America 1982-Chapter 383 - 42: Brandish Weapons in Blatant Display

Little John Wilson Block shook his head hard, trying to wake himself from the hangover of reuniting with his old comrades over the past two days. He had been thrown a grand party by his comrades from his service in Germany, but he couldn’t bring himself to be happy because, along with the grand party, they had given him some bad news.

In Europe, it appeared that the United States was going to build two more large military bases, but they were not for the United States Army; rather, they were for the Air Force, one in Italy, and one in Spain.

This meant that no matter how many troops were stationed at those two bases, it had nothing to do with him, a former Army lieutenant colonel turned entrepreneur, because all he could do was to bid for contracts. But even if he used a toilet bowl for a brain, it was clear that his company’s chances of getting the business were almost zero. After all, the Air Force would look after their own, and there were no shortage of contractors with Air Force backgrounds.

What was worse, the United States Army had increased its troops in South Korea and Japan. Although his company claimed to handle all the mail delivery business for the overseas troops of the United States Army, in truth, the company wasn’t his alone. Several cofounders worked together; each had their own territory. His home turf was Germany, where most of his connections were concentrated. An increase in business for others meant a decline for him, suggesting that his influence within the company would change along with performance.

"Soviet Union, come on! Why can’t you have another ’81 military exercise?" he couldn’t help but curse to himself.

For him, 1981 was a good year. A military exercise by the Soviet Union had scared the pants off all the leaders in Europe, who would have knelt down and begged the Americans to have their own troops stationed just to avoid waking up to hundreds of Soviet soldiers stationed outside their doors, shouting "Ura."

It was then that he left the military to start his business. Leveraging his connections in the United States Army and his in-laws’ background in Germany, he and several friends from the military founded Knight Express Company and naturally became the contractor for the United States Army, taking on the delivery business at the overseas bases.

Back then, Germany, inhabited by over a hundred thousand United States soldiers, was the company’s most important market, as indispensable as his position in the company.

But who could have imagined that the Soviet Union, which had terrified the whole world, would decline so swiftly.

Today there are just over seventy thousand United States military personnel in Germany. If he didn’t quickly adapt, it wouldn’t be long before the bigwigs at the Pentagon, with their huge appetites, would become dissatisfied with the shrinking profits, and then it would be about time for him to be shown the door.

"Mr. Brock, there’s a call from a Mr. Tommy Hawk," said the personal assistant, knocking gently on the bedroom door and speaking up.

Wilson Block thought for a moment; he felt he should recognize the name, but it didn’t ring a bell: "Who is he?"

"Former president of the Stanford Student Democracy Society. He says he just happened to meet a girl claiming to be your daughter, Sandra, at a film industry gathering in Los Angeles. She nearly was taken advantage of by a shameless director. Upon learning you are Sandra’s father, he was quite surprised, so he called to confirm. If she is your daughter, he will give that director a lesson. If not..."

"Shouldn’t you have confirmed this with Sandra first?" Wilson furrowed his brows, walked over to open the door, and stared dissatisfied at his assistant as he asked.

The assistant nodded slightly: "I have inquired with Sandra; she indeed is in Los Angeles and is in fact auditioning for a role in a movie."

"Why can’t she just do as her sister does, study quietly at law school and become a lawyer? I knew she would run into trouble sooner or later in the film industry, just like her mother did when she was young." Wilson took the phone from the assistant, dialed the number back, and waited for a man on the other end to say hello before he started talking, his voice feigning cheerfulness:

"Let’s hear it, which SSD fellow has done my daughter a favor?"

"Sir, Tommy Hawk, proud Stanford Class of 1987 SSD alumnus, at your service," Tommy introduced himself with a humble tone on the phone: "I just happened to meet a girl by the name..."

Wilson interjected, somewhat dismissively, "She’s my daughter, Tommy, the assistant just told me. Thank you. When I have time to come to California, I’ll be sure to thank you in person. You know, Sandra has truly been spoiled by her mother, but that’s no excuse for her to be preyed upon by bad people."

Some people always look for opportunities to expand the Fraternity’s network, and this young man claiming to be Tommy could also be harboring such a thought. Wilson didn’t oppose this behavior—because he would do the same—but SSD members from Stanford didn’t seem to have much in common with those from West Point.

"Of course, I understand, I gave that guy a serious talking-to, he probably won’t think about touching a woman for at least a week," Tommy said from the other side of the phone.

Wilson gave a half-smile: "Only a week?"

"I understand it’s not enough to quell your anger, sir, but considering he loaned me two billion, and knowing what I know about him, not touching a woman for a week is already quite severe for him," Tommy explained earnestly on the phone. "Plus, I assure you he was just getting the idea and had no opportunity to act on it."