Just as the conversation was settling down, the door opened again. Fu Chuanxue walked in, followed by over a dozen people carrying all sorts of items—paintings, porcelain, old earthenware jars. George even spotted a few pieces that looked seriously heavy—real artifacts.
He glanced at Mr. Wang, the merchant beside him, silently wondering how many "ancestral treasures" were being sold off today.
Still, since he'd arrived partway through the gathering, it wasn't his place to say anything.
The three elderly guests put on their glasses and began carefully inspecting each item.
Fu Heng leaned toward George and quietly explained: Mr. Wang's family had once held official posts back in China, and when they immigrated, they brought everything they could. Unfortunately, they'd arrived during a financial downturn. A small craft shop they'd started failed, and Mr. Wang's kids had racked up serious gambling debts. Now, they had no choice but to part with the family heirlooms.
The three old men weren't just here to potentially buy—they were also expected to help spread word within the community.
Only then did George fully understand.
After half an hour of inspection, the three appraisers valued 128 pieces at around $50,000.
That might not sound like much in modern terms, but consider this: the average worker made just $3 a day. Even Harry, the former president of Wells Fargo Bank, had earned a little over $4,000 a year.
So yeah—$50,000 was no small sum. Especially in a foreign land, where few recognized the cultural worth of these pieces. And even among those who did, few were willing to pay for them.
The room fell quiet.
Finally, Fu Heng spoke. "Mr. Wang, these are all fine items. But you know how it is—we may only be able to buy one or two. Finding buyers for everything could take a long time. Families that can afford this sort of thing already have collections. The rest, frankly, can't."
Another elder chimed in, "That's why Hall Master Fu was invited today—to see if anyone in the community might be interested. It's unfortunate Brother Wang has to part with these under such difficult circumstances."
Silence followed again.
George took a slow sip of tea. "Mr. Wang, gentlemen—if it's alright, may I take part?"
"Oh? Something catch your eye?" Hall Master Fu smiled. "If so, name it. Let it be my gift to you, in thanks."
"Appreciate the gesture," George replied, "but I'd prefer to know if I can make a purchase like everyone else."
He turned to Mr. Wang.
Mr. Wang hesitated a moment, then nodded. "If you're interested, of course. I brought them to sell, after all."
An old gentleman named Qian seemed ready to object, but Hall Master Li gave him a subtle look that kept him quiet.
"In that case," George said calmly, "I'll take the whole lot."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
"All of it?" Mr. Wang asked.
"That might be overdoing it," Fu Heng said cautiously. "It's quite a large sum."
He had planned to offer George a piece as a thank-you—not watch him buy everything outright.
Even Hall Master Li looked surprised.
George chuckled. "If Mr. Wang is willing to sell."
"Cash only," Mr. Wang replied quickly, almost anxiously.
George didn't mention the man's not-so-subtle test of liquidity.
Instead, he called for Paul and Harry, who were waiting downstairs.
"To be clear," George said, "would you prefer cash or check?"
"Cash would be better."
George turned to Harry. "Call someone. Have fifty thousand in cash delivered. And get a lawyer to bring over a purchase agreement."
He looked back to Mr. Wang. "No problem. We'll take care of it right away. I'll also need your help arranging transport."
Clearly, they had a vehicle capable of hauling the antiques—George wouldn't need to arrange one himself.
Besides, he'd rather the original handlers take responsibility. If anything got damaged, it would be painful—not just financially, but sentimentally. Some of these pieces could be worth millions down the line. A few were probably irreplaceable.
Truth be told, George had already decided to buy them even if Mr. Wang declined.
Better in his hands than left to rot in someone's basement—or worse, broken during a poorly handled sale.
While they waited for the money, dinner resumed.
Of course, George had more than enough cash stored in his space. But with so many people present, it wasn't the right moment to show off.
As the others ate, the reality of George's wealth slowly dawned on the room.
Paul and Harry formally introduced him. Some of the guests started to look awkward.
