In early March, the outskirts of Boston were shrouded in a cold snap. Outside the window, the wind whipped up heavy, damp snow that lashed against the glass, while the birchwood in the study fireplace crackled and emitted a dry, warm scent of resin.
Beth Finneran hung her coat on the coat rack in the foyer, changed into comfortable wool flats, and stepped onto the thick carpet into the study.
She tossed several documents onto the coffee table. Among them was a security upgrade report and a thick tax settlement statement. Over the past two months, she and her team had completed a major liquidation of Lin Qi Capital's main fund pool, which had grown from six billion to just over ten billion. Following the hedge fund industry's "2/20" rule, Lin Qi received eight hundred million in performance fees, plus two hundred million in annual management fees based on a ten-billion-dollar scale. After deducting hefty federal and Massachusetts taxes, a total of five hundred million dollars in cash had been transferred to his account.
Lin Qi picked up the tax payment certificate, glanced at it, and looked up at Beth sitting opposite him.
"You've brought in such a huge deal for the firm, won't those old white male partners be throwing you champagne when they get their year-end bonuses?" Lin Qi said, picking up his hot coffee with a hint of teasing in his voice. "Honestly, with your abilities, it's a waste to only take a share from the partners' fees. Even if you saved half of that commission, if you ran your own firm, you could have easily pocketed that astronomical legal fee all by yourself."
"Running my own law firm means I have to manage a bunch of incompetent interns, deal with leaky toilets and tedious lease agreements." Beth took a sip of her red tea, her expression languid yet shrewd. "Modern law firms provide firewalls, endorsements, and assembly-line labor; I only handle the core structure. You should understand the art of laziness—pushing the mundane tasks to others—better than I do."
She gestured with her chin towards the documents on the table. "Five hundred million dollars have been deposited, and the new estate in Brookline with its private woodland can be handed over tomorrow. A security team composed of retired Secret Service agents has been deployed, with a 200-meter natural forest barrier and infrared perimeter alarms. You no longer need to worry about enthusiastic fans or reporters setting up cameras in front of your window. How do you plan to allocate the remaining cash?"
"Put $100 million into a special trust to serve as a budget and post-production marketing fund for David Fincher's film crew," Lin Qi said.
"Is filming ' Kingmaker ' not going well?" Beth flipped through the filming schedule on the coffee table.
"It's going smoothly, but Fincher is driving the crew crazy." Lin Qi rubbed his temples, recalling the complaining phone call from the California producer. "The other day, we were filming a long shot of Chris Paul Pierce winning the game in the fourth quarter. Fincher made that stunt double do seventy-two takes on a simple screen-and-shoot sequence."
Beth raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Can't make it?"
"He made dozens of shots. But Fincher felt the actor's body language was too light, not like someone exhausted in a meat grinder defense. He was completely using Hollywood action movie tropes, deliberately panting to 'act' fatigue." Lin Qi shook his head. "So Fincher kept making him run plays and shoot, repeating the process over and over. Until the seventy-second shot, the stuntman was so tired he didn't even have the strength to jump. When he landed, his legs went weak and he almost fell. His hands were shaking so badly he couldn't even open the water bottle the coach handed him, and he even dry heaved on the sidelines."
"Then what?"
"Then Fincher looked at the stuntman on the monitor who was about to collapse, and shouted with satisfaction, 'That's Chris Paul Pierce in the fourth quarter of the playoffs.'"
Beth couldn't help but laugh out loud, "Sounds like Hollywood has encountered a control freak just as picky as you. But no matter how much he messes with film stock, a sports movie can't burn through a hundred million dollars."
"So with the remaining money, I need you to help me prepare a merger and acquisition deal."
Lin Qi put down his coffee cup, pulled out that day's the Wall Street Journal from a stack of newspapers beside him, opened the business section, and pushed it in front of Beth.
The newspaper's front page featured a bold, black headline. "War Clouds Loom Over Wall Street, Multiple Companies Postpone IPO Plans." Below, an accompanying image displayed the logo of classic canvas shoes.
Beth glanced at it, her professional instincts immediately kicking in. " Converse? Didn't they file for an IPO with the SEC at the end of last year? They planned to sell 15% of their shares and raise over 80 million."
"The IPO roadshow was originally scheduled for this Friday," Lin Qi pointed to the newspaper, "But the Pentagon's aircraft carrier has already sailed to the Persian Gulf, and war could break out at any moment. The macro market is in a state of extreme panic, Wall Street funds are currently seeking safe havens. Converse's underwriters have informed them that the roadshow is canceled and the IPO is postponed indefinitely."
