Chapter Ten: Gambler Gun-Zai Sum—Misappropriation of Funds

The syndicate’s businesses operated under two models: direct management and supervision.

Take the Wo Shing Yee syndicate and the Tsim Sha Tsui branch as an example—they possessed three stables, two bars, and a mahjong parlor.

Three stables and one bar were directly managed by the syndicate, while the other bar and the mahjong parlor were under supervision.

In businesses directly managed by the syndicate, all profits belonged to the syndicate, with fifty percent allocated to the branch.

For supervised venues, the owners typically shared twenty percent of the profits—ten percent went to the syndicate, and ten percent to the branch.

The branch was overseen by three leaders known as the Red Stick, White Paper Fan, and Straw Sandal, but each had to maintain their own subordinates, leaving them with little personal gain.

Of course, as the decision-makers within the branch, these leaders enjoyed other benefits. Their main income came from running businesses under the syndicate’s name or supervising venues on behalf of others.

For example, Guan Zai Sen managed the three stables assigned to the syndicate branch. The income from these had to be accounted for—there was room for some embezzlement, but not much.

His primary income came from the dozen or so girls managed by his stable hands.

The same applied to the “Fourth-Ninth” rank beneath him; in the past, Wang Yao Tong and his brothers could only get around a thousand dollars monthly from Guan Zai Sen.

...

“Brother Yao.”

“Brother Yao.”

Wang Yao Tong pulled out a pack of cigarettes and tossed it to the two blue-lantern gatekeepers, waved them off, and walked straight inside.

“Boss not here?”

It was broad daylight with nothing much going on; Guan Zai Sen should have been playing mahjong at this time, yet there was no game.

“No, the boss hasn’t shown up yet,” Zhu Bi Tong shrugged. “Here to settle accounts with him?”

He was Guan Zai Sen’s trusted aide, responsible for managing those dozen or so girls.

“Yes.” Wang Yao Tong pulled up a chair and sat down.

“There was a football match last night—you know the boss likes betting on football—he probably stayed up all night. He’ll likely come by this afternoon.”

“Alright, I have nothing else to do, I’ll wait.” Wang Yao Tong pulled out another pack of cigarettes, lit one, and tossed one over.

Renting rooms, ordering stock, registering companies, paying salaries to subordinates—

Without funds, he couldn’t do any of it.

Bored, he leafed through newspapers and watched TV. When noon arrived, he was about to go out for food when suddenly the phone rang.

“It’s me, huh?” Zhu Bi Tong’s tone suddenly rose.

“Oh, okay, I got it.” He hung up, cursing under his breath, his face darkening.

“What’s wrong?” Wang Yao Tong asked.

“The boss has been detained by the Tung Luen Society people.” Zhu Bi Tong crouched beneath the incense altar holding the statue of Guan Gong, lifted the curtain, and guarded Wang Yao Tong’s view as he carefully opened the safe.

“What? The Tung Luen Society detained the boss?” Wang Yao Tong sprang to his feet. “What’s going on? Should we call Fat Bo?”

Fat Bo, the Red Stick of the Tsim Sha Tsui branch, managed the syndicate’s bars and supervised a KTV and a mahjong parlor. He was the most powerful figure in Wo Shing Yee.

“The boss said no need.” Zhu Bi Tong turned his head.

“That call just now was from the boss?” Wang Yao Tong frowned. “Are you taking this money to… ransom him?”

Zhu Bi Tong nodded. “The boss was at the Tung Luen Society’s venue last night betting on football and lost everything.”

“Want me to bring some men to go with you?”

“It’s not a fight; no need.”

Watching Zhu Bi Tong’s retreating back, Wang Yao Tong’s frown deepened.

When you sense something bad is about to happen, it’s certain that something bad will happen.

More than half an hour later, the sound of a car’s engine outside broke the silence. Moments later, the door opened, revealing Guan Zai Sen—his hair a mess, face haggard, eyes bloodshot—who strode in.