Sitting next to a man who could casually drop $50,000? That hit different.
Fu Chuanxue quietly did the math on his fingers.
George laughed. "It's not as crazy as it sounds. Most of my assets are tied up in property and business. I don't walk around with bags of money."
If the people in the room had known the slang, they'd have called him the king of humblebrags.
Luckily, the awkwardness didn't last long. The lawyer and courier arrived.
Contracts signed. Cash delivered.
Mr. Wang counted it himself. George then took out three red envelopes—each with $100—and handed them to the appraisers.
They refused at first.
"It's just a small thank-you for your time today," George said. "Please accept it."
They still hesitated.
"If possible," George continued, "I'd love to consult you again sometime. And if you come across anyone else selling antiques, feel free to reach out. You can contact Harry if I'm not available."
Reluctantly, but with some appreciation, the three elders finally accepted.
The next day, after tying up a few loose ends, George and his group left San Francisco and headed to Dearborn, Michigan—home to the Lincoln Motor Company's current headquarters.
It was also where Ford's main offices were located, and the city itself had earned a reputation as an industrial stronghold. Steel mills, car parts, assembly lines—it was all here.
Once they arrived, George spent the morning touring Lincoln's departments. He walked through R&D, advertising, finance, and the newly renovated production workshops, accompanied by Leland, the company's general manager.
When they reached the central floor, George gathered everyone and kept it short.
"Hey, everyone. I'm your new boss," he began casually. "You probably don't know much about me yet, and that's fine. Just know this—I'm the one signing your paychecks."
There were a few chuckles, but the room stayed tense. These were uncertain times. Layoffs were everywhere. Factories were going under.
"I've got full confidence in Mr. Leland's leadership," George continued, nodding toward him. "I hope you'll keep backing him like you have until now."
Then he paused, scanning the room.
"One more thing—we're changing the wage structure."
The tension shot up. You could practically hear the workers holding their breath.
After all, "changes to wages" usually meant bad news.
George let the pause stretch just long enough, then smiled.
"Starting immediately, everyone's daily wage goes up by one dollar. Overtime will now be paid at time-and-a-half."
Silence for a beat—then the place lit up with cheers.
You couldn't ask for a better announcement in a struggling economy.
Higher wages meant people valued their jobs more. Especially when most folks didn't even have one.
George let them celebrate, standing off to the side with Leland.
The company had recently taken a hit—delayed paychecks, bad morale, rumors in the papers. But this? This felt like a turning point.
Leland had already settled the back pay. George's move sealed it.
Once things settled down, George and Leland sat down for a longer strategy session.
They had plans.
Over the past few months, they'd been working behind the scenes—buying ad space, releasing subtle digs at General Motors, and generally shaking the market up. Now it was time to go public.
It was late November. They were targeting a big rollout across 20 major U.S. cities.
The idea was simple and effective: three days before Christmas, launch a media blitz.
Each city would have a test car driving around high-traffic areas—slick, visible, unmistakable.
Locals could book test drives. Experience the difference firsthand.
Each city would get just 30 units. No mass distribution. No dealers flooding the streets.
Only the first 200 verified applicants would get VIP cards, which they'd need to qualify for purchase.
Every car would have a serial number, with options for interior customization—seat colors, trim, finish.
No one else was offering that kind of personal touch. Not yet.
Three full-time mechanics would be stationed in each city to support the rollout. When buyers picked up their cars, a short ribbon-cutting ceremony would be held—photos, a little PR splash.
It wasn't about volume. It was about presence.
George was playing the long game: limited quantity, premium service, exclusivity. Hunger marketing was before the term even existed.
The full 4S dealership model would come later. For now, this "lite" version was enough to make waves.
They also discussed working with their bank to start offering car insurance policies directly, bundled deals, and one-stop packages.
Installment plans? Off the table.
If you wanted a Lincoln, you paid in full.
This wasn't a brand chasing every customer. It was one of creating demand by raising the bar.