Chapter 1959 - 1431: Feast at Hongmen (Part 3)

"It doesn't really count as some astronomical figure." Song Heping said calmly. "Two hundred and fifty million, that's all—and it's just a batch of inventory the US Army needs to dispose of after pulling out."

"But disposing of it is no easy job." The one speaking was Curtis. He was elegantly cutting his cod, not even looking up. "Especially a certain portion of it… the more sensitive equipment. Stinger Missiles, loitering munitions, high‑end drones… Stuff like that, the market is limited, and there are a lot of 'restrictions.'"

Song Heping looked at him, feigning surprise. "Looks like Mr. Curtis knows quite a bit about this."

Curtis raised his head, smiling as he pushed up his Glasses. "My business touches a lot of fields. Arms are one of them. I know what sells easily and what burns your hands."

He put down knife and fork, picked up his napkin and dabbed at the corner of his mouth.

"As far as I know, in the agreement Mr. Song signed with the White House, there are explicit constraints on where this sensitive gear can go. You can't sell it to certain… specific customers."

"That's right." Song Heping admitted. "There is such a clause."

"Which creates a problem." Curtis leaned back in his chair, hands folded on the table in a negotiator's pose. "In effect, you're sitting on roughly three hundred million worth of sensitive equipment that, under the agreement, you can't handle at will. But keeping it on your hands is pure cost—it's risk. The longer you hold it, the bigger the risk. The Illigo Government might pick up some of the conventional gear, but that sensitive stuff… either they can't afford it, or they don't dare take it. Too many eyes are watching this place."

"Exactly, exactly." Robbin chimed in at the right moment. "Which is why we need a solution, Song. That's why I brought everyone together tonight, especially Curtis. He's the expert in this niche. He has channels, he has ways to turn that burning‑hot hardware into solid, spendable cash. And he can do it without leaving traces or trouble."

Song Heping said nothing, just watched Curtis.

Curtis pulled a small black leather notebook from the inside pocket of his suit and opened it. Inside were several pages of handwritten numbers and symbols.

"I've studied your inventory list. Of course, through a mix of public and non‑public sources."

He smiled. "FIM‑92 Stinger Missiles—you've got at least six hundred sets, launchers plus missiles. 'Spring Blade' 300 and 600 series loitering munitions, about eight hundred rounds. And 'Puma' and 'ScanEagle' drone systems, forty sets each, plus some other sensitive kit… If you send this equipment through official channels to be destroyed or returned, you won't see a cent. You might even have to pay processing costs. But if you hand it to me…"

He paused, turned a page. "I can give you a package price. The lot, one hundred and twenty million US Dollar. All in cash, nothing through the banking system, paid in two installments: the first fifty percent after the goods leave Illiguo's territory, the remaining fifty percent after final delivery. If you don't want cash, you can choose cryptocurrency, third‑party accounts, or even physical settlement—like Gold or diamond."

One hundred and twenty million.

The price was far below market, even lower than the "cost price" at which Song Heping had taken it off the US Army's hands.

But given the nature of this equipment, it was already a hefty sum.

More importantly, Curtis was promising a "clean" deal—no incriminating trail.

At least, on the surface.

Song Heping lifted his wine glass, gently swirling the remaining white wine inside.

He needed time to think, but not too much—too long and he'd look indecisive.

"It sounds very tempting, Mr. Curtis." He spoke slowly. "But there's one issue. How do I ensure that once this batch leaves my control, it doesn't end up somewhere I really don't want to see? For example, Siria? Or Yemen? Or even… Persia?"

Curtis's smile didn't flicker. "Mr. Song, we're both professionals. In this line of work, there are questions you simply don't ask. I guarantee the safety of the transaction and the safety of your funds—that's enough. Where the goods ultimately go is something my clients have to think about, not you. The contract will state clearly that the buyer is a 'neutral third party' and the equipment is for 'lawful defensive purposes.' That's sufficient."

"Not sufficient." Song Heping set down his glass, his voice calm but resolute. "In the agreement I signed with the United States Government, it explicitly forbids these systems from flowing into 'sensitive regions.' If it gets investigated afterwards, I can't just wave it off with 'nothing to do with me.' I'll be held accountable, put back on the blacklist, maybe even face criminal charges."

Robbin's expression tightened slightly, but he quickly forced a smile. "Song, you're being overly cautious. Curtis has been in this business for years without a single problem. His channels are very secure. The hardware will change hands multiple times—its final destination is practically untraceable. And…"

He leaned forward, voice dropping lower.

"It's all friends at this table. Who's going to rat you out? Us? We're just like you—we all want the deal to go through smoothly."

Blake said roughly, "Song, don't overthink it. That batch of sensitive gear is nothing but trouble if you sit on it. Move it early, turn it into cash, and you're better off."

Hansen spoke up too, his tone more analytical. "Song, from a risk‑management standpoint, Curtis's plan is sound. One hundred and twenty million in cash is more than enough to offset the concessions you've made on other deals. And you can shift your focus back to the conventional equipment—that's where the Big Head is."

Old Tom and Marco didn't say anything, but both were watching Song Heping, and the look in their eyes made their meaning plain.