America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Chapter 102 Borrowing a Car

"I've already made arrangements for this."

Chen Ming swiped his phone open and tossed it into Sofia's arms.

"Look for yourself—don't click on other screens randomly."

Sofia hurriedly caught it; the screen displayed an encrypted group chat called "Los Angeles Red Line".

"What is this—the VIP club for Beverly Hills Trust Fund babies?" Sophia raised her eyebrows.

"Pretty much, Michelle's masterpiece." Chen Ming poured himself a glass of water.

"She used several high-profile aliases to spread rumors in private forums frequented by wealthy second-generation individuals. She used two deliberately blurry photos of a desert racetrack, along with the gimmicks of no legal restrictions, helicopter aerial photography, and the involvement of 'pilots' —"

Sofia swiped the screen, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"Good heavens, she even made admission tickets by invitation only? Limited to fifty cars, and the black market price for an invitation code is already three thousand dollars?"

"This is called the FOMO effect, or the fear of missing out —" Chen Ming leaned back on the sofa and commented incisively, "If you hand out flyers for free on Sunset Boulevard, these rich kids driving Ferraris will just think it's some low-level gang's bankruptcy party. But the more mysterious, illegal, and high-barrier you make it — the more they will pounce on you like mad dogs, just to prove that they are qualified to be in the circle, instead of being excluded."

"That's amazing!" Sophia tossed her phone back to Chen Ming, marveling at the incredible feat.

"They really need to get their heads checked—so are we just going to sit back and collect the money now?"

"You lie down, I still have work to do."

Chen Ming grabbed the car keys on the table and prepared to leave.

"Wait a minute," Sophia called out to him.

"One last thing—since you've created such a big buzz, what's your plan for the first prize?"

Too few wouldn't be enough to control those rich kids, and too many would increase our costs.

Chen Ming thought about it carefully.

"How about ten million US dollars?"

"What?!"

Sofia shuddered and almost rolled off the sofa, mouse and all.

"How much did you say? Ten million?!" She looked at Chen Ming as if he were crazy.

"Has your brain been baked by the scorching