If you want to eat, you have to snatch it from someone else's mouth.

The ashtray in front of Don Quixote was overflowing with cigarette butts, and the pungent smell of smoke could be smelled from within three meters of him.

Hearing Li Wei's teasing, he didn't speak, but silently took another drag of his cigarette before slowly saying:

"Oh—you mean dating," he paused, as if recalling something from 10 years ago, "It was alright, we were mostly talking about work."

"Uh... let's not talk about why we're discussing work on a Friday night date," Levi said, sitting down next to Don Quixote with a concerned expression. "You seem to be in a bad mood?"

"Do I look like I'm in a bad mood?" Don Quixote was taken aback, then chuckled. "I'm thinking about something big, something that could completely turn my life around."

"What's up?" Li Wei took a dozen beers from the refrigerator. "Can I enjoy this luxury?"

"Of course," Don Quixote took the beer. "If we can make it happen, next year—no, this Christmas—I can send you to all sorts of classes and extracurricular activities. Maybe I can even hire a coach for you. You know, the more AP courses you take, the greater your chances of getting into an Ivy League school. Franklin's shitty garbage high school doesn't have that many teaching resources, and the cost of AP tutoring is astronomical."

"Well..." Levi's fingers traced the beer can, feeling the cold touch stimulate his fingertips, "Tell me about your get-rich-quick plan?"

"You know I graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in economics and then worked at JPMorgan Chase for several years, right?" Don Quixote said, shaking his head. "I have an occupational hazard: I'm extremely sensitive to numbers, especially money."

As he spoke, he stood up, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a bottle of liquor in his hand. He then took a notebook from his room and laid it out in front of Li Wei.

"The previous accountant had combined all of Susan's expenses into one, and it took me a lot of work to separate them from each household's expenses," he said smugly. "At first, I thought he was a complete idiot, but then I dug up something else. This guy may be stupid, but he was actually hiding something."

He opened the notebook filled with dense notes and pointed to one page for Li Wei to see:

“Look, kid, these five apartments over here,” Don Quixote said, “are all in one building, and the annual rent is $100,000. But look here—look at this, the maintenance and water bills alone add up to $50,000.”

Li Wei carefully examined Don Quixote's notebook, which meticulously listed all the bills and expenses for each room every month, tracing back to five years ago. He also circled every unreasonable bill in red and wrote a note on it.

With such meticulous accounting, it's no wonder he was able to survive while sending his ex-wife $2000 every month after going bankrupt. Although he had to sell his blood twice a month and even sold an egg before, at least he survived without losing any limbs.

"How could the pipes be under repair every month, and burst every month?" Don Quixote said. "Later, I investigated and found that the whole building was like that. As a result, the rent was low and the vacancy rate was high. After factoring in property taxes and other taxes, Susan's five houses were actually operating at a loss every year."

"This doesn't sound like a plan to make money."

Li Wei cautiously expressed his opinion.

"No, no, no, this is just background information," Don Quixote stuffed his cigarette butt into the overflowing ashtray. "At first I thought it was because the pipes on the whole street were old, so I checked the historical records of the New York City government and found that everything was normal except for this one building."

As he spoke, he chain-smoked: "Later, I took Juan—the Mexican repairman from my company—to take a look around, treated him to two meals, and taught him how to negotiate medical bills. After helping him reduce the price from $120,000 to $17,000, he secretly told me, to thank me, that this place is actually the territory of the Italian Gambino family. They often do this kind of thing over there: they ruin the building, make the landlord sell it at a loss, and then another company of theirs comes in to buy the whole building. After renovation, the rent will increase several times, and the price of the whole building will also rise."

"It's Italian territory," Levi said with a smile. "Why do you always deal with Italians?"

"There's nothing we can do about it," Don Quixote shrugged. "Several blocks in Brooklyn used to be Italian territory. Haven't you noticed that the entire Bay Ridge area we live in now is predominantly Italian?"

Li Wei thought for a moment about the Italian immigrant-style sculpture he had picked up, and nodded.

"So I plan to—" Don Quixote rubbed his hands, "drive those Italians away, or at the very least, go up and get a share of the pie from them. I've already reached an agreement with Susan. If we can really drive them away, she'll join me in starting an asset management company to buy that building. I'll get 5% of the shares and a new job, and then I'll be completely out of hell."

Upon hearing this, Li Wei immediately frowned.

The Gambino family is one of the five major mafia families in Italy, with numerous family members and assets spread throughout Brooklyn and Queens. Although one or two million dollars is not a significant asset for them, dealing with them is a very dangerous matter.

"You want to be the godfather of Brooklyn too?" he asked. "We were living in a basement in Sunset Park last month, how are we going to fight the Italian Mafia? Just the two of us?"

