If An Feng planned to build a life in the United States, there was plenty to discuss with Anthony.
The man was well-connected and knew the American investment landscape inside out.
His advice was clear and logical, and An Feng absorbed a lot from their conversation.
Overall, he leaned toward the more spacious West Coast rather than the crowded East.
About an hour later, a younger man who bore a strong resemblance to Anthony arrived.
He wore a sharp suit and carried himself with easy confidence.
He shook An Feng’s hand first.
“Roger Bluelane, nice to meet you, An from China.” After some polite small talk, they got down to business.
Roger turned out to be Anthony’s younger brother, just one year older than An Feng.
He worked at American Express, though his business card listed him as an ordinary employee.
That image was quickly shattered when he led An Feng outside to a sleek white Maserati GT.
An Feng couldn’t hide his curiosity.
Roger noticed and laughed.
“I know what you’re thinking.
How does a regular bank employee drive this?
Truth is, I’m not really working for the bank.
I’m working for the family.” ‘Second-generation rich.
Got it.’ They drove to the bank in the sporty car.
Roger helped him open a checking account and a premium credit card, then deposited the full auction proceeds.
“American Express has offices worldwide,” Roger explained.
“We offer private safes, personal assistants, financial advisors, and access to exclusive clubs.
One phone call and it’s handled.” An Feng raised an eyebrow.
“Do you also handle immigration?” Roger shook his head, then grinned.
“I’m starting to like you.” “I don’t like men,” An Feng replied deadpan.
Roger burst out laughing.
“You’re funny!
I like that.” During the conversation, An Feng decided it was time for a fresh start in America.
He told Roger, “From now on, please call me **Alex An**.” Roger nodded smoothly.
“Alex An it is.
We’ll get that updated right away.” With the family’s connections, the green card process moved fast.
While intermediaries handled paperwork and visits to the immigration office, An Feng spent days touring properties with real estate agents.
He had initially dreamed of becoming a gentleman farmer with vast land and sunset horseback rides.
But after visiting huge, isolated properties in Ohio, Kansas, and Texas, the loneliness turned him off.
He wanted some balance with civilization.
Pastures and forest farms were crossed off too.
Great for vacations, terrible for daily life.
After several days of searching, he settled on a vineyard in California.
The state produced ninety percent of America’s grapes, and land values kept climbing.
He narrowed it down to San Luis Obispo County.
The first property was decent but overpriced at three million dollars with mediocre surroundings.
The second one stole his heart: over 360 acres of beautiful flat land with a hilltop mansion of more than 2,000 square meters.
The house offered sweeping views, a massive garden, and a luxurious 200-square-meter infinity pool overlooking a dramatic 15-meter cliff drop with vineyard vistas beyond.
An Feng fell in love instantly.
Even at eleven million US dollars, he paid in full without hesitation and kept the existing vineyard staff.
Lawyers from both sides reviewed the thick contract for over two hours.
Once everyone was satisfied, An Feng signed and handed over the check.
Just like that, 1.45 million square meters of California land belonged to him.
With the property secured, he rushed to the immigration office.
The paperwork was complete, and his green card was approved.
It looked similar to a Chinese ID card, complete with his photo and details.
The agent explained important points, especially the Social Security Number—far more critical than a Chinese ID for banking, credit, insurance, and even buying vehicles or firearms.
An Feng was surprised to learn he was still a Chinese citizen.
“The green card is permanent residency,” the agent clarified.
“You can apply for naturalization after five years, or three if you marry an American citizen.” ‘Good to know.
I clearly had some misconceptions.’ After saying goodbye to the agent, An Feng checked into a local hotel in San Luis Obispo (conveniently shortened to SLO).
The next morning he called a car dealership using the agent’s recommendation.
America’s car culture was real—getting around without one was painful.
Local options were limited, so his sports car dreams would have to wait.
He visited a dealer specializing in trucks and SUVs.
The salesman, learning he owned a vineyard, strongly recommended pickup trucks.
An Feng test-drove a black Ford F-150.
The 6.2-liter engine and over 400 horsepower felt smooth even on dirt roads.
He was pleasantly shocked by the price: just over fifty thousand US dollars for the top trim, around sixty thousand with taxes and fees—less than four hundred thousand RMB.
In China, a comparable luxury import would have cost far more.
Driving off the lot, An Feng felt a quiet thrill.
‘Not a bad start.’