Chapter 309: A Few Words Worth $6 Million

"Mr. Devonshire, I'm Robert Grieve, the sales manager for Riva," the man introduced himself in somewhat awkward English.

William frowned as he looked at the slightly nervous, balding, and thin Italian man in front of him. "I don't like beating around the bush. Tell me, what's the real price of this yacht?"

Already tense, Grieve became even more anxious under William's intense gaze. He knew that if he couldn't sell this yacht, he wouldn't be able to repay the bank loan that was about to come due, and he'd likely lose his job. However, despite his nerves, Grieve's twenty-plus years of work experience weren't for nothing. After a few seconds of thought, he forced himself to calm down and said, "Mr. Devonshire, this yacht is the largest and most technically advanced among all non-privately funded yachts currently available. Our company spent a total of $16.4 million just to build it, and with design fees and other costs, the total comes to $18 million. If it weren't for the unfortunate timing of the global financial crisis, it would have been a great success."

"But it's just a prototype," William interrupted Grieve's wishful thinking. "A prototype means high costs, high risks, and an uncertain outcome. I'm the buyer; I'm not obligated to pay for your company's bold attempts. $15 million—if that's acceptable, I'll sign the contract right now. Otherwise, I'll place an order with Princess Yachts in England. This yacht is only 49 meters long, which is too small—just right for my girlfriend to use. And the technology you mentioned doesn't impress me. The only things that stand out are the extensive use of glass and the three-tiered stern design. The rest doesn't meet my expectations.

There's no defense system, no emergency escape sub, no smart butler, no anti-paparazzi system, no global navigation system, no hidden fishing platform, and no 360-degree surround sound cinema system. Look at this cinema setup—it's just copied from a regular theater. The LCD screen in the main salon is thicker than my hand and isn't even flush-mounted. The most intolerable thing is, do you really need so many rooms? With that space, you should have made the bathrooms larger. The furniture design is also problematic. This is a yacht, not a villa—have you never heard of minimalism? And the control room—how could you…"

William paused, smiling as he looked at the now-excited Grieve, who was eagerly jotting down notes in a small notebook. "Do you want to hear more?"

"Of course, Mr. Devonshire," Grieve quickly nodded. "If you're willing to share."

William knew Grieve would be interested. After all, what he was pointing out were things that yacht companies would take years to learn from customer feedback. "What I've said so far is worth $6 million. If you want the rest, sell me the yacht for $12 million, and then we'll talk. Otherwise, if your company dares to use any of the ideas I've mentioned in your new yachts, I swear I'll sue you for ten years or more. Even if I can't win, I'll drag the lawsuit out until everyone in your company is exhausted. No matter how powerful your company is in Italy, my legal team will show you how difficult it is to cross a billionaire."

"Sorry, sir, but I'll need to consult with the company on this," Grieve replied, fully aware of how troublesome it would be if a wealthy client like William dragged their company into a protracted legal battle. Even if they could avoid legal repercussions in Italy, their products would have a hard time selling in England and the USA once a lawsuit was filed.

Especially with Martin, the manager of the New York Yacht Club, present as a witness, Grieve knew there was no way Martin would lie about this. Given William's wealth, which could buy their company ten times over, Grieve was certain Martin wouldn't dare misrepresent the situation.

Suddenly, Grieve was struck by a realization and stammered, "M-Mr. Devonshire, did you just say you're worth a billion dollars?"

"Oh, God," Martin exclaimed, echoing Grieve's shock. "In less than a year?" Martin glanced at William, then exchanged a look with the equally stunned Grieve, silently cursing the fact that William made more money in a day than they could in a lifetime.

This feeling of powerlessness was even stronger when they saw Ambrosio, looking beautiful and proud, clinging to William.

"Idiots," William scoffed at the two men who were acting as if this were a big deal. "Fifteen minutes," he told Grieve. "You have fifteen minutes to consult with your company. If you take longer, I'll place an order with Princess Yachts in England. And I'll patent everything I've mentioned that can be patented. For anything that can't be patented, I'll consider giving it away to the other major yacht companies. No one takes advantage of me. Isn't that right, Martin?"

Under William's stern gaze, Martin quickly pulled himself together, nodding obsequiously. "Of course, Mr. Devonshire. No one can cross a billionaire and get away with it. I have a wife and two kids to support."

"Good, Martin. You're a smart man, and I like you." William handed Martin a $1 million check along with a piece of paper with his personal lawyer Anthony's phone number. "Help me get a membership card for my girlfriend, Miss Ambrosio, at your yacht club. She'll likely use this yacht more than I will. And while you're at it," William pointed to Grieve, who was on the dock making a call, "give Mr. Grieve this number. Tell him it's my personal lawyer's number. If he has anything to discuss, he can talk to him. I don't want to see that Sicilian again."

Martin took the check, looking at the string of zeros, and nodded. "No problem, sir."

Then he turned to Ambrosio with a compliment, "Congratulations, Miss Ambrosio. Mr. Devonshire is the most generous gentleman I've ever met."

"Thank you," Ambrosio replied, smiling brightly as she gave William a kiss. "I love you, darling."

Martin tactfully cleared his throat and said, "Mr. Devonshire, I wish you and Miss Ambrosio a pleasant evening."

Busy as he was, William could only wave in response. Martin bowed and left the yacht, waiting on the dock for Grieve to finish his call.

Ten minutes later, Martin intercepted the eager Grieve, handing him the paper. Grieve looked at it in confusion. "This is Mr. Devonshire's personal lawyer's phone number. For the yacht purchase, just contact Mr. Anthony," Martin explained.

"That's it?" Grieve asked, stunned. "A $12 million deal, just like that? All I get is a phone number?"

Martin rolled his eyes at Grieve and said, "Grieve, as a friend, there's something I'm not sure I should tell you."

Grieve was silent for a moment before sighing. "We've known each other for five or six years, right?"

"Six years. I met you just after I became manager," Martin nodded.

Grieve pulled Martin a few steps away and spoke in a low voice, "I think I know what you're going to say. I'm aware that today I acted like an idiot. But for some reason, when I see William Devonshire, I'm terrified—terrified to the point of trembling."

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