walked out, "I'm going to gather my people and hear their opinions."

Relieved that he wasn't being whacked, Michael's fears subsided. He said, "You'd rather trust those idiots who can't even understand the newspapers than give a professional a little more time?"

Vincent walked straight out the door.

He, too, wanted to trust professionals, but they hadn't brought in any patrons.

Michael hurried after him.

Fifteen minutes later, all employees of the House of Beast, including the male dancers, stood near the stage.

Martin and Bruce were on the far left, waiting for the boss to speak.

Vincent stepped onto the circular stage, his gaze sweeping over everyone, he spoke, "You all understand the foot traffic at the club, does anyone have any ideas?"

The leader of the male group, Hart, was the first to speak, "Boss, shall we go back to our old trade?"

Vincent said, "Bruce, if Hart says such nonsense again, you throw him into the Atlantic Ocean in the most civilized manner."

Hart glanced at Bruce, his lips trembling, "I'll shut up."

Yet Michael, following Hart's gaze, saw Martin again and started to make calculations.

Vincent asked, "How about the rest of you?"

There was silence for the moment.

Martin had some ideas, but the boss hadn't mentioned if there were any perks.

If there's no benefit, who the hell would bother going to all that trouble? A worker has to be aware of his place as a worker.

"Good, true to form, my brother, won't lift a finger without a reward," Vincent slightly tipped his cowboy hat. "Anyone who can double the steady stream of customers at House of Beast will have their salary doubled and receive a 10,000 US Dollar bonus."

Hearing about the 10,000 US Dollar reward, Michael couldn't help but jump out and say, "I've got an idea."

Everyone looked at Michael, but he pointed at Martin, "As long as he cooperates, I can handle it."

Martin was utterly baffled.

Michael, afraid that someone else would snatch the prize, said, "Why can't the club attract a large number of customers? Because we lack star-quality dancers!"

He pointed at Martin, "With his looks, coupled with professional choreography training, I can turn him into a superstar in Atlanta!"

Martin thought to himself, what kind of grudge is this, do you want my life? He immediately interrupted, "Boss, this guy is exaggerating. I admit, I'm good-looking, but not to the extent he's describing, and Hart and the others aren't bad either."

Vincent's trust in Michael had already crumbled, and his gaze shifted, "Ivan, throw him out."

Ivan and his Goldie henchman grabbed Michael and dragged him out. Michael wanted to shout, but he felt something pressed against his waist and promptly shut his mouth.

Vincent asked, "What about you guys?"

Including Bruce, their eyes shifted to Hart and immediately darted away.

Hart's brother was swollen every day; they didn't want to end up like that.

Seeing the benefits, Martin became an exemplary hard worker and said, "Boss, I have an idea."

Vincent looked at his other silent subordinates and turned to head upstairs, "You, come with me."

Just as Martin was about to follow, Bruce suddenly said, "I heard that veterinarian Bill over there has a way to treat cattle and sheep, you'd better consult with him in advance."

"Don't talk to me about veterinarians!" Martin gave Bruce the middle finger and followed Vincent upstairs.

Bruce waited a long time without any noise.

Hart clapped his hands and shouted to the other dancers, "Guys, clear out a locker in the changing room, we're going to have a new colleague."

Bruce picked up a high stool.

Hart turned and walked away, "Bruce, you said yourself you wanted to be civilized."

......

The office on the second floor quieted down, Vincent's face still shrouded in the shadow of his cowboy hat.

Martin's recent words had exceeded his understanding, as well as that of his father and brother; their methods were nothing like these.

Vincent asked, "Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm an actor; I've been on set since I was sixteen, studying media and public opinion manipulation; my dream has always been to become famous." With Martin's acting, his fabricated story was as convincing as the truth: "I've studied many successful show business cases, I'm well-versed in the media's style."

Vincent asked, "How confident are you?"

Martin thought for a moment, then said, "Sixty percent."

Vincent then asked, "What do you need?"

Martin said, "Bruce, and a few more with tight lips to help me; the labor and other costs incurred..."

"The club will cover it," Vincent was generous when it came to motivation: "As long as you succeed, your debt will be cleared, your salary doubled, and you'll get a 5,000 US Dollar bonus."

Martin didn't ask about failure; Hart was the example.

As for being a dancer, he was mentally prepared.

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