Glancing at Wang Yao Tong, Guan Zai Sen grabbed the teapot and gulped down several large mouthfuls of cold herbal tea before slamming the pot onto the table.

Hands on hips, he said nothing. Neither Wang Yao Tong nor Zhu Bi Tong dared speak, and the room fell into a heavy silence.

After a moment, Guan Zai Sen suddenly flipped the table over with a crash.

“Damn those bloody bastards!”

“Manchester United’s a bunch of cheats, losing to a newly promoted team—damn fixed match!”

Wang Yao Tong pressed his lips tight, feeling this was no time to bring up the settlement. After a moment’s thought, he stood and prepared to leave.

“Ah Yao.”

Just as he stepped out, Guan Zai Sen’s voice called from behind.

“Boss.”

“I can’t settle your cut for now.” Guan Zai Sen sank into his office chair. “Syndicate accounts can’t be delayed. I lost a lot yesterday. Your business has been booming lately; every bar, nightclub, KTV, and stable around is stocked with your goods. I’m strapped for cash here—how about lending me some?”

Wang Yao Tong’s head spun. “Boss, you know, I just expanded so much, and I placed two new orders with the garment factory. All my money is tied up in inventory, and I still owe the factory quite a bit.”

“And today I also have to pay my subordinates’ salaries. I’ve got…” Wang Yao Tong spread his hands helplessly.

Guan Zai Sen’s eyes suddenly widened. “Damn it! So you’re blaming me for not paying you today?”

“No.” Wang Yao Tong forced a smile.

“Without the syndicate’s support, how do you expect to do business?” Guan Zai Sen’s fury erupted as he pointed at Wang Yao Tong’s nose, shouting, “You’re using the syndicate’s name but not giving the syndicate its cut. You fought with Fuk Yik Hing’s ‘Bone-Crushing Dragon.’ I backed you in negotiations. Now, after a month without pay, you turn against the syndicate?”

Wang Yao Tong pressed his lips, silent.

The syndicate has no right to take a cut!

Many of the stable’s customers were siphoned off by Guan Zai Sen’s dozen girls, leaving the stables’ business in ruins. It was Wang Yao Tong who had revived it.

Fuk Yik Hing’s negotiation allowed you to keep half the compensation—what favors do you still owe?

Channels like Sun Kee and Tiu Lam were developed by him personally; the Wo Shing Yee brand was worthless here!

A gambler with no ability to make money, coveting paltry earnings from his own subordinates—how can one run a syndicate with such a parasite?

Guan Zai Sen glared fiercely at Wang Yao Tong.

Lowering his head, Wang Yao Tong knew he barely had enough for his own business, let alone to bail out Guan Zai Sen.

Besides, a gambler’s debts never end!

Seeing Wang Yao Tong unmoved, Guan Zai Sen spat, “Get out!”

“Then I’ll be going, boss.” Wang Yao Tong remained calm, nodded, and pushed open the door.

Standing at the corner, Wang Yao Tong sighed deeply.

He had just seen off a big boss a year ago; if he lost another one now… it would be the end.

Guan Zai Sen, please, stop courting disaster!

If you damage my reputation, you will never be forgiven!

Inside, Guan Zai Sen paced angrily, hands on hips, kicking the overturned table repeatedly. He had placed heavy bets yesterday—who knew Manchester United would lose the championship race?

He still owed Shark Kwan over eighty thousand.

After much thought, apart from Wang Yao Tong, there was no other source to squeeze for cash.

“How much do you think Yao Zai has on hand?” Guan Zai Sen suddenly asked Zhu Bi Tong.

“Huh? Maybe around a hundred to two hundred thousand?” Zhu Bi Tong answered uncertainly. “Lately, the entire Fo Tai district has been stocked with his goods—Sun Kee, Tiu Lam, English Union Society, all buying from him. I figure he earns that much per month.”

Watching others make big money always felt crushing.

Guan Zai Sen’s mind was filled with “two hundred thousand.”

Such a vast empire—can a mere “Fourth-Ninth” rank handle it?

Leave it to me!