The Market Maker, the Prey, and the Countermove

Isabella and Mike disappeared around the corner of the stairs leading to the second floor, leaving behind a faint scent of perfume and the ambiguous glances of the surrounding guests.

Lin Feng stood there for a few more seconds, looking at the huge abstract painting, before turning away listlessly and walking towards a relatively quiet rest area with a few small sofas and coffee tables. He didn't sit down, but instead turned his back to the crowd, looking out at the dazzling Seattle night view, the blurry light and shadows of the exhibition hall reflected in the glass.

Lü Yi strolled over from the other end of the exhibition hall. He was wearing an ill-fitting black suit and looked extremely uncomfortable, clearly not at ease in this kind of setting. He walked behind Lin Feng, followed Lin Feng's gaze to the window, and muttered, "Boss, these people are making such a fuss over a painting. What's so interesting about it? Is this thing really worth that much money?"

Lin Feng didn't turn around. His voice was calm, as if he were talking to himself, or perhaps explaining to Lü Yi, "Whether it's valuable or not depends on who you're talking to. To someone who likes it, it might be priceless; to someone who doesn't understand it, it's just a piece of waste paper. But here, in this circle, its value doesn't depend on whether you like it or understand it."

"That depends on what?" Lü Yi scratched his head, even more puzzled.

"It depends on the dealers." Lin Feng slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over the well-dressed guests in the exhibition hall, finally settling on the staircase where Mike and Isabella had disappeared. "Mike was right. The value of modern art, especially the works of living artists, is largely driven up by the dealers behind it. They control production, create scarcity, hire critics to hype it up, and then pass it around at auctions to inflate the price. Then, the painting becomes a label, a symbol, a... money laundering channel, a tax evasion tool, or a status symbol."

He walked over to a landscape painting with soft colors depicting a garden scene, paused to look at it, and continued in that calm, almost scientific tone:

"Essentially, this is no different from speculating on stocks, futures, or even garlic or Pu'er tea. It's just cloaked in 'art' and 'culture,' making it seem more elegant and covert. The speculators need to constantly attract new funds to maintain this price bubble while finding an exit route for themselves. Some of those who spend a lot of money to buy paintings genuinely like them, but many more believe in the 'story,' the 'value consensus' behind the painting, or rather, the credibility and ability of the speculators—as long as the speculators are still around, the painting can be exchanged for money at any time, and may even appreciate in value."

Lü Yi seemed to understand only partially, but she still grasped the key point. "So, that Mike is the bookmaker here? He's speculating on this female Painter's work?"

"To be precise, he's one of the main manipulators behind this art exhibition and this female Painter." Lin Feng nodded, his gaze still fixed on the paintings, but his eyes were deep. "Look at him just now, he first bought several paintings himself in large sums, creating the illusion of supply shortages and rising value. Then, he used his 'manipulation theory' and 'hard currency' theory to persuade me, or rather, 'potential buyers' like me, to enter the market and take over. The money he bought for those paintings may have just circulated between the gallery and his own shell company, but the 'transaction price' and 'market hype' on paper went up. Next, he'll find 'external funds' like us to come in and buy up his inventory or the female Painter's future 'limited edition' new works at even higher prices."

Lü Yi's eyes widened. "Holy crap! Isn't that just manipulating the market, pumping up the price, and then finding retail investors to take over? What's the difference between that and those shady stock manipulators in the stock market?"

"Essentially, there's no difference." Lin Feng finally turned his gaze from the painting to Lü Yi, a faint sneer playing on his lips. "It's just that what's being played here is 'artwork,' which sounds more high-end, has looser regulations, and is often tied to more 'respectable' reasons like 'legal tax avoidance,' 'asset allocation,' and 'family inheritance.' Many of the truly wealthy and old money play this game. Mike has only learned a superficial trick and is using it in his even lower-level scam to add another layer of 'laundering' and 'value appreciation.'"

Lü Yi suddenly realized, then frowned. "Boss, since you knew this old guy was setting a trap to scam you, why did you still buy his painting? Isn't that just blatantly giving him money?"

"Give money?" Lin Feng chuckled, walked over and sat down on the small sofa, his posture relaxed. "The money I spent on the paintings was practically zero cost to Golden Sun. Using a bunch of 'paper' with almost zero cost to exchange for these carefully packaged paintings that have 'circulation value' in a specific circle, who wins and who loses?"