"We don't necessarily have to confront the Gambino family head-on," Don Quixote explained. "Besides, we're not fighting alone. Susan said she knows some very capable lawyers who can handle the trouble on our behalf, and I also have a detailed plan."

"No matter what, it's still too dangerous," Levi shook his head. "That's the Mafia, a criminal organization with guns."

"Not necessarily—"

Don Quixote wanted to say something more, but Livy interrupted him again.

"Uncle Don Quixote, we're already very fortunate to have moved from the basement to our current big house in just one month," he said. "And I believe things will only get better. There's no need to clash with them and take that risk!"

Don Quixote suddenly fell silent.

"Think about yourself, then think about me," Li Wei pressed on, "and if you ever encounter any difficulties, think about your daughter."

"You..." Don Quixote looked up, pointing at himself, "Livy, do you know how old I am?"

"I don't know," Li Wei shook his head, "but if I remember correctly, it should be 42—"

"I am 45 years old today, Livy," Don Quixote said softly. "Today, I am 45 years old."

Li Wei pursed his lips and said dryly, "...Happy birthday, Uncle."

"I don't have as much time as you, Livy," Don Quixote touched his thinning hair and the wrinkles on his face. "I'm not young anymore. How many 45-year periods does a man have in his life?"

“I’ve been living in a basement for years,” he said. “I used to work two jobs a day and sell my blood every month. Li Wei, tell me, how many more years do you think I have left? I’m already at the average age of death for the poorest people in America.”

Li Wei opened his mouth, but did not speak.

In the United States, the average age of death for the poorest people is 45 for men and 42 for women.

Correspondingly, high-yield and wealthy individuals often live to be 90 or 100 years old, bringing the average lifespan to an impressive 75 years.

"Malnutrition, abnormal heart rate, anemia, rheumatism, gout... I've thought more than once about whether I'll even wake up the next day," Don Quixote said, counting on his fingers one by one. "I can't afford to go to the hospital. I don't have insurance. I don't even know if I have any other health problems. I don't dare to get checked out. I'm afraid that if I get a long list of medical conditions printed out, I'll completely collapse and lose all my will to live."

"No, Uncle," Li Wei comforted him, "No, you're as strong as an ox."

"I really envy you, nephew. Sometimes I'm even jealous of you," Don Quixote sighed. "How can you be so young? You're only 17. You must be as hard as steel in the morning, able to burst through your pants at the sight of a girl's fair thighs at school. 17 years old, truly the best age. You can do anything, it's never too late."

As he spoke, he opened another can of beer, and in no time he had drunk three cans.

"But—I—hiccup, I'm old, I don't have that much time left," he slurred. "I want to get up quickly, buy myself health insurance, get a medical check-up, fight for custody of my daughter, and live long enough to see her get married so I can hand her over to someone I trust. Only then can I die in peace."

"That'll be quick," Levi reassured him. "I'll get a scholarship to Yale, then go to the NFL, and get a multi-million dollar contract. Even after I retire, I can become a lawyer, go into business—I'll become a big star, then pay off your debts, get your medical treatment, and win custody of your daughter. I promise!"

After listening to Livy's words, Don Quixote shook his head and said, half mocking and half self-deprecatingly, "You don't understand, child, you really don't understand."

“When I was your age, I was a genius in my high school,” he said, pointing to Li Wei and then to himself. “When I was 17, I got A’s in all 13 AP courses, and I scored 1570 on the SAT out of 1600. I outperformed 99.5% of the test takers. I got a full scholarship to the University of Chicago, and even at JPMorgan Chase, I was the youngest VP in the entire company.”

"But look at me, look at me now? I used to manage projects worth billions of dollars, and now I'm running around for bills worth tens of dollars," he forced a smile that looked worse than a grimace. "When fate plays tricks on you, it doesn't spare you just because you're young."

"We've managed to live a barely human life for a month now, but I really can't take it anymore, I really can't stand it," Don Quixote said. "Not to mention water, electricity, and internet, there's $150 a month for gas, $200 a month for mandatory car insurance, and at least $80 a month to clear parking tickets... Plus, I have to pay $2000 a month in alimony, and the damn court just takes money out of my bank account. I've worked for a month and haven't even saved $50."

“Not everyone will give you a chance like Susan,” he said calmly after composing himself. “The opportunities a person can seize in their lifetime are limited, at least in terms of luck. It seems that the second half of my life has not been very good. I have to think about whether this is the only chance I have left in my life.”

Li Wei remained silent.

"No matter what, middle-aged people always think ahead and behind," he patted Li Wei on the shoulder. "After you succeed, you will help your uncle solve his debts. I firmly believe that. But I can't put all the burden on your shoulders. After all, I am your elder. I said I would protect you."

"Don't worry, I've got it all figured out," he continued. "As long as we have enough evidence, we can negotiate with them, and if I succeed, my salary will increase fivefold immediately, and I'll own shares worth over $250,000."