Beth quickly reviewed the current situation of this century-old shoe company in her mind. "They just went bankrupt and restructured in 2001, and the current controlling shareholder is a private equity fund. The ultimate goal of private equity funds is always to cash out and leave. They originally hoped to make a fortune through an IPO, but now that the listing has been blocked, their cash flow is probably in a very tight spot."
"This is our opportunity." Lin Qi looked at Beth. "We can wait until Converse's controlling shareholders are completely desperate, and then offer a suitable price. I want you to take our cash during this time window and go directly to that private equity firm to discuss a full takeover."
"You want to swallow Converse whole?"
" Converse's patents for classic canvas shoes, its retro cultural symbols, and its deeply rooted distribution channels in the North America market are a gold mine," Lin Qi said, leaning back in his chair. "While the market environment is tough right now, and companies like Nike haven't officially entered the fray yet... we're providing timely assistance."
Beth picked up her teacup, her fingertips gently tracing the warm rim, a confident smile playing on her lips.
"This private equity firm is currently very vulnerable. Their IPO failed, and they desperately need to give their limited partners (LPs) an explanation." A shrewd glint flashed in her eyes. "As long as the money can be deposited into the escrow account as collateral within a week, demonstrating their sincerity in not requiring any leverage approval, I'm confident I can force them to sign an exclusivity agreement within a week. Before anyone else can react, I'll lock in the Converse brand ownership."
"Taking it down is just the first step." Lin Qi leaned back in his chair, watching the flickering embers in the fireplace. " Converse's basketball line needs a complete overhaul."
Beth raised an eyebrow slightly, picked up her teacup, and waited for him to continue.
"We'll keep the canvas shoes to maintain daily cash flow. But I'm going to set up a dedicated lab," Lin Qi said. "Current sports brands are all doing assembly-line mass production, using a template for everyone. What I want to do is customization, finding top biomechanics experts, orthopedic surgeons, and materials teams to conduct targeted research and development based on the foot shape, force exertion habits, and injury history of top players. We'll do in-depth adaptation based on existing shoe models. Carbon fiber support, cushioning parameter adjustments—small-scale but highly precise."
"Turning sneakers into high-tech, custom-designed equipment?" Beth mused. "Sounds like a racing team's engineering and research center."
"Pretty much. We don't need to compete with Nike on national sales from the start. As long as this technology demonstrates its effectiveness in preventing injuries and improving performance on NBA stars, the brand will naturally take off." Lin Qi paused, then casually added, "Also, while you're out doing business in New York and Europe, keep an eye out for any other established athletic shoe brands undergoing equity changes. Whether it's North America or Europe, if any major shareholders are planning to sell and exit, let me know immediately."
Beth rolled her eyes at him. "Isn't one Converse enough for you to mess around with?"
"It's never a bad thing to plan ahead," Lin Qi smiled.
Beth placed her teacup on the low table, crossed her arms, leaned back slightly, and her eyes gleamed with the sharpness and smugness of having closed a big deal. "I helped you get Converse, and now I'm even going to act as your corporate spy to gather intelligence... Mr. Lin Qi, how do you plan to thank me?"
Lin Qi didn't answer. He stood up, walked to Beth, placed his hands on the armrests of the sofa beside her, and leaned down to look at her.
The warm light from the fireplace shone between them, so close they could feel each other's soft breaths. Lin Qi leaned closer, preparing to make a move...
"Wow!!!"
A clear and loud cry suddenly rang out from the nursery on the second floor. Immediately afterwards, as if triggering some kind of chain reaction, another cry with a slightly higher frequency also rang out, one after another, with a very strong penetrating sound.
Lin Qi froze in mid-air.
The female lawyer, who had been alluring just a moment ago, instantly changed her expression. Beth shoved Lin Qi's chest away, nimbly stood up from the sofa, and casually straightened her skirt.
"The nanny might be warming up the milk. I need to go up and see if Joe has taken Ben's toy again." Beth's expression instantly switched to serious "mother mode," her tone urgent. "Tonight's merger discussion is over."
Watching his fiancée turn away without a second thought and stride towards the stairs, Lin Qi rubbed his temples helplessly and let out a long sigh.
Faced with two one-year-old twins crying loudly on the second floor, he could only obediently follow behind them and go upstairs to help change their diapers.