America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

For several consecutive days, House of Beast was bustling with patrons, and each member of the male performers was brimming with energy, the large tips they collected every night kept them constantly excited.

The temptation of earning money can drive people to do some incredible things.

In the dressing room, as the male performers were getting ready to change and put on makeup before going on stage, Hart suddenly yelled, "Who has given us the money that's making us rich?"

The male performers shouted in a disorderly fashion, "Crazy customers!"

Hart continued to ask loudly, "And who brought those crazy customers here?"

This time, the voices of the male performers were much more in unison, "Martin Davis!"

"For Papa Martin!" Hart pulled out a box, "I want to raise funds!"

Carrington asked curiously, "Why?"

Hart looked around, "Isn't Martin like a father to us?"

Someone said laughing, "As long as he can make me money, I'd call him God."

The male performers, who had made a killing these past few days, all chanted in agreement, "From now on, we'll call Martin 'Papa'."

Heartbroken, Hart said, "But Papa Martin only wants daughters, not sons."

The room fell instantly silent, this sad reality deeply piercing their hearts.

"The club used to be quiet, but Papa Martin brought a bustling crowd, and made the bustling even more so, each and every one of us is earning more money than white-collar workers in the CBD!" Hart's voice was low, with a crying tone, "How should we repay Papa Martin?"

Carrington spoke, "Aren't you saving money for the gender reassignment surgery, to become Martin's daughter?"

Hart wiped his nose, "Papa Martin is all our father, I can't be too selfish, I can't monopolize him."

He lifted his head, his expression extremely serious, his voice very solemn, "So, I've made a decision! To thank Papa Martin, we should all save up money to send Papa Martin to go for the surgery in Thailand he talked about; when he's done with the surgery, we will all love and cherish him together."

The atmosphere in the dressing room exploded.

Carrington was the first to take out money, grabbing a handful of small bills without even counting them and stuffed them into the box, "I must support this!"

"I support it too!"

The other male performers also stuffed money inside, shouting, "After we wrap up tonight, let's go give it to him."

...

Close to opening time, Martin was preparing some cocktail ingredients behind the bar, when he saw Bruce tossing out cardboard boxes, he called out to him, "Leave the box for me."

Bruce threw it over.

Martin handed the box he used to collect tips to Bruce, "It's too small, get a bigger one."

Bruce looked at his own small drawer, placed the box in a corner, "I'll use this one."

These past few days, there had been too many customers and too many tips to fit in the small drawer.

The fighters crying for the freedom of nightlife loved the atmosphere of House of Beast.

"House of Beast has become the nightlife club for Freedom Fighters," Bruce asked Martin, "How about your rich woman? How's it going?"

Martin shrugged, "Better than you licking posters!" After taking a dig at each other, he said, "The rich woman is busy with work, she might come over on the weekend."

He had been following the news lately, and although there hadn't been any direct confrontations between the Freedom Association and the Methodist Association, the verbal attacks between them had never ceased.

Clearly, the struggle involved higher-level political strife, including the donkey-elephant conflict in Atlanta.

Kelly Gray wanted to seek advantages from this situation.

Dana's voice came from upstairs, "Martin!"

Martin wiped his hands and went up to the office, finding not only Vincent there but also an exceptionally muscular woman sitting on the sofa.

It was hard to guess her age, she was close to 1.8 meters tall, and her exposed arms, calves, and neck were all muscle.

The legendary fitness witch.

"This is Sophia," Vincent introduced her casually, taking off his cowboy hat and pulling out a check from his drawer, pushing it towards Martin, "This is for you."

Martin, who had put a lot of time and energy into all of this for the money, picked it up and glanced at the figure, saying, "Thank you, boss."

The hatless Vincent, though his hawk-like nose appeared more prominent, somehow looked a bit softer, "You've done well, if you have other ideas, feel free to come to me."

He had grasped the key to motivating Martin, "I am a generous person."

Martin didn't mind flattering him, "You are a good boss."

When Martin left, Sophia asked, "Is he the key person to the club's soaring performance?"

Vincent said, "He's got ideas, but he is poor."

