Chapter 281: Buying a Plane and The Equalizer

After leaving Guan Yuming's home, William called the flight crew and drove straight to the airport. Once he parked his car and entered the VIP lounge, the captain with four stripes on his sleeve and the co-pilot with three stripes quickly approached him.

"Hello, Mr. Devonshire, my name is Keane, and I'll be the captain for this flight. This is First Officer Johnson. It's an honor to serve you."

"Hello," William smiled and shook hands with both the captain and the co-pilot. "I'm William Devonshire."

After the pleasantries, Keane gestured with his hand, "This way, Mr. Devonshire," and led William toward the VIP boarding gate.

As they walked, he added, "The crew is preparing the food you like, based on the menu provided by the Four Seasons Hotel. Of course, you can also order anything else, and we will accommodate your needs."

"Thank you."

Keane's overly courteous attitude made William a bit suspicious. In the past, when flying private, the crew had always been polite, but never to this extent. As they reached the tarmac, William's suspicions were confirmed when he saw the plane.

"This is Bombardier's new Global Express?"

Seeing that William recognized the Global Express, Keane was pleased. It saved him the trouble of explaining. He smiled and said, "Yes, Mr. Devonshire. This is the BL901 Global Express, currently being promoted in England. When Bombardier heard you needed a private jet, they immediately decided to offer you a free trial. I'm sure you can guess their intentions."

William understood immediately. Of course, Bombardier was trying to develop him as a potential customer.

Whether or not the trial was free didn't matter much; the charter fee of over $100,000 was pocket change to William. But Bombardier's approach did please him. It felt good to be courted by a major private jet company that usually looked down on most customers.

Smiling, William said to Keane, "Thank Bombardier for me. Since this is the latest model, I'll give it a try. If I'm satisfied, I might consider buying one. Let's go, Keane. Boston is our destination."

William had already been considering purchasing a plane. Once the flight was stable, he indicated to the flight attendant that he wanted to tour the aircraft.

After the tour, William was slightly disappointed. The plane was designed more for business use, with only seats and sofas, and the overall space was limited. It was comfortable enough for seven or eight people, but no more.

However, given his current needs, it was suitable. With this in mind, William decided he might buy one.

At that time, Gulfstream had just completed its reorganization, and the future G550 and G650 were not even on the drawing board yet. Bombardier's 7000 and 8000 series were still far from production, and for anything larger, Boeing was the only option. Airbus had not yet made a name for itself, and the A380 had just been greenlit.

With the Global Express offering a range of 12,000 kilometers, sufficient for transatlantic flights, William was inclined to make a purchase. After the tour, he asked the flight attendant to have Bombardier's representative meet him at Boston Airport. Then, ignoring the persistent attempts at conversation by the flight attendant, he lay down on the sofa and took a nap.

Seven hours later, at around 3 p.m. Boston time, William deplaned and saw a group of five or six men in suits waiting on the tarmac.

As he stepped off the plane, the balding middle-aged man in the lead quickly approached, extending his hand from a distance. "Hello, Mr. Devonshire. I'm Steve, the sales president of Bombardier. It's an honor to serve you."

Shaking hands with Steve, William said, "Hello, Mr. Steve. Let's discuss business at the hotel."

"Certainly, Mr. Devonshire."

The Four Seasons Hotel's butler hurriedly opened the door of the Rolls-Royce for William. Once they arrived at the hotel, and as soon as they entered the presidential suite, the hotel butler presented a bottle of Macallan 1956, slightly bowing as he spoke.

"My apologies, Mr. Devonshire. After receiving a notice from the Four Seasons in London early this morning, our hotel searched all nearby cities for a better whiskey but could only find this Macallan 1956."

"Alright, alright, a 1956 is good enough. Since I have guests, please open it for us."

"Certainly, Mr. Devonshire," the butler said, bowing slightly. He carried the bottle to the suite's bar and poured drinks for William, Steve, and the two Bombardier designers.

Although the Macallan 1956 wasn't a big deal to William, it was still a bottle worth over $14,000. Even Steve, Bombardier's sales president, hadn't had it more than a few times, let alone the designers who had only heard of it but never tasted it.

While the liquor wasn't overwhelming enough to make the three feel overwhelmed, they were certainly pleased to be drinking such a rare whiskey, a luxury they couldn't easily purchase on the market.

