HLM – Chapter 14 An Empty-Handed Deal with the Māori Wolf

Charlie patted Wang Bo on the shoulder, signaling him not to be afraid, then had him sit in the empty chair.

To be honest, this was Old Wang’s first time facing something like this—it felt like negotiating with the mafia. The Māori men across from him were way more intimidating than the street thugs back home. Even the aura they gave off was different—at the very least, the thugs in China didn’t tattoo their faces.

Wang Bo looked at the large man sitting across from him. The guy’s face was completely covered in thick black tattoos, making it impossible to tell what he originally looked like.

The man slammed a hand on the table. Wang Bo thought a fight was about to break out—but no, they were just starting to serve the food…

“Buddy, are you the one repaying Old Man Howard’s debt?” the man asked, eyes cold as ice.

His English was surprisingly good, so Wang Bo didn’t need Charlie to translate. He knew “Howard” referred to Sir Roberts, so he nodded and said, “Yes. What’s your point?”

The big man asked, “Alright, foreigner. Forty-nine thousand dollars—when will you pay it back?”

Wang Bo almost jumped out of his seat when he heard that. He instinctively looked at Charlie and growled, “Forty-something thousand counts as forty-nine thousand?”

Charlie rubbed his nose and silently nodded.

Great. The original 1.6 million yuan had somehow turned into over 2 million. Old Wang’s heart pounded wildly as he slammed a palm down hard on the wooden table.

Crack! Crack-crack-crack! With a few dull thuds, the sturdy-looking wooden table collapsed under the blow…

The fat on the bodies of the Māori men standing at the door visibly rippled from the sound. This time, it was the tattooed Māori man across from him who nearly jumped in alarm.

They misunderstood.

The atmosphere immediately turned ice-cold as a group of big men began inching forward, faces filled with murderous intent.

Luckily, Wang Bo reacted quickly. He didn’t even glance at the shattered table and barked, “Less than fifty grand? You guys are stingy. I’ve got a thousand square kilometers of land—why would I bother skipping out on your debt?!”

“When will you repay it, then?” The big man calmed a little at those words. He waved his hand, and the Māori men returned to the food stall’s entrance.

Wang Bo had no choice but to repay the money—he didn’t want to mess with Māori natives. He turned to Charlie and asked in Chinese, “When’s the government funding for my town going to come through?”

Charlie said, “Within two weeks, max.”

That gave Wang Bo a clearer picture. He said steadily, “Twenty days. I’ll repay the fifty thousand within twenty days!”

The big man gave a ferocious grin and said, “Good. Twenty days it is. But—once you repay the fifty grand, we’ll draft a new loan agreement!”

Wang Bo replied, “I’ll pay you fifty grand, but you need to give me ten thousand first. Forty-nine plus ten makes fifty.”

He had no other choice—he only had about 800 bucks on him. He had to borrow. Once you owe forty-nine grand, what’s one more?

Māori folks didn’t seem to be the brightest bulbs. Hearing what Wang Bo said, the big man frowned and blinked in confusion. “Forty-nine plus ten is fifty, but why should I give you ten? You owe me money!”

A middle-aged man dressed like a lawyer leaned in and whispered something in his ear. As soon as he finished, the Māori man exploded, roaring:

“What?! You want to borrow more money?! And interest-free?!”

Wang Bo calmly said, “I don’t have a cent on me right now, and it’ll take twenty days for the government money to come through. How am I supposed to survive during those twenty days? You guys lend me ten thousand dollars so I can live—otherwise, I’m done with this inheritance. I’ll go back to my country tomorrow!”

The Māori man glared furiously at the middle-aged white man next to him. The latter gave a light cough and said, “You’re giving up your territory? A thousand square kilometers—worth at least ten million New Zealand dollars.”

Wang Bo shot back, “Don’t try to fool me just because I’m not well-read. Since when can noble land be bought or sold? It’s all mountains and wasteland—who’s gonna buy that? Tell your boss I was tricked into coming here. If I can’t survive, I’m heading home!”

The white man gave a defeated shake of the head to the Māori man. The latter bared his teeth like he was ready to eat Wang Bo alive and growled, “You already owe me forty-nine grand, and you want to borrow another ten?!”

“And interest-free. Otherwise, I’m done with this land.” Old Wang simply took off his shirt, baring his chest. When it came to playing hardball, he wasn’t scared of anyone.

The Māori man panted heavily and snapped, “What if you borrow the ten grand and then just run off?”

Wang Bo replied, “You think I’d abandon a thousand square kilometers of land for ten grand? There’s even a castle on it!”

The Māori man looked confused. He frowned and thought it over—Wang Bo kind of had a point. Reluctantly, he turned to his men and said, “Go get ten grand. And bring a new contract.”

Charlie, who’d been standing at the back, was completely stunned. Wang Bo turned to him and said, “Make sure you go over that contract carefully later. Don’t let there be any traps.”

Charlie quickly replied, “No, I don’t have any experience with this kind of stuff. Let’s call Lawyer Mueller.”

Wang Bo thought for a moment, then made the call. Mueller was efficient as always—twenty minutes later, a taxi arrived and Lawyer Mueller stepped out.

Next came the contract check. Mueller scanned the document with a glance and immediately pointed out several loopholes, demanding the Māori man fix them.

The Māori man looked utterly confused. It seemed he hadn’t intended to scam Wang Bo—he just had no idea the contract had issues.

And just like that, Wang Bo secured a ten-thousand-dollar loan—no interest, no collateral. At least he didn’t have to worry about living expenses for the next month.

After signing the contract and leaving a copy of his resident card, Wang Bo tucked a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills into his pocket and walked away from the food stall, leaving behind a bunch of Māori men staring at each other in bewilderment.

Once in the car, Mueller smiled and said, “Wang, you’re impressive. This is the first time I’ve seen someone being chased down by gangsters and still managing to get money out of them—interest-free, at that. What do you call this in Chinese? Catching a wolf bare-handed?”

“Empty-handed deal with a white wolf,” Wang Bo corrected him. Then he added, “This is nothing, honestly. Real pros are back home—property developers and big corporations. They team up with bank executives and pull off schemes worth billions.”

Mueller nodded, still wearing his warm smile. “Well then, shall we talk about my fee? I left home at 6:15, and it’s now 7:30. Let’s round it to an hour. That’ll be 850 dollars.”

Wang Bo was shocked. “Aren’t you the lawyer the government hired for me? Doesn’t the government cover your fee?”

Mueller looked over at Charlie, who gave a bitter smile and explained, “The government only hired Mueller to be your town-building lawyer. If you use him for anything else—like personal or other legal matters—you have to pay for that yourself.”

Speechless. Teary-eyed. Old Wang was suffering inside—but he couldn’t say a word.