Sophia rubbed the calluses on her fingers, "He's a talent."

"Don't you mess around!" Vincent warned, "How hard is it to find someone with brains from the poor? Let him go, he's still young and can't withstand your torment."

...…

Having pocketed the check, Martin returned to the bar.

Bruce knew why he had gone upstairs but didn't ask for specifics, just said, "You owe me compensation."

Martin was first puzzled, then realized, "Back door?"

Bruce didn't look civilized at this moment, "You idiot, you made me miss the best opportunity."

"I'll compensate you," Martin was very generous, "The Male Model Squad's income has skyrocketed recently, Hart has been wanting to thank me, and I thought of saying no, but now I've decided to give Hart a chance to prepare for you."

Bruce shaped his fingers into a gun, aiming at Martin, "I really want to crack open your skull and see if it's filled with dog shit!"

Martin remembered something, "Who is Sophia?"

"The boss's stepmother," Bruce's voice involuntarily lowered, "She's a fitness fanatic with excessive hormone secretions, terrifying needs in that department, very scary, you be careful."

Martin nodded slightly.

The customers were still plentiful tonight, keeping Martin and Bruce incredibly busy.

Around 9:30, the number of female customers coming for drinks had dwindled a bit.

A sturdy arm thumped down on the bar, Sophia said to Bruce, "Long time no see."

Bruce squeezed out a smile, "Good evening, Sophia, what brings you here?"

Sophia scanned the room, "Relax, I'm not looking for you tonight. Didn't you allow men in? Why don't I see any?"

"Not time yet." Bruce caught on, grabbed the walkie-talkie, "Ivan, let's start early tonight."

Sophia's gaze landed on Martin, "Interested in working for me?"

Martin prided himself on absolute loyalty, peerless in honor, glanced over Sophia's muscular bumps and her collagen-depleted face with unwavering determination, "Vincent is very good to me."

Sophia laughed, "Interesting, Vincent's generosity really wins people over..."

"Idiot Martin!" someone suddenly interjected, "Give me a beer, no chit-chat!"

Turning around, Martin saw Scott standing in front of the bar.

The dude had groomed himself to pick up chicks, and despite his shabby clothes, you could call him a middle-aged handsome guy.

When Scott saw Martin not moving, he raised his voice, "Idiot Martin's old man, seduced my wife priva—"

Bruce put a beer in front of Scott just in time.

Conveniently, Sophia's eyes turned to Scott, and Martin purposefully introduced him, "This is Scott, a very interesting man."

Scott, proactive and unpretentious, swaggered over upon being eyed by Sophia, laid down five US dollars on the bar, "Get this pretty lady a drink, it's on me."

Ten minutes later, Sophia and Scott left the nightclub together.

Bruce whispered, "I hope he can still walk tomorrow."

Martin asked, "Old Cloth, did you actually experience it?"

Bruce clamped his mouth shut, and didn't speak a word to Martin until the club closed.

This guy, so out of touch!

Martin understood, Old Cloth must have had a harrowing experience.

Once all the customers had left and the club quieted down, Hart emerged with a box in his arms, running from backstage, followed by Carrington and other Male Models who hadn't gone out.

Martin had a bad feeling about this.

Hart, having practiced dancing for several months had some skills, sliding on the smooth floor, came to a stop in front of Martin with a kneel, lifting the box high above his head, "Daddy Martin, this is a token of our gratitude."

Martin didn't take it, instead looked behind Hart and remarked, "A sliding kneel without triple spins gets a bad review!"

Holding the box even higher, Hart handed it to Martin who saw it was filled with small bills, "What's this about?"

"Money pooled from the Male Model Squad," Hart said seriously, "To thank you for bringing in the crowds, we've raised money to send you to Thailand..."

Martin got angry, "You bastards, is this how you thank me? Old Cloth, draw your gun and blow these pieces of shit away!"

The money clearly wasn't enough for surgery, but it was sufficient to throw a small party at the club.

Aside from the boss Vincent, accountant Dana, and the Male Models out on jobs, the rest had a hearty celebration.

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