They discussed design over drinks, spending over two hours. The designers made significant improvements to William's ideas and drafted a rough sketch.

After reviewing the draft, William was quite satisfied. "Let's proceed with this concept. Once the full design is complete, I'll review it. If I approve, you can start the work."

"Certainly, Mr. Devonshire," the designers agreed enthusiastically. They found William's ideas, which would become popular a decade later, to be novel and intriguing. They sensed that these designs would likely appeal to many young, trend-seeking customers in the future.

After the design discussion, William remembered his requirements for wood materials and asked Steve, "By the way, Steve, are you sure you can source enough top-quality Hainan yellow rosewood with the desired grain pattern?"

Sipping his whiskey, Steve smiled. "Rest assured, Mr. Devonshire. Our company knows exactly who has the stock. I guarantee that the wood for the plane's bedroom will be of the highest quality, and the other wood for the dining tables and living room decor will also be top-grade. As for the specific color, it will depend on what we can source from the market. If we find a sufficient quantity of one color, we'll use that."

"Excellent, very good," William said, pleased with Steve's assurances. "I want you to purchase enough wood for two planes. You should consider that I might want to upgrade to a new plane from your company in the future. Planes are just tools to me, and I will definitely upgrade when something better comes along. I don't want a situation where you can't source the wood I like when I decide to buy a new plane. As long as you can get it, money won't be an issue. Understood?"

"Of course," Steve was so excited that he nearly choked on his whiskey. He quickly covered his mouth and coughed lightly. William was a goldmine—a client who was already thinking about his next plane before the first one was even ordered. Internally cursing William as a nouveau riche, Steve nonetheless wished he had more customers like him. Such clients were diamonds in the industry.

"Don't worry, Mr. Devonshire. I assure you, our company will follow your instructions. We'll purchase an extra set of wood for you. Would you like to store the wood yourself, or should we keep it for you?"

"Of course, I'll keep it," William said, rolling his eyes at Steve. Only an idiot would leave such valuable wood with them. "I'm definitely going to upgrade my plane, and when I do depends on how well your new models impress me. Any other questions?"

"None," Steve replied, wisely choosing not to argue with William. Since their company would already be purchasing wood in China, acquiring one or two sets made little difference, aside from a bit of extra time. And since William, their big-spending client, had said money wasn't an issue, Steve was more than happy to oblige.

"Great, one last thing. When can I expect delivery of the plane?"

"Normally, it would take about a year, but we happen to have one that's 60% complete. If you don't mind, we could have it ready by the end of the year."

William immediately shook his head. "No, I do mind. I want a brand new one."

Not giving up, Steve continued, "Actually, that plane only has its frame completed. The interior hasn't been started, so it's practically new. If you agree, we can offer you a 10% discount."

"Stop. I said I want a new one, and I don't want to repeat myself a third time. Understood?" William stared intently at Steve.

"Alright, I apologize, Mr. Devonshire," Steve said, shaking his head in defeat. There was no arguing with someone who wasn't concerned about the price.

"Good. That's all for today. I'll have my personal lawyer contact you to finalize the contract," William said, standing up to shake hands with Steve and the two designers.

"Very well, Mr. Devonshire. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

After seeing them off, William, feeling a bit hungry, asked the hotel butler, "Please prepare dinner for me. Just give me the top five most famous dishes in Boston."

"Certainly, sir. I'll start on that right away. Do you like spicy food?" the butler asked softly

.

William nodded, "Yes, and also get a car ready for me tonight."

"Of course, sir," the butler replied, nodding.

At 8 p.m., after a dinner that lasted over an hour, William changed into a pair of casual jeans, a hoodie, and a baseball cap. Before leaving, he made a quick phone call, telling the person on the other end where he was headed. Then, in high spirits, he left the hotel.

As he walked out of the hotel, he saw a burgundy Rolls-Royce convertible waiting for him. Taking the keys from the butler, he put on his sunglasses, revved the engine a few times, lowered the top, and sped away.

Following the instructions from Sunday, William drove to a poor neighborhood in Boston's South End, parking across from a small, unassuming diner.

He closed the convertible top, turned off the engine, and, with his baseball cap on, walked into the diner. He ordered a coffee and sat by the window near the entrance.

