Under Jenny’s guidance, An Feng drove to a quiet street a few kilometers away from the exhibition grounds, finding an empty parallel parking spot along the curb.
The neighborhood was beautiful, with a relaxed, upscale atmosphere that felt incredibly secure.
‘If this were one of the rougher, high-crime pockets of LA, I wouldn’t dare leave a Ferrari sitting on the asphalt like this,’ he thought.
‘I’d probably come back to find it resting on cinder blocks with all four wheels missing.’ He and Jenny walked into the trendy dessert parlor she had raved about.
The hostess led them to a bright, clean table.
Looking around, An Feng’s first impression was how immaculate everything was.
Even with a steady stream of customers, every table was polished to a shine.
It was a consistency he had noticed across most decent establishments in the US—no matter how simple the menu, hygiene was always top priority.
Jenny took the menu, immediately ordering her personal favorite before pointing out a few options for the hesitant An Feng.
Once the waitress slid away, Jenny leaned forward with a bright grin.
“Desserts are my absolute weakness.
No matter where I travel, I have to scout out the best local spots.
Back in the day, I’d drag Cathy along and we’d eat until our mouths went completely numb.” “That sounds like a pretty great friendship,” An Feng said.
A nostalgic look crossed Jenny’s face.
“It was.
Cathy has always been like an older sister to me, always humoring my cravings.
It’s a shame she’s stuck working today and couldn’t join us for lunch.” “Well, she’s building her career, so you can’t blame her,” An Feng said warmly.
“I’m sure she’d much rather be out here eating ice cream with you.” Jenny smiled.
“Very true.
She has her own dreams to chase, and I really want to see her succeed.” An Feng looked at her.
“What about you?
Life in Hollywood must be pretty thrilling, right?” Jenny shook her head, her smile fading slightly.
“It’s incredibly cutthroat.
The pressure is on a different level.” “You’re stunning, though.
I have to imagine your chances are much higher than most,” An Feng observed.
She was young, athletic, had a radiant smile, and possessed the kind of endless legs that would easily hold their own on any red carpet.
“In Hollywood, when every single beautiful, ambitious person from around the globe crams into one city, even your best traits start to feel incredibly ordinary,” Jenny said with a sigh.
“There is always someone more talented, more striking, or more connected.
Almost everyone there has what it takes to be famous; they’re just waiting on a lottery ticket called ‘opportunity.'” “Have you ever thought about doing something else?” An Feng asked.
She shook her head without hesitation.
“Never.
This has been my dream since I was a little girl.
Even if I never become a household name, I just want the chance to bring characters to life in front of a camera.
I’ve been trying for two years now.
I’m still young, and I honestly believe my break will come if I just keep pushing.” “With that kind of attitude, I have no doubt you’ll make it,” An Feng said genuinely.
“Thank you,” she smiled, her cheerful energy returning.
“But enough about me.
What about you?
Where are you originally from?
China, Korea, Japan?” “Take a guess,” An Feng said, digging a spoon into his freshly served ice cream.
The rich, creamy texture was fantastic, and he immediately went back for a second spoonful.
“Hmm…
China?” she guessed.
“Bingo,” An Feng nodded.
“How did you know?” “Statistically, it’s the easiest guess, and Chinese tourists are famously wealthy these days,” she laughed.
“I don’t see the crowd, but you definitely fit the latter category.
It was a high-probability bet.” An Feng laughed.
“Smart girl.” “But seriously, you are very unique,” she added, studying him.
“If I had closed my eyes and just listened to your voice, I would have pictured an aristocratic British gentleman who wears tailored suits and carries a cane.
Your British accent is flawless.
You’d never guess you were an easygoing Asian guy living in California.” “My accent didn’t start out this way,” An Feng admitted, a fond smile touching his lips.
“I had an incredibly strict teacher who made sure to beat every bad habit out of my pronunciation.” The image of Joanna’s intensely serious, almost obsessive-compulsive dedication to correcting his English flashed through his mind.
“Well, your teacher sounds amazing,” Jenny said.