Lü Yi aback, not quite understanding.

Lin Feng patiently explained, "Mike's scam requires a constant influx of 'new money' to pay interest on the ' Old Qian,' maintaining the Ponzi bubble. He's currently in a rush to find various channels to attract funds, and art investment is one of the seemingly 'safe' and 'value-preserving' options he presents to his 'high-end clients.' When I buy his paintings with ' Superdollars,' this money enters his system and is used to pay off previous 'investment returns,' fill other holes, or even potentially embezzle a portion. But regardless, this money, after going through his seemingly 'legal' art transaction process, becomes ambiguous in nature. Even if an investigation is conducted in the future, it will focus on his transactions with galleries, tracing the flow of funds back to him, not the source of our funds."

He paused, looking at Lü Yi: "This is equivalent to Mike using his own channels and connections to launder some money for us. Although it may not be completely thorough, it's at least the first step, and it looks completely legal and compliant, a normal art investment activity. All we paid was printing costs. What we got in return was pre-processed funds, and... a preliminary understanding of his cash flow and money laundering channels."

This time, Lü Yi understood, and his eyes lit up. "Boss, you mean we should turn the tables on him, use his scheme to launder our money? And find out how he operates?"

"Not only that." Lin Feng leaned forward slightly, his voice low, carrying a cold calculation. "Mike is so eager to make money, even personally 'teaching' and soliciting customers, which means his scam may have reached a critical point where it needs a large influx of funds, or... he sensed danger and wants to make one last quick buck and then run away."

"Running away?" Lü Yi exclaimed in surprise, then realized that he had spoken too loudly, quickly covered his mouth, and looked around.

"Yes, he's running away," Lin Feng affirmed, his eyes sharp. "The kind of person he is, shrewder than a fox. Seattle's been so tense lately, and Daniel and Cohen just died—though it was ruled an accident—but someone like him, who's been in the gray area for so long, has the keenest sense of smell. He probably sensed something was wrong, or maybe someone behind him (like that Dinggeli) pressured him to quickly dispose of his 'assets' (including these paintings and the funds from the scam) and disappear. That's why he's putting on such a show, so eager to absorb new funds—both to keep the scam from collapsing immediately, and to make one last big profit before he runs away, as his capital for a carefree life in his later years."

Lü Yi gasped, "That old bastard, he's ruthless! What about our money...?"

"He can't swallow our money," Lin Feng sneered. "He thinks we're fat sheep, greedy for high returns, trying to squeeze one last buck out of us. But he doesn't know that we're not just eyeing the money he swindled, but also the much larger network of interests he might be involved in, and... him as a person."

He looked towards the stairs, where it remained quiet, as if nothing had happened.

"He's bought the paintings, lectured me on theory, and even taken me upstairs. Next, he'll probably talk to me about his 'core project' with its '300% return' and increase investment, right? Or will he use these paintings as 'high-quality assets' to lure me into investing more money?" Lin Feng's tone was tinged with mockery. "He thinks he has everything under control, that the prey is already in the trap. But little does he know, the roles of hunter and prey have been reversed from the very beginning."

Lü Yi finally understood completely, and an excited yet cruel smile appeared on his face, "Boss, you mean, we not only want to get our money back, but also take him down, along with all those behind him who want a piece of the pie?"

"Whether I take it or not depends on the situation. But at least, I can eat as much meat as I want from his plate. Does he think he can run away?" Lin Feng stood up, straightened his suit cuffs, his eyes calm and expressionless, yet carrying a chilling aura.

Did he ask me?

The words were spoken softly, but to Lü Yi, they carried immense weight. He could almost see how terrified and desperate Mike Anderson's smug, self-assured face would become in the near future.

Lin Feng said no more and turned to walk to the other side of the exhibition hall, where there were several more avant-garde works. Lü Yi quickly followed, admiring his boss's cunning and ruthlessness.

The art exhibition continued, the music was soft, and the guests whispered. No one knew that beneath this seemingly elegant and tranquil artistic atmosphere, a deadly game of chess—a game of greed, deception, and counterattack—was quietly entering its middle stages. The dealer, believing himself to be in a safe position, was unaware that he had already become a pawn in the eyes of a larger hunter, forced to follow a predetermined path, or even... a sacrificial offering about to be placed on the altar.

[End of Chapter 418]