The Hunter's Call

"I am Lin Feng."

The voice came through the satellite phone receiver, clear and unobstructed, drilling into Richard Walton's ears and piercing his already taut nerves.

Calm, youthful, without the arrogance of a victor or deliberate oppression, as if stating an ordinary fact, yet it sent a chill down Walton's spine and made him feel utterly powerless, more so than any roar or threat.

The air in the study seemed to have been sucked out in an instant. Walton's hand, gripping the phone, was so tight that his knuckles turned white, and the veins on the back of his hand bulged. He could feel his heart pounding wildly and erratically in his chest, each beat bringing a dull pain and a roaring rush of blood to his temples. In addition to the calm voice, all he could hear was his own heavy, suppressed breathing and the noise of his blood rushing through his veins.

He opened his mouth, his throat so dry it felt like it was about to crack, wanting to say something, but unable to utter a single meaningful syllable. Anger? Faced with absolute overwhelming power and utter desperation, the once raging fire of rage was now reduced to a few weak, feeble embers struggling in the ashes.

A few seconds of deathly silence. Only the faint background noise of the electrical current flowed between them, like the ticking of a countdown.

Finally, Lin Feng broke the silence. His tone remained calm, even carrying a hint of businesslike detachment, as if he were truly just negotiating a routine business transaction.

"Mr. Walton, it's late, so let's get straight to the point," Lin Feng said calmly. "Regarding the current predicament of Northwest Logistics Group, I think you are more aware than I am of it."

Walton gritted his teeth, forcing out a single word. "... Yes." His voice was hoarse and broken.

"Your time is running out. The stock market downturn, the loss of customers, the depletion of cash flow, the pressure from banks and creditors... I don't need to elaborate on these."

Lin Feng's words were like a cold scalpel, precisely cutting away Walton's last shred of hope, exposing his bloody wounds to the frigid air. "Continue like this, and you will face not only commercial bankruptcy liquidation, but also a series of legal prosecutions, and... the reputation you and your family have built up in Seattle your entire life, utterly ruined."

Every word struck Walton like a hammer blow to the heart. He swayed and had to reach out to grab the edge of the heavy mahogany desk to steady himself. Lin Feng wasn't exaggerating; every word he spoke was a scene Walton had been repeatedly seeing in his nightmares for the past few dozen hours.

"What... what do you want?" Walton's voice trembled, filled with humiliation and a last shred of desperation. "To see me make a fool of myself? Or to pronounce my death sentence?"

On the other end of the phone, Lin Feng seemed to chuckle softly, a faint laugh that was almost inaudible, yet it sent an even deeper chill down Walton.

"No, Mr. Walton. I'm here to give you a choice." Lin Feng's voice became clear, carrying an undeniable decisiveness that shattered all illusions, "A chance to make a dignified exit."

"A choice?" Walton's heart skipped a beat, a feeling of utter absurdity washing over him. The person who had pushed him to the brink was now giving him a "choice"?

"Yes. The choice." Lin Feng's voice was calm and even as he uttered the condition that sounded like a devil's contract to Walton, "Based on the current suspended stock price of Northwest Logistics Group —that is, its current market value—I will acquire all of your NLG shares, as well as those held by your family and affiliates, and ownership of the core assets under the NLG Group that I designate."

In exchange, I will immediately resolve the driver issue, restore the logistics network to basic operation, and inject necessary transitional funds into the company to ensure it doesn't collapse immediately. You and your family can leave Seattle, leave this place of trouble, with enough money to ensure a comfortable life for the rest of your days. From then on, NLG and the Walton Family will have no further connection.

"The current suspended price?!" Walton almost thought he'd misheard. A surge of utter humiliation and plundering rage overwhelmed him, spitting as he roared into the microphone, "Are you crazy?! Lin Feng! This is robbery! It's blatant robbery! NLG's net asset value is far greater than that! Its brand, channels, customer relationships..."

"Mr. Walton," Lin Feng interrupted him calmly, his voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation, as if correcting a trivial mistake, "What you're talking about refers to past values. Brand? Now it's associated with 'paralysis' and 'unreliability.' Distribution channels? They're being rapidly eroded by PacRim and Global Freightways. Customer relationships? Do I need to remind you how many major clients you've just lost?"

