Inside the private room.
Zhang Tian, smoking a cigarette, squinted at Zhang Cheng: "Brother Zhang, just how many treasury bonds can your friend actually buy?"
"One million shouldn't be a problem," Zhang Cheng estimated Jiang Yuhong's financial strength.
“Brother,” Zhang Tian’s eyes flashed with a sharp light, and he leaned forward slightly, “how about we go all out this time?”
Zhang Cheng's heart skipped a beat, and he met the man's burning gaze: "How big?"
"I mortgaged Zhang Tian Garment Factory and borrowed seven or eight million from the credit union. If I ask my friends for more, I should be able to get ten million!"
Ten million!
Zhang Cheng was deeply shaken. What did this amount of money mean in 1987? It was enough to cause a massive upheaval in Jiaxing!
Zhang Tian's move was incredibly bold, but the risks and schemes behind it were equally unfathomable.
Gao Datong frowned: "Old Zhang, ten million? You're taking over the treasury bond business of several big players in Jiaxing! At that time, some people in the city will probably not be able to sit still, and it may be difficult to explain to my father!"
"In business, how can you avoid offending people?" Zhang Tian didn't care.
Gao Datong looked at Zhang Cheng: "You need to think this through. With one or two million, everyone can share the soup. But if you throw in ten million, you're trying to take the whole bowl."
Zhang Tian curled his lip: "In the business world, there's not so much gentleness, kindness, respect, frugality, and humility."
Gao Datong was too lazy to pay him any attention.
Zhang Cheng pondered for a moment; he needed to ascertain Jiang Yuhong's appetite.
"I need to ask my friend first if he can eat such a large amount."
“Alright.” Zhang Tian nodded, becoming increasingly curious about Zhang Cheng’s “friends.”
Shortly after, Zhang Jingtao and Shen Baiwan returned to the private room.
Zhang Cheng stood up: "Please have a seat, everyone. I'm going to the restroom and make a phone call."
He must contact Jiang Yuhong immediately.
He walked outside the private room, borrowed the hotel front desk phone, and dialed the number that Lao Liu had left at the Treasury Bond Recycling Center.
The call was answered quickly; it was Lao Liu's familiar voice, but with an unusual seriousness: "Zhang Cheng? President Jiang... he might be a little short on cash lately."
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