“Three million every quarter.”
“For each restaurant?”
“No, total.”
“In US dollars?” I had to keep pressing him.
“Yes,” he said.
“And your overhead? Where did you get the three million?”
I could see him getting confused. “It takes $75,000 a quarter to run each restaurant.”
“That’s very high.”
“Yes.” He nodded.
The waitress walked by. I motioned her over. “Have a beer, Mato.”
“It’s Sato-sama.” The waitress stared at him. “Oh, yes. I’ll have a beer, thank you.”
“So, what are your plans for the business? What direction would you like to take it in?”
He gave me a blank stare. “I’ll have to look into that.”
“Okay.” I laughed. It was time. “How much of a stake are you looking to sell?”
“Twenty percent.” He was fast.
“I’ll be pouring a heck of a lot more than that into the company. I’ll tell you what, you sell me rights to the name, and I’ll do 30.” The waitress came and set our beers down on the table. I waved her away.
“I can’t sell.” He stared down at the sweaty green bottle.
“And why not?” I took a sip and sat back, totally casual.
“I started my restaurant in a cart, then a kiosk. Now I’ve got something. I want to have control of the company.”
“And you will, but you’re missing the big picture.” I softened and added a sympathetic tone to my voice. “You can’t expand with your current sales. As soon as you sign the paper, I’ll pump 10 times more money than you’ve ever seen into that place. When I do, I’ll leave everything the way it is. All I want is the name.”
“Okay.” He said. “I’ll get the papers together so we can sign them.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “This is going to make you rich.”
In 10 years, he’d have a posh apartment overlooking the Tokyo skyline and a driver picking up his coffee in the morning. That’s what I did for people.
I took small businesses and gave them the exposure they deserved. The owners were guaranteed to be millionaires. He was making a good deal.
We went over the numbers and the branding. He needed marketing badly, so I gave him the number to our marketing division and promised to send somebody out to Kyoto. We’d be opening doors on new restaurants all throughout East Asia.
Once he found out what we were going to do, he chugged his beer and insisted on buying us both shots of sake. It was traditional to spend the evening together, having dinner and drinks, but I wasn’t a traditional man, and I hadn’t seen Mercedes since the night we went to the gala.
The second he left, I hopped into my luxury sedan and tried to call Mercedes. When she didn’t answer her phone, I gave Tony a call.
“Hey, what up?” he said when he answered. “You looking for something sexy? Got some dark chocolate, Theresa and Monet. They come as a package deal.”
“I just want to see Maria.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “That bitch is gone.”