He paused, his tone growing colder and more realistic. "Right now, in the market, in the eyes of creditors, and in the eyes of your competitors, NLG's value is that suspended trading price, or even lower. It's a ship taking on water rapidly, laden with debt bombs ready to explode. No one but me will take it over at any price close to 'net asset value' at this point. They'll just wait for it to sink, then salvage the wreckage, or... take what they want at a lower foreclosure price after you're completely bankrupt."

The harsh reality was laid bare by Lin Feng in the most straightforward and ruthless language. Walton's roar caught in his throat, turning into a violent cough and heavy breathing. He knew that Lin Feng was telling the truth. Those so-called "values" were worthless in the face of systemic collapse and credit bankruptcy. The vultures of Wall Street and the wolves of their competitors would only wait to devour the carcasses, and would never come to the rescue.

"You... you robber! Schemer! You destroyed it with despicable means! And now you want to steal it back for the price of waste paper!" Walton roared, his voice filled with desperate anger and helplessness.

"Business is business, everyone has their own abilities, Mr. Walton." Lin Feng's reply remained calm, yet carried an undeniable force. "You were the one who first harbored murderous intent, hiring the ' Ghost ' team, weren't you? I merely responded accordingly. Now, it's time to end this. Peacefully, or in a more... thorough way?"

"A radical approach?" Walton's heart sank to the bottom.

"Or," Lin Feng's voice suddenly turned as cold as a Siberia blast, each word dripping with icy chill, "You can choose to refuse. Wait for the stock market to open tomorrow, watch NLG's stock price plummet to zero, triggering forced liquidation and debt default. Watch the banks apply to freeze and liquidate all your assets, including this small island. Watch your family be displaced because of your failure, even facing investigations and charges because of some of your less-than-honorable past business dealings. The reputation you've fought your whole life for will become a joke in Seattle's business history, a cautionary tale of an empire destroyed by greed and folly."

Lin Feng paused, allowing the horrific image to fully form in Walton's mind, before giving his final choice:

"You have ten minutes to consider. After ten minutes, this offer will automatically expire. The next contact will be with our lawyers, who will speak with your liquidator."

After speaking, the call didn't end. But an absolute, suffocating silence fell over the receiver. Only the extremely faint background noise of the encrypted satellite channel steadily and continuously buzzed, like the last heartbeat on a life monitor, or like the stopwatch of death beginning its merciless countdown.

Walton stood frozen, phone in hand. The study was dark, only the cold moonlight streaming through the window and the scattered starlight reflecting off the distant sea outlining his hunched, trembling figure. He felt all the blood rush to his head, only to freeze in the next second. His ears rang with the roar of his blood, his heart pounded so hard it felt like it was going to explode, and his hand holding the phone trembled violently, cold sweat instantly soaking the back of his wrinkled shirt.

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes will decide whether he and his family will leave with a relatively decent "ransom" or fall into an abyss of no return.

Angry? Absolutely. He hated this ruthless young man from the East who had suddenly appeared, hated him for ruining his life's work, hated his condescending attitude of handing over the reins. Fearful? Boundless fear. Bankruptcy, lawsuits, disgrace, family shame... just imagining these scenarios sent chills down his spine. Resentful? Heart-wrenching resentment. NLG was an empire he had inherited from his father and built with his life's blood, the symbol of the Walton Family in Seattle! Now, it was being sold off cheaply to the man who had destroyed it in such a humiliating way!

Time ticked by, each second feeling like an eternity. The sound of the waves outside the window seemed exceptionally clear, relentlessly crashing against the rocks, as if mocking his struggles and failures. The moonlight shifted, casting his long, lonely shadow onto the cold floor.

He recalled the pride he felt when he first took a long-distance trip with his father in his youth; he remembered the applause and champagne in the stock exchange on the day NLG went public; he remembered his son Brandon sitting on his lap as a child, playing with NLG truck models; he remembered the days when he sipped wine and mingled with dignitaries and celebrities... All the glory, brilliance, connections, and wealth, at this moment, were like castles on the beach, rapidly collapsing and dissolving in the face of the tide called "reality".

