Chapter 157: Making Money Calls for Splurging

William White indeed possessed a somewhat cunning streak, and toward those old fogies, he felt intensely irritated yet helpless, forced to cooperate whenever the situation demanded it.

"Sigh, it seems we need to mend fences. That little fellow's resentment toward us is far from ordinary."

"Boss, it wasn't our fault this time. Isn't he overreacting a bit?"

"Ha, many people underestimate him. Remember, no one achieves success easily. Isn't Jobs smart? But does he earn as much as William White?"

"Boss, they don't seem to be in the same league anymore."

"Indeed. We initially thought he was just another Jobs, but it turned out completely different. He understands our tactics thoroughly, knows what we fear, and even knows what we need. What a troublesome kid!"

A group of Wall Street fund managers had recently been mocking the Japanese as country bumpkins with no worldly experience. No matter how outstanding two companies established just a year ago might be, a valuation of seven or eight hundred million dollars should have been their absolute ceiling. To actually offer a valuation exceeding one billion dollars—were they out of their minds?

They vented their fury, mocking the Japanese idiots, yet they never imagined that just a few days later, the traditionally conservative Morgan Stanley would issue the exact same valuation, slightly surpassing the Japanese bid and signaling a determined, win-at-all-costs attitude.

These elites were certainly no fools. They quickly deduced that there had to be inside information they were unaware of. Barring any surprises, the development plans of these companies must be extraordinarily compelling; otherwise, this price point defied explanation.

Damn it, why did the Japanese find out before us?

In an instant, various men in tailored suits began swarming around these three companies.

Though well aware that no one would easily leak top-tier commercial secrets, and despite the vague information available, nothing could stop these individuals from digging for the truth. Anything capable of supporting a stock price ultimately boiled down to new profit drivers. The world calculated company valuations through a similar lens—it all came down to projected future earnings.

If only the Japanese thought everything was fine, doubts would remain. But combined with Morgan Stanley's assessment, the proposition carried serious weight. Without tremendous potential, Morgan Stanley's offer would only have come in lower than Japan's.

The elites were astonished to discover that William White's assets had skyrocketed once again. The most terrifying part was that this was merely a financing round; when the formal IPO arrived, the price would unquestionably dwarf the current figures.

To be frank, he could have proceeded directly to an IPO right then and there, completely bypassing those cumbersome procedures.

When someone finally voiced this question aloud, the response they met with was naturally one of scorn and contempt. Was William White short on money now? His companies were all cash-generating machines. Right now, he simply needed strategic investors. Did they really think money alone could buy shares?

Since he now possessed wealth, he naturally wanted to throw his weight around. Though the funds hadn't hit his accounts yet, it hardly mattered—no one doubted his solvency.

"Mr. White, please rest assured that our Lürssen shipyard can definitely meet your requirements." Listening to the fellow's heavily German-accented English, William White could not help but smile.

"Well, I certainly trust your capabilities. This is my first yacht, and I don't want any mishaps."

"Please rest easy, Mr. White. Within two weeks, our designers will submit the revised blueprints."

"Good, I'm very much looking forward to it."

In this era, the concept of a superyacht did not yet exist, and William White's demands could only be described as terrifying. A behemoth approaching two hundred meters in length possessed the displacement of a cruiser, and he insisted that its speed must not fall below twenty-six knots.

Had the hull not been sufficiently massive, even the Germans would have been powerless.

The shipyard manager was utterly tormented. This so-called yacht pushed their absolute engineering limits; anything larger exceeded their manufacturing capacity. This specification belonged strictly to a battlecruiser! Was the man planning to go on vacation or wage war?

A helicopter landing pad was understandable—that much was standard for luxury yachts—but a dedicated hangar was a headache, requiring a heavy-duty elevator as well.

A mini-submersible capable of carrying twelve people?

Good grief!

A mini-submersible held two people at most. This thing was practically a pocket submarine!

Yet, putting complaints aside, the man was undeniably a genius. No matter how one looked at it, this yacht did not belong to this era; it felt thoroughly science-fictional.

Sketching it out was one thing, but the real marvel was that it could actually be built. The man wasn't just tossing out random whims.

The construction cost of the yacht?

This colossal vessel would easily exceed forty million dollars, making it no cheaper than a Boeing 747. Factor in the helicopter and the submersible, and the price tag comfortably cleared fifty million and beyond.

"A fifty-million-dollar yacht?"

"Sigh, I truly am getting old. I remember the Dreadnought back in the day cost under two million pounds, didn't it?"

"Yes, Boss, approximately 1.5 million pounds."

"Has inflation really become this absurd?"

"Hardly, I suppose? Gold trades around five hundred now; no matter how much currency has devalued, it certainly hasn't dropped by ninety percent. That kind of money could easily fund a battleship."

"This massive vessel must require a considerable amount of time, no?"

"Estimated at least two years."

"Sigh, what an utterly self-indulgent whim."

Fifty million for a single yacht.

This piece of news delivered a far greater shock than the exact sum of William White's net worth. Figures in the billions of dollars had long ceased to have any real connection to ordinary people; depositing that much cash in a bank would crush anyone beneath the weight of the monthly interest.

Do not believe the myth that Americans are immune to resentment of the wealthy; schadenfreude over the rich remains a universal pastime, and Americans are hardly exceptions.

It was simply out of reach, rendering resentment pointless. Rather than drowning in envy, jealousy, and hatred, people preferred to focus on living their own modest lives, perhaps drawing a circle on the ground and cursing him for good measure.

A spoiled heir squandering a fortune?

No one dared label him as such. If these riches had been entirely inherited, mainstream society would undoubtedly tear him apart with criticism. Make no mistake, Americans loved finding trivial things to complain about.

Yet, his income was entirely legal, leaving critics with nothing to attack. It was simply his personal hobby, and many even felt the fellow wasn't wasting money aggressively enough.

At least, that was precisely how many investment banks viewed the matter. How could he possibly hoard so much cash in his hands? How were they supposed to make investments?

Facing such high-profile exposure, William White had little choice. One could not oscillate between being profound and domineering; maintaining a consistent streak of eccentricity was the only way to align with his established persona.

If memory served correctly, the previous richest man in America had operated in a similar fashion, reportedly dating over a hundred girlfriends simultaneously.

That man's hobbies happened to mirror William White's almost identically, with Hollywood serving as his preferred playground.

For a petroleum tycoon to constantly mingle in the entertainment industry seemed absurd, and had oil prices not remained robust, he likely would have gone bankrupt long ago.

While everyone else considered him ridiculous, William White thought otherwise. That man was an undisputed winner in life, having courted hundreds of girlfriends and leading a lifestyle of unbridled luxury.

Isn't that what human existence boils down to? Preaching about noble moral sentiments is nothing short of laughable. The only valid criticism leveled against him was his legendary stinginess.

Well, he was exceptionally generous to himself, but his girlfriends drew the short straw, reaping virtually no benefits. The provisions he left them in his will were ridiculously cheap.

There was no harm in staying with him purely for money; they happily cashed the checks, swallowed the sugarcoated pill, and tossed the bullet right back.

Ha! Would anyone dare call such a man a fool?