The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943-Chapter 23: Tenfold Profits

When the plane from New York landed on the tarmac of Havana's airport, a private car from a luxury hotel was already waiting at the edge of the runway.

As soon as the passengers disembarked, drivers appeared to greet them and help with their luggage.

Clearly, any hotel with clearance to park cars on the runway did not come cheap.

But Pierre didn't care about the price.

When you're new to a city, staying at the best hotel is always the safest option.

And once the car reached the Hotel Nacional, he realized he had chosen well.

It was right in the heart of Havana's bustling center — and every inch of it radiated opulence.

The Hotel Nacional wasn't just luxurious — its investors included Cuba's political elite and America's richest tycoons.

That's why its chauffeur service had access to the airport runways in the first place.

But none of that mattered to Pierre.

He wasn't here for luxury — he was here to open a new trade route.

After checking in, Pierre took a car straight to the legation.

The so-called "legation" was really just a modest houseBefore the war, Cuba's diplomatic affairs had been handled as a side post by the ambassador to Washington.

But after war broke out, and Japan occupied Southeast Asia, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs dispatched a dedicated envoy to Cuba.

Why?

Because Cuba had become one of the few remaining sources for overseas donations and remittances.

Inside the legation, Envoy Li Dujun was—as usual—scratching his head over how to raise more donations.

Just then, a visitor arrived.

It was none other than Pierre.

"Envoy Li, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Pierre offered a courteous nod. "Mr. Li Guoren sent word ahead — I'm grateful for the introduction."

"Ah, yes," Dujun smiled. "Guoren spoke very highly of you. I didn't expect you so soon. You flew in, I assume?"

"That's right. With the seas in turmoil, flying was safer."

Anyone who could afford a $500 transatlantic plane ticket was, by definition, wealthy.

Perhaps... a target for a charitable request?

But no — he was a relative's friend. One couldn't just spring a donation request like that.

"Yes," Pierre nodded.

"With the seas aflame, air travel was the more secure option."

"You're Guoren's friend — whatever I can do to assist, you need only say the word," the envoy said sincerely.

"But let me offer some advice..." he continued more cautiously.

"Havana holds much opportunities for trade — but wartime conditions are... different.

Without access to shipping, you won't get far.

Cuba's routes are technically open, but merchant ships are scarce.

Most are controlled by American companies or... by other powers."

Before he could finish, Pierre cut in smoothly:

"To be frank, Pierre — I have access to some transport capacity.

Not unlimited, of course — but perhaps four to five thousand tons per month, possibly more."

"What?! Four... five thousand tons?!"

Envoy Li shot to his feet, hands trembling with excitement.

"Is that true?"

"At the very least," Pierre replied calmly.

"A few thousand tons a month is within reach."

"That's... that's excellent... truly excellent!"

The envoy rubbed his hands together, clearly trying to contain his joy.

"Tell me, nephew — would you happen to be interested in the sugar trade?"

Pierre hesitated deliberately.

"Sugar... well, that..."

Sensing hesitation, Dujun leaned forward.

"Perhaps you're unaware — sugar is Cuba's most profitable sector right now."

He began to explain:

"Cane sugar is the backbone of our economy. Nearly 90% of our agriculture is dedicated to it.

Since the war began, Hawaii and the Philippines have been cut off — supply has collapsed. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

The price has jumped to 20 cents per kilo, maybe slightly less.

And production has surged — we're producing over 7.3 million tons annually."

"Wait—what's the current market price again?"

Pierre asked, surprised.

"Roughly 20 cents per kilo, maybe a bit lower,"

Dujun confirmed.

He went on:

"In the past, the entire sugar trade was dominated by American companies.

Outsiders could hardly get a foot in.

But since the price surge, the Cuban government has encouraged domestic sugar production.

Several Chinese Cuban merchants have gotten involved — but the Americans still control the shipping.

They force our merchants to sell sugar at unfair prices.

If you truly have access to ships... you could be a lifeline for your compatriots."

Of course, Dujun had a motive of his own — if he could solve this shipping problem, he'd have every right to solicit donations with pride.

And the homeland desperately needed funds for its war effort.

Twenty cents per kilo?

That's about 10 cents per pound.

And in the U.S.?

Official market: 55 cents per pound.

Black market: $1 per pound.

That's 10x profit!

There's that old line:

At 100% profit, capitalists will risk the gallows.

But this?

This was 1000%.

Pierre's thoughts swirled with numbers and opportunity.

He went quiet for a moment, still calculating.

Dujun mistook the silence for reluctance.

"Is something troubling you, nephew?" he asked quickly.

Pierre looked up.

"Troubling? No," he said with a calm smile.

"For our fellow countrymen, what difficulty could be too great?"

Dujun was moved.

"Nephew, your generosity is truly admirable.

May I ask where you're staying?

Tomorrow, I'd like to introduce you to a few Chinese-Cuban merchants — they would be honored to visit."

Pierre gave him the address.

When Dujun heard it, his expression shifted again.

The Hotel Nacional?

Everyone knew it — the hotel's greatest quality was... well... how expensive it was.

Expensive, indeed.

A steak dinner could cost five dollars — and these weren't just dollars.

They were real American dollars.

Still, compared to certain places where a plate of fried rice could cost the same — the Cubans weren't too outrageous.

And despite the price tag, the service was impeccable.

Unlike America, Cuba imposed no wartime rationing.

If you had money, you could enjoy anything.

While American citizens pinched pennies for the Allied cause, beef was still being shipped by the ton to Cuba.

The Cubans, after all, had no intention of giving up their steaks — or their wine.

American beef, French wine...

If only there had been British staff, it would've been a three-nation service.

After a fifteen-dollar dinner, Pierre took a glance at the bar.

A few Cuban women were lounging near the counter, their eyes occasionally scanning the room.

They were striking — alluring and perfectly poised.

But Pierre paid them no mind.

Unlike others who strolled toward the casino, he headed back upstairs.

After all, the journey had been long and tiring.

Even temptation had to wait.

There would be time for everything.