Chapter 11 — I Am Bigger Than The Hurts

“There is a fund in Singapore that wants to invest in commercial real estate in second-tier cities in China, they need a team that understands the Hai Thanh market to do pre-investment appraisal.”

“You were born from Hai Thanh, no one understands those three assets better than you.”

“Do you accept it?”

Those three assets. Dong Thanh store row—the first project I was directly in charge of. Riverfront office building—the land I negotiated in my third year. Industrial land—my father bought it himself when he was still alive. Now, it's all sealed. Not because of the market. But because of the mistakes of the people involved.

“Give me a week to prepare an appraisal plan.”

That night, I sat alone in the office until late. Not for work. But to think. In the past, Dad started with 10,000 yuan, and spent twenty years building Dinh Huy from a small store into a real estate company. It eventually collapsed. Not because of the outside. But because inside. But the things you left behind—the land, the store, every contract you signed—I will keep them well. Not because of mom. Not because of Tham Gia. Three months later, the auction results were announced. Based on my appraisal report, the Singapore fund successfully acquired all three assets for 21,000,000 yuan. The fund paid Uyen Thach 1,200,000 Singapore dollars in consulting fees. This is the largest contract since the company's establishment. Hua Nhien texted me a series of exclamation points.

"Do you know what this means?! The company your mother built for twenty years, but in the end you helped someone else buy it back!"

“The whole Hai Thanh real estate community is talking!”

“Tham Dao resigned, left empty-handed, went to Singapore—came back half a year later, and let someone else take Dinh Huy's core assets!”

“If this isn't a slap in the face then what is?!”

I looked at that message and didn't reply to the word "slap in the face". Because that's not my goal. I'm just doing my job. Do it to the fullest. That same week, lawyer Ma confirmed—the second installment of 3,500,000 yuan had been transferred in full. Up to that point, all that belonged to me—8,000,000 yuan from the trust fund. 3,500,000 yuan from shares. Adding the income from Yuan Shi— My personal assets have exceeded 15,000,000 yuan. From a girl who five months ago only had two suitcases and over 100,000 yuan in her hand— To now. Hua Nhien once said something very true. There is no meaningless path. What you thought was a dead end— Is actually the beginning of a flip. On the other side, Tham Gia also had news. She didn't go to Hangzhou. Instead, use the remaining money to open a small real estate brokerage office in Hai Thanh, run customers yourself, and close transactions yourself. Hua Nhien recounted, her voice a bit complicated.

"His sister... can't do big things, but she can do quite well with small businesses."

“Every day I ride the tram all over the city, I see black people.”

“Very different from the person who used to sit in the president's office drinking latte.”

I finished listening. No comments. She has her way. I have my path. No longer relevant. Fourteen months after Uyen Thach was founded, I won a milestone project. The project evaluates the conversion of social housing to commercial areas—involving the entire Orchard area. Contract value 8,000,000 Singapore dollars. The day the contract was signed, general director Tham called.

“Tham Dao, You took away my project.”

“General Director Tham, fair competition.”

“I know it's fair, but now I'm starting to doubt whether I should let you go that day.”

“You regret it?”

“Is it time to regret now?”

He laughed, then his voice became serious.

“Very well done, faster than I expected.”

I hung up and Trinh Vien brought in two cups of coffee.

“Are you celebrating?”

“Celebrate with coffee?”

“I don't have money to buy alcohol, my salary is only that much.”

I glanced at him.

“Salary increase next month.”

"Really?"

“Really, you and Tieu Luu have a 20% increase.”

Trinh Vien's eyes lit up, but he didn't say a long thank you, just raised his glass and gave me a light clink.

“Boss, continue fighting.”

That night when I got home, I sat on the balcony, the Singapore night breeze was just cool enough, my phone showed an unread message. It's Tran Kien Quoc. A photo. Photo taken from a page in an old album, two yellowed pictures—one is my father when he was young, wearing a blue worker's shirt, sitting among a pile of construction materials, smiling brightly, the other is me when I was three or four years old, sitting on his shoulder, holding cotton candy. The caption has only one sentence.

“Search the old warehouse, keep it for me.”

I saved the photo to the album's front page. I have my own company. I won't make you lose face.