"If you ever have bluefin tuna of this quality again, don't hesitate to contact me. The price is negotiable."
As workers hauled the two massive bluefin tunas away, Suzuki Murao spoke earnestly, his wide smile betraying his barely contained excitement.
"Oh... okay…" Jiang Hai replied, still a little dazed.
Watching the funds—$3.6 million—transfer smoothly into his account as the tuna were loaded away, Jiang Hai couldn't help feeling confused. He turned to Edward Anderson.
"Was that price too low?" he asked in a low voice.
Edward scratched his head. "Honestly? I think it might've been a bit high."
In his view, Jiang Hai's pricing wasn't unreasonable. After all, they'd sold a two-meter tuna for around $50,000. These four-meter monsters, even factoring in rarity and quality, should be worth around $200,000 by weight. Triple that for rarity and pristine condition, and $600,000 per fish seemed fair.
Even if these tasted better than the average bluefin, $1.8 million each still felt a little over the top.
But the money had arrived. The deal was done. It was hard to argue with success.
"Ah, whatever. It's sold—no point dwelling on it." Jiang Hai shook his head, trying to brush off the uncertainty.
"Wait, if we really undersold, maybe we should prepare better for next time. Boss, why don't you call Miss Pra?" Tommy Charles suggested. Among them, no one understood market prices better than Pra Walton.
Jiang Hai agreed. He stepped away from the crowd to make the call.
The phone barely rang twice before it connected. Pra Walton's cheerful voice came through.
"Hey, why are you calling? Did you miss me?" she asked with a chuckle.
Jiang Hai smiled faintly. Her warm tone put him at ease.
"Can't I call without a reason?"
"Of course you can. I wish you'd talk to me every moment."
He laughed. "What, even while you're on the toilet? Wouldn't the smell kill me?"
"As long as you don't mind, I could even bite you while I'm at it!" she teased.
The vivid image flashed in Jiang Hai's mind, but he shook it off quickly. He wasn't that kind of guy.
"Alright, jokes aside—just sold two bluefin tunas. Over four meters each. One went for $1.8 million, so $3.6 million total. Did I undersell them or overcharge?" he asked, getting to the point.
There was a brief silence before Pra responded.
"In the U.S., bluefin tuna over four meters long rarely fetch that much. Normally, they sell for around $1.2 million. You got $1.8 million per fish, and you think that's cheap?" she asked, surprised.
Then she paused, thinking. "Wait—was the buyer from Japan?"
"Yeah, someone named Suzuki Murao," Jiang Hai confirmed.
Pra's voice grew firm. "Then yes, you definitely undersold. If it was an American buyer, $1.2 million tops. But in Japan, those same fish can go for $2.3 to $2.5 million each. That guy just made half a million on each tuna."
Jiang Hai's jaw tightened. Not only had he been lowballed, but by a Japanese profiteer—his least favorite kind of person.
"That damn profiteer…" he muttered. He already disliked the Japanese, and this only deepened the resentment.
"Don't worry too much," Pra consoled him. "Exporting to Japan isn't easy. Between customs, quarantine, and transportation time, it's a hassle. Their domestic sellers have streamlined channels, but we'd have to go through red tape. You got your money clean. That's not a loss."
Jiang Hai sighed. "Still, is there any way we can sell directly to Japan?"
Better that he made the profit than some island middleman.
"There might be a way," Pra said thoughtfully. "But you'd need connections with Japanese conglomerates—someone with the power to bypass the usual bureaucracy. I'll look into it for you."
"Alright, I'll leave it to you," Jiang Hai said with a nod, though he felt conflicted.
If he sold to the Japanese market, the profits would be incredible. But part of him didn't want them to benefit at all.
Still, even if he didn't sell to them directly, what was stopping another buyer from flipping his fish on the side? It was just seafood—not a weapon.
China was also a potentially lucrative market. But there were problems.
For one, the Chinese didn't show much interest in the species Jiang Hai raised. They preferred local varieties like yellow croaker or Yangtze River knife fish. When it came to salmon, most consumers didn't care if it was Atlantic or not. Jiang Hai's salmon, priced at 300 yuan per catty wholesale, was leagues above the typical dozen-yuan range. That price gap was hard to justify.
As for bluefin tuna—China simply didn't have a strong high-end raw fish culture. Nobody was going to spend tens of millions on a single fish.
So, like it or not, Japan remained the best market for high-end tuna.
After ending the call, Jiang Hai glanced at Edward and Tommy but chose not to mention the lowballing. What was the point?
Instead, he casually checked in with them, then left the exhibition hall to stretch his legs. He left his bodyguard, Connorson Peters, behind to help at the booth—his size made him perfect for hauling heavy items. And besides, this was Boston—half of it could be considered Jiang Hai's turf now. Not many would dare mess with him.
And those who could… probably didn't recognize him.
Lost in thought, Jiang Hai wandered down the pier until he realized he'd entered Boston's Chinatown.
It wasn't a large district—he'd been here before. The snacks were decent, and although he'd had lunch, the smell of food had him hungry again. He picked up a burrito and some skewers, munching as he walked.
This kind of street food was best eaten on the go, not in a restaurant.
After finishing, he tossed the wrappers and bamboo sticks into a nearby bin—and then, looking up, spotted a familiar dessert shop.
He paused.
He'd been here before—two years ago, to be exact.
That day, he'd come to Boston with Edward Anderson to buy a boat. Edward went shopping while the ship was being prepped. Jiang Hai had spotted Cindy Clive giving a tour near a battleship and trailed along, only to be mistaken as a pervert. Like today, he bought some snacks and strolled around until he ended up at this very dessert shop.
It was here he ran into Cindy again. If not for Delia George stepping in, he might've been dragged off by security.
Jiang Hai chuckled at the memory and sat down at an outdoor table, ordering the same juice he'd had back then.
As he sipped, his mind wandered to the past—especially his complicated history with Cindy Clive.
Back when he was still emotionally inexperienced, Cindy had been the person he wanted to get close to the most. They'd eaten together, toured Boston, and even fought over her. His decision to settle in Winthrop was, in part, because of her.
But somewhere along the way, their relationship had quietly unraveled.
Was it her job at the town office that distanced them? Or had she grown uncomfortable with the many women in Jiang Hai's life? Or was it all because of Qi Li?
Whatever the reason, the two of them were now little more than familiar strangers.
"Humans are greedy creatures… Always looking at the bowl but thinking about the pot," Jiang Hai murmured. "Maybe I was wrong."
He shook off the melancholy with a self-deprecating smile.
Since that first heartbreak, he had fully embraced his "Crystal Palace" lifestyle. And honestly, things were good now.
He wasn't the lonely man wrapped in blankets anymore. These days, he could sleep with whatever—or whoever—he wanted. That had to count for something, right?
Just as he finished that thought and checked his watch, preparing to leave, a familiar voice called out.
"Jiang Hai? What are you doing here?"
He turned in surprise.
It wasn't Cindy Clive—but her sister, Karma Clive. And standing beside her was another familiar face: Kelly Soren.
"…You?" Jiang Hai blinked. Of all places, of all people… Was this telepathy?