After the negotiation ended, Song Yinzhang threw up in the restroom like her soul was being torn out.
Lin Zhi was touching up her lipstick outside the cubicle. In the mirror she saw that classical beauty's face ruined by tears.
"Lin Zhi," Song croaked, "have you ever had your valuation slashed like this?"
Lin Zhi snapped the YSL 416 shut and smiled like someone who had just defused a bomb.
"No. I was zeroed out directly."
She turned and left. Her heels struck the marble like the countdown to an execution.
In the elevator, Fu Juanzhou leaned in the corner, vaping. Mint and cedar—air before an avalanche.
He spoke suddenly.
"My place tonight? Celebrate your first time leading the kill."
Lin Zhi didn't look at him, only watched the floor numbers drop.
"Mr. Fu, there are many ways to celebrate. Are you sure you want the most expensive one?"
Fu Juanzhou laughed low, pinned her against the mirror, lips brushing her ear.
"I only invest in assets that guarantee a clean exit.
Can you promise me a clean exit?"
Ding. B2.
Lin Zhi stepped out first and tossed back:
"Yes. But you may not be able to afford the exit fee."