According to Sunday's investigation, Robert McCall, the black man he was looking for, came to this diner almost every night, ordered a cup of tea, and spent a few hours reading a book.

After half an hour, at around 9 p.m., a stylishly dressed young woman with a small bag walked in.

William glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Seeing that she was a bit overweight, he quickly lost interest.

"Good evening, Alina. What would you like?" the diner owner, Jacob, asked with a smile as the young woman sat at the counter.

"Good evening, Jacob. I'll have a Boston cream pie with extra cream and a coffee, thanks."

"Alright, just a moment."

A few minutes later, the door opened with a chime.

"SIR, the target is entering," Sunday reported in William's earpiece.

William looked up to see a black man in a dark gray jacket, blue checkered shirt, and black trousers entering the diner with a hardcover book in hand. His head and face were clean-shaven.

As soon as the man walked in, he scanned the entire diner with a wary gaze. When he saw William's back, he paused for a moment, then looked again, his muscles tensing as he instinctively sensed that William was dangerous.

Cautiously, the man walked to a table parallel to William's and sat down without showing any expression.

Once seated, he carefully aligned the book with the edge of the table and then took a folded handkerchief from his shirt pocket, laying it on the table while keeping an eye on William from the corner of his eye.

To avoid any misunderstandings, William looked up and gave the man a friendly smile. The black man stared at William's face for a few seconds, visibly relaxing before smiling back and nodding slightly.

Although William maintained a cheerful expression, his mind was racing. This man looked oddly familiar. Although he couldn't immediately place the actor's name, he knew that anyone he recognized at first glance must have been quite famous in his previous life.

The diner owner, Jacob, approached the black man with a pot of hot water. As Jacob poured the water, the man placed a bagged tea leaf into his cup. "Thank you, Jacob."

"No problem," Jacob replied.

"By the way, Jacob, whose new Rolls-Royce convertible is parked outside? Isn't it risky to leave such a luxury car on the street at this hour? Aren't they worried about someone stealing the wheels?"

"Heh," Jacob chuckled without answering directly. Instead, he subtly pointed towards William.

Seeing the response coming, the black man nodded and thanked Jacob. "Thanks."

"Let me know if you need anything."

"Sure," the black man replied. After considering the situation, he recalled media reports about the young man in front of him and shook his head with a smile. Internally, he thought to himself that a $200,000 luxury car might be as insignificant to William Devonshire as a beat-up Ford pickup would be to anyone else.

The black man took a sip of his tea, deciding to ignore William for now. He hadn't realized that William was there to see him. Just as he was about to start reading his book, the young woman, Alina, turned around and asked, "What's that book about?"

The man looked up with a smile and said, "It's a story about an old man fishing on the sea."

"You've been reading that book for days now. Did the old man catch the fish?"

The man smiled brightly. "The fish just took the bait. It might take a few more days to reel it in."

"Haha," Alina scoffed. "You read so slowly."

The man smiled and nodded as he resumed reading. "It's a big fish. We don't know yet if he'll be able to catch it."

The young woman rolled her eyes and laughed softly. "Really? What's so interesting about that kind of book?"

"No, no, this book is quite fascinating. Maybe you should give it a try. It can teach you a lot of life lessons."

"Forget it. What's so interesting about an old man's story? If he's that old and still has to go fishing, it's probably a tragedy. Stories like that aren't for people like me."

"Heh," the man chuckled, understanding that young people nowadays didn't have the patience for motivational books. He glanced at Alina, who was eating her cream pie, and kindly reminded her, "Weren't you planning to cut back on sweets?"

"Yeah, I'm cutting back," she replied, deliberately taking a big bite of the cream pie and stuffing it into her mouth.

"Is this how you're cutting back on sweets?" The man asked in surprise.

"Hmph," the young woman huffed, taking another bite of cream, her voice slightly hoarse as she replied, "Yeah, I'll quit when I'm sick of it."

"But aren't you trying to become a singer? Eating too many sweets isn't good for your vocal cords."

"Hmm," Alina hesitated for a moment, then put down her fork. She stood up, took some change out of her bag, and placed it on the counter. "Bye, Jacob."

The busy diner owner glanced at the money on the counter and nodded. "Bye, Alina."

At the door, Alina turned to the man and said, "When I have time, tell me how the fish story ends, okay?"

The man looked up and smiled. "Sure, no problem. Bye."

"Bye."

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