The Final Ultimatum

Three days later, in Seattle, at the Canlis Restaurant.

This is one of Seattle's most iconic and upscale restaurants, perched on a hill in the Queen Anne, boasting stunning views overlooking Lake Union and the Space Needle. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city skyline and the surrounding lake and mountains like a flowing painting, as dusk falls and the lights outside begin to twinkle.

But Lin Feng was not in the mood to appreciate the scenery.

He sat at a table by the window, a glass of untouched sparkling water in front of him, gazing calmly at the night outside. Lü Yi stood not far away, blending into the warm lighting of the restaurant like a shadow.

7:10.

Footsteps came from the entrance, their rhythm steady, carrying a deliberate composure.

Philip Winslow appeared.

He was wearing a dark blue double-breasted suit, his light blond hair was still neatly combed, and a delicate pearl tie clip adorned his tie. He still exuded the air of a pampered upper-class person. But unlike the last time we met, the smile on his face was gone, replaced by an undisguised coldness.

He walked up to Lin Feng, didn't greet him, didn't shake hands, and simply sat down opposite him.

The waiter came forward to lay out a napkin for him, but he raised his hand to stop him.

"No need," he said, his voice much lower than the last time they met. "I'm not here for dinner."

The waiter tactfully withdrew.

Philip placed his hands on the table, leaned forward slightly, and stared directly at Lin Feng. The feigned gentleness in his blue eyes was gone, replaced by a raw sense of oppression.

"Mr. Lin, I thought I made myself very clear last time," he said, his voice low but each word carrying weight, "But you don't seem to have taken my words to heart."

Lin Feng leaned back in his chair, his expression calm. "Mr. Winslow, what makes you say that?"

"What are you talking about?" Philip sneered. "NLG's stock price has plummeted by 60%, the SEC investigation has begun, and your company is being put on the media's hot seat. You're not telling me you don't know all this, are you?"

Lin Feng picked up his water glass, took a sip, and said calmly, "I know. But what does that have to do with whether I've taken your words to heart?"

Philip's eyes turned cold.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead took a document from the inside pocket of his suit, placed it on the table, and pushed it in front of Lin Feng. The cover of the document was blank and had no markings, but it was about a dozen pages thick.

"This is an agreement," Philip said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Take a look."

Lin Feng glanced down at the document but didn't reach for it. "What's in it?"

"The terms are simple." Philip leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands in front of his stomach, and said in a condescending tone, "You will transfer all the assets you inherited from Mike Anderson —control of NLG, the real estate under Mike's name, the trust fund, and all related project interests—to the person we designate."

He paused, his gaze fixed on Lin Feng's eyes, and added, word by word, "As compensation, you can take five million US dollars. Then leave the United States within thirty days and never come back."

After saying this, he curled his lips into a mocking smile, "Five million dollars, enough for you to live a good life at Great East. You should be content."

Lin Feng looked at the document, remained silent for a few seconds, then looked up at Philip.

His expression remained unchanged, devoid of anger, fear, or even the slightest fluctuation. That calmness made Philip feel slightly uneasy, but he quickly suppressed it.

"Five million US dollars." Lin Feng repeated the number, his tone devoid of any emotion. "So, all that effort and risk I took is worth only five million?"

"You should be grateful you still got five million," Philip's voice turned cold. "If it weren't for some people thinking it unnecessary to be so ruthless, you wouldn't even have gotten five million today. What you swallowed never belonged to you in the first place. Making you spit it out now, and even leaving you some travel expenses, is already more than enough."

He paused, leaned forward again, lowered his voice, and said with a blatant threat, "Mr. Lin, you need to understand one thing. This is United States, not your Great East. You're able to stand here not because of your own abilities, but because we allow you to."

"Now, we don't intend to allow it."

These words were spoken without any mercy; each word was like a slap across Lin Feng's face. Philip's eyes held an undisguised contempt, a contempt that was not only a denial of Lin Feng as an individual, but also a contempt for his entire tribe.

In his view, a Great East who could scrape by on this land should be grateful and humbled. But now, this Great East not only showed no gratitude, but dared to challenge their authority—this was simply courting death.

Lin Feng remained silent for a long time after hearing these words.

The background music in the restaurant was playing softly, and the other diners around were talking loudly. No one noticed the confrontation taking place at this table in the corner.

Finally, Lin Feng made a move.

Instead of taking the document, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a cigar.

It was a Cuba Montecristo No. 2, its dark brown wrapper gleaming oily under the warm yellow light. He leisurely cut off the cap, then picked up a match from the table, struck it, and swirled the end of the cigar evenly over the flame until the entire cross-section was lit, releasing a rich tobacco aroma.

Throughout the entire process, he didn't look at Philip even once.

Philip frowned, but said nothing.

Lin Feng put the cigar in his mouth, took a puff, and then slowly and deliberately blew a cloud of milky white smoke toward Philip.

The smoke hit Philip precisely in the face.

Philip's brow furrowed even more, and he instinctively stepped back, waving the smoke in front of him. A crack finally appeared in his expression—a hint of offended anger.

"Mr. Lin, please show some respect." His voice turned cold.

Lin Feng looked at him, a cigar dangling from his lips, his eyes carrying a half-smile.

"Are you trying to scare me?" he asked casually, as if asking a trivial question.

Philip took a deep breath, suppressing his displeasure. He stared at Lin Feng for several seconds, then suddenly laughed. There was no kindness in that laugh, only a smug and mocking expression of a petty person who had achieved their goal.

"Mr. Lin, I'm not trying to scare you," he said, enunciating each word clearly, his voice low but carrying a certain arrogance. "I'm simply stating an objective fact."

He paused, leaned forward slightly, placed his hands on the table, and looked at Lin Feng with an almost condescending posture, uttering the sentence word by word:

"This is United States, our United States. It's not a place for some yellow-skinned Monkey from Great East to cause trouble."

He spoke the words "yellow-skinned Monkey" with perfect naturalness, as if it were just an ordinary term and he didn't find anything wrong with it at all.

After saying this, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and waited for Lin Feng's reaction with the air of a victor.

He waited to see anger, humiliation, or fear on Lin Feng's face. He waited to see this arrogant Great East finally realize his situation, then obediently lower his head, sign the agreement, and slink back to his hometown.

But he waited a long time, and nothing came of it.

Lin Feng felt no anger, no humiliation, and no fear.

He simply looked at Philip, a faint smile still playing on his lips, his eyes as calm as a bottomless lake.

The calmness made Philip feel a strange unease.

But he quickly suppressed this unease.

What waves can a Great East from the University of Tokyo possibly stir up?

He pointed to the document on the table and said in a final, commanding tone, "Sign it and send it to my office within three days. This is your last chance, Mr. Lin. Don't push your luck."

After saying that, he stood up, straightened the hem of his suit jacket, and turned to walk towards the restaurant entrance.

The leather shoes made a steady, powerful sound as they stepped on the floor.

Lin Feng sat there, watching the Back View disappear around the corner of the restaurant.

He glanced down at the document on the table, but didn't touch it. Instead, he picked up his water glass and drank the rest of his sparkling water in one gulp.

Then he picked up the cigar, took another puff, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

Smoke rose gently under the warm yellow light and then dissipated into the air.

His eyes turned as cold as iron the moment the smoke dissipated.