Persist? With what can he persist? The driver isn't coming back, customers are leaving, cash is running out, the stock price is collapsing, allies are betraying him, and even the last gang he turned to was easily crushed. He's like an old lion trapped in a snare, all its claws and teeth removed, all its strength exhausted, left only to watch helplessly as the hunter approaches, forcing him to make his final choice.

To die with dignity, or to be torn to pieces and discarded?

"Bite."

The antique grandfather clock on the desk emitted a crisp, clear chime, which sounded particularly jarring in the deathly silent study.

How many minutes had passed? Five minutes? Seven minutes? Walton had lost his accurate perception of time. He only felt a huge, heavy weariness, like a tide engulfing him. All the anger, fear, and resentment gradually became numb and distant in the face of this extreme exhaustion.

He slowly, very slowly, turned his eyes to the corner of the desk. There sat a framed photo of him, his wife, young Brandon, and their daughter, with the inauguration ceremony of the NLG headquarters building in the background. He looked radiant in the photo, and his family smiled broadly. Those were his most cherished moments.

Now, Brandon lies seriously injured in an unknown hospital, his wife lives in fear, and his daughter, studying far away in the East, is completely unaware of the situation. What will happen to them if he falls? Will they be dragged into the abyss with him, pursued by creditors, ridiculed by the media, and forever unable to hold their heads high?

No...

A faint but clear voice resonated deep within his soul. It was the most instinctive and ruthless calculation of a businessman, the principle he relied on to survive countless battles in the business world: when losses are unavoidable, minimize them and preserve the spark.

While alive, you have money, you can move to a different place, change your identity, and perhaps... even have a future. When you die, you lose everything, and your family is buried with you.

He closed his eyes, and two streams of murky tears silently slid down his wrinkled and age-spotted face. The tears were scalding hot, but his heart was already cold.

When he opened his eyes again, the madness, anger, and resentment in them had vanished, leaving only a utterly empty, ashen look and... a numb resignation. Speaking into the microphone, with the last of his strength, he managed to squeeze out a few hoarse, broken, almost inaudible syllables from his cracked, bleeding lips:

"... I... need to discuss the details with my lawyer, family..."

The moment he uttered those words, it felt as if all his backbone had been pulled away; his body swayed, and he almost collapsed. His fingers, gripping the edge of the table, dug deeply into the hardwood from the excessive force.

The suffocating silence on the other end of the phone was finally broken.

Lin Feng's voice came again, still calm, but Walton seemed to detect in that calm a very faint, perfectly timed conciliatory tone befitting a victor.

"A wise choice, Mr. Walton."

There was no hint of smugness in Lin Feng's voice, only the calm composure of things proceeding according to plan.

"My team will contact you in an hour. They will bring a complete draft agreement and a preliminary handover plan. Best wishes..."

Lin Feng paused slightly, seemingly choosing his words carefully, before uttering the final three words that Walton found utterly ironic:

"... Good night."

Click.

A crisp, decisive hang-up came from the receiver, ending this brief, cold conversation that had determined the fate of a business empire and an ancient family.

A busy signal sounded.

"Beep--Beep--Beep--"

The monotonous, repetitive, and empty busy tone echoed in the deathly silent study, like a requiem for a bygone era.

Walton remained frozen, phone in hand, like a statue that had instantly lost its soul. A long, long time passed, until the moonlight outside the window shifted again, until the dial tone seemed to have echoed in his mind for a hundred years.

His hand finally loosened its grip, powerless.

"Clatter."

The heavy, encrypted satellite phone, a symbol of his last means of communication and his last vestige of dignity, slipped from his limp hands and fell onto the thick carpet with a dull thud.

Walton's body, as the phone fell to the ground, slowly, slowly slid down the edge of the hard mahogany desk, finally collapsing onto the cold floor, his back against the desk leg.

He looked up at the blurry shadows on the ceiling, his gaze empty and unfocused. The moonlight shone on his aged, pale face, streaked with tears and blood, casting a deathly gray hue.

it's over.

it's all over.

The hunter's bullet has struck the prey's most fatal spot, its heart.

All that remained was for the hunters to come forward, confirm the spoils, and... clean up the battlefield.

Outside the window, the night was deep, and the waves continued to crash.