"That sounds great. Are you really sure about this?" Li Wei said. "This is no joke."

"It's not that easy to turn your life around in America," Don Quixote scoffed, seemingly having made up his mind. "That's how America is. If you want something, you have to take it from others. Only after you've taken it can you rise up. If you don't exploit others, you'll be exploited."

After he finished speaking, he and Li Wei both fell silent.

A while later.

Li Wei sighed and said, "Alright then, tell me what your thoughts are, and we'll think of a solution together."

"No need, you're still a child," Don Quixote shook his head. "I don't want to involve you. Italians don't involve their families when they're doing things. Even if I fail, they won't come after you, otherwise they'd have trouble explaining to the jury, the ATF, and the FBI—"

"Don't be silly, do you think I'd just stand by and watch you go to your death?" Li Wei held up a finger. "Besides, let's make this clear first, I'm not saying I have to get involved. I'm just seeing if there's anything I can do to help you."

"Alright..." Don Quixote rallied himself, took a deep breath, and said, "This is what I think..."

Don Quixote's plan was simple: firstly, the Italian Mafia were involved in illegal business and would certainly not pay taxes on time.

"Wait a minute," Levi asked, "how do you know they won't pay their taxes on time?"

"Because you can't believe who I saw while I was staking out the site," Don Quixote said. "I saw Leto! Leto the Miser! Then I traced it back up from the construction site where I used to work as a bricklayer, and found out they were actually a company, and Leto had been running a casino on the site—José had told me about it, saying they were a big operation! The casino could hold at least a hundred people gambling!"

Li Wei nodded: "So, once you get their account books, you basically have evidence of their illegal casino operations and tax evasion?"

Don Quixote nodded and continued explaining his plan: if he could find a way to get his hands on the ledgers or extract some concrete evidence, he could pull off a scheme to intimidate others by taking advantage of their power.

“Once I get the evidence, I’ll send them anonymous emails, pretending to be a big capitalist,” Don Quixote said. “Remember the news about the Russian mafia attacking that construction site? They’re at war. I’ll say we’ve got our eye on this building too, and they’re disrupting our plans. If they don’t back out, we’ll send this evidence to the IRS and the Russian mafia.”

"How do you know people in the Russian mafia?" Levi continued, "Do you have such a wide network of connections?"

"I don't know them," said Don Quixote, "but Leto and the others certainly don't know me either."

"Okay, so even if they withdrew later, and you managed to take advantage of that gap," Li Wei continued, "what's next?"

"Next, Susan and I will register an asset management company in Delaware," Don Quixote said confidently. "Delaware has the best privacy protection for registered companies in the United States. The Italians can't reach there; they won't be able to find me."

"Then you'll have to show up eventually, right?"

“Instead of showing up, Susan’s friend will find a trustworthy lawyer to represent them,” Don Quixote said. “And we’ll also cooperate with them—we’ll hire them long-term to recycle construction waste and handle facade renovations, so they can make money too, and they’ll compromise for a short time. But once they’ve moved the casino’s books and location, and the war with the Russians is over, they’ll have the time to deal with us.”

"But that's probably at least a year from now," Don Quixote said with great enthusiasm. "By then, we'll have already inflated the house's value, mortgaged it for a large sum of cash, and cashed out and left."

Li Wei thought about it carefully, and it seemed that Don Quixote had come up with a perfect plan. From taking advantage of the friction between the Russians and the Italians to intervening and snatching the prey from the Italians' mouths, it seemed that there was no problem at all.

but--

"Wait a minute," Li Wei said, "the most crucial thing here is the ledger, right? How do you plan to handle the ledger?"

"Don't rush," Don Quixote thought for a moment, "I plan to contact José to see if he has any way to infiltrate and gather information. If it's too dangerous, then I guess I'll have to give up and look for some new opportunities."

"So now all we can do is wait?"

"Wait, let me contact José first. I haven't been able to reach him recently."

"I have one last question," Levi asked, "and I promise it's the last one."

"Speak," Don Quixote sat up straight, looking intently at Livy, "I'm listening."

"You said I'm as hard as steel, but aren't you?" Li Wei looked at Don Quixote seriously. "Can you still get hard now?"

Upon hearing this, Don Quixote was immediately enraged.

"Get out of here! You'll be just like me when you get older," he yelled. "Remember, it's not you who's hard, it's your 17-year-old self—fuck! When you're my age and have lost another testicle, you'll know how difficult it is to pee without getting your shoes wet!"

"And one more thing!" he added, as if remembering something, "I can get an erection!"

"Yes, yes, yes," Li Wei stretched, "I understand. You should get some rest. I have to go to the stadium for training tomorrow morning."

Silence returned to the living room.

"That brat..." Don Quixote glanced down and muttered, "Could he have really found out?"