“She really is.
She’s been a massive influence on my life.” After finishing their desserts, they strolled down the sunny street, popping into a massive Harley-Davidson dealership.
The store was a temple to American biker culture, filled not just with roaring cruisers but with branded leather jackets, heavy boots, and rugged accessories.
An Feng’s eyes caught a leather shoulder strap designed to hold shotgun shells.
‘Now, wearing that while riding a Harley with a half-helmet would look ridiculously cool,’ he thought.
They also wandered into a nearby hobby shop packed with highly detailed scale model cars, ranging from pre-war classics to modern hypercars.
The craftsmanship was stunning, and as a true car lover, An Feng couldn’t resist picking up a few limited-edition models to take home.
By the time they returned to the Pebble Beach grounds, the afternoon crowds had swelled.
Despite the sweltering August heat, the enthusiasm of the collectors and enthusiasts was palpable.
As they walked past a display of vintage sports cars, a loud voice called out from behind him.
“Hey!
An?
No, wait…
Feng?” An Feng turned around, slightly surprised.
Ever since he had settled into California, virtually everyone he met addressed him by his English name, Alex, but it was refreshing to hear a familiar attempt at his actual name.
“I knew it was you!” A man in a crisp designer shirt and casual shorts jogged up, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal a very familiar face.
“Roger!
No way,” An Feng smiled, shaking his hand warmly.
“It’s been a while.
Did we last meet in New York?” It was indeed Roger, one of the immigration specialists who, alongside Anthony, had helped secure An Feng’s green card and facilitate his transition to the US.
They had charged a premium, but their efficiency had been worth every penny.
“Yes!
Long time, my friend,” Roger beamed.
“How is California treating you?” “Can’t complain at all,” An Feng said, before turning to introduce his companion.
“Roger, this is my friend Jenny.” “Hi there,” Jenny offered politely.
“A pleasure, beautiful,” Roger smiled.
“Are you guys planning to catch the elite auction?
It’s starting in a few minutes.
Want to sit together?” An Feng glanced at Jenny, who nodded eagerly.
“Sure, let’s do it.” Roger led them toward the private VIP entrance of the auction pavilion.
A stunning, dark-haired Latina woman stepped up to slide her arm intimately through Roger’s.
Without needing to show any tickets, the security staff recognized Roger’s face and waved the four of them straight through, escorting them to premium seats right near the front with a perfect view of the bidding stage.
“Wow, these seats are incredible!” Jenny whispered, happily setting up her camera.
An Feng actually had his own VIP invitation, but even his pass didn’t carry the kind of weight Roger’s personal connections did.
Once they settled in, Roger gestured to a passing waiter, grabbing a glass of champagne for himself and his date, while An Feng ordered a dry martini.
Roger raised his flute, clinking it against An Feng’s glass.
“A toast to a successful evening in advance!” An Feng shook his head, amused by the man’s absolute confidence.
Roger leaned closer.
“Any specific cars catching your eye on the docket tonight?
This auction is the main reason I finally took a vacation.” “Nothing on tonight’s list, honestly,” An Feng replied.
“I’m still holding out for the three big hybrid hypercars.
Actually, thanks to your agency’s connections, my McLaren P1 order is already locked in.” “Happy to help, though getting that slot wasn’t easy,” Roger said smoothly.
“If you’re looking to complete the trifecta, I can easily secure you an allocation for the Porsche 918 Spyder.
As for the LaFerrari…
that’s a different beast.
Ferrari has far too many ridiculous rules.
But when your customer base is that obsessed, you can afford to be arrogant.” “You can actually guarantee a 918 allocation?” An Feng asked to confirm.
“Absolutely.
Porsche is being bold with this one.
While McLaren and Ferrari are keeping their production runs strictly limited to three or four hundred units, Porsche is planning to build nine hundred and eighteen of them.
Frankly, I think they risk repeating the mistakes of the Carrera GT.” An Feng nodded in agreement.
The Carrera GT was legendary, but Porsche’s overconfidence had led them to plan a run of fifteen hundred units.
Ultimately, they had discontinued production after delivering only twelve hundred and seventy.
When a ‘limited-run’ supercar is produced in those kinds of numbers, it starts to lose its exclusive allure.
“In that case, let’s toast to a future Porsche,” An Feng smiled, clinking his martini glass against Roger’s flute as the auctioneer took the stage.
The initial lots featured incredibly rare, early-century classic cars.
An Feng only recognized a handful of the marques, watching as they hammered away for respectable sums around six to seven hundred thousand dollars.
Roger watched the proceedings with casual disinterest—until a striking white-and-blue sports car rolled onto the rotating platform.
Roger’s eyes lit up.
“Yes!
Here she is.
The Maserati MC12.
It’s built on the chassis of the Ferrari Enzo, absolutely incredible.
Most of these were strictly track-only, but this specific lot is one of the very few road-legal versions.” “Now that is a serious machine,” An Feng murmured, admiring the aggressive aerodynamic lines of the street-legal race car.
“Starting bid is 1.8 million,” An Feng noted, glancing at the catalog.
“You’re about to write a massive check, my friend.” Roger grimaced slightly.
“If I go all out on this one, my accountant is going to lock me out of my bank accounts for the next six months.” An Feng grinned.
“Come on, Roger.
A high-end broker like you?
I’m sure you’ll survive.” Roger nudged him with his elbow, a playful smirk on his face.
“Hey, I’m not a billionaire investor like you, pal!
I actually have to work for a living.” “I never said I could easily throw around millions on a whim either,” An Feng replied defensively.
“Sure, sure,” Roger laughed.
“Whatever you say, my favorite billionaire client.” The bidding war began.
The increments climbed steadily but carefully; for a blue-chip collectible like the MC12, the bidding was as much a calculated investment as it was a passion purchase.
Despite his flashy exterior, Roger proved to be an incredibly disciplined bidder, keeping his cool and waiting out the aggressive early bidders.
After a tense final round of bids, the gavel fell.
Roger secured the Maserati for a final hammer price of 2.6 million dollars.
He let out a triumphant shout, throwing an arm around An Feng before pulling his date in for a passionate kiss.
“Congratulations, man!” An Feng laughed, shaking his hand.
“Unbelievable!” Roger beamed, his chest puffed out.
“Honestly, if the other guy had gone up another hundred thousand, I would have had to let it go.
As much as I love this car, everyone has a limit.” “You played it perfectly,” An Feng said.
“You kept your composure, and he blinked first.” “I like your style, Alex,” Roger grinned.
Once the auction wrapped up, Jenny excused herself to find Cathy, agreeing to meet An Feng back at the main exit.
Roger, meanwhile, dragged An Feng over to the exclusive dealer chalets behind the main stage.
He introduced An Feng to several high-end classic car dealers and luxury brand representatives, swapping contacts.
Since An Feng didn’t carry physical business cards, Roger casually handed his own out on An Feng’s behalf.
The entire round of introductions took less than ten minutes—just enough to establish a face and a name for future transactions.
Once they stepped away, An Feng looked at him.
“Is that really all it takes?” Roger stopped and laughed.
“Look, once you write a check for nine hundred thousand dollars or more, these guys will remember your name forever.
You don’t need to play golf or go to fancy dinners with them to get their attention.” “Fair point,” An Feng excelled.
“It’s that simple,” Roger shrugged.
“No need to waste valuable time on the middlemen.
Now, if their CEO was in town, that might be worth a longer lunch.” They made their way back to the main gates, where Jenny and her friend were already waiting.
“Alex, this is my good friend Cathy,” Jenny introduced, gesturing to the tall, striking brunette standing beside her.
“Nice to meet you, Cathy,” An Feng said with a polite nod.
“Hello!” Cathy smiled warmly.
Roger, ever the social coordinator, looked at the group and made his move.
“How about we all grab a drink?
I know an exclusive private club nearby that serves the best cocktails in Monterey.” The group exchanged glances, and with no objections raised, they headed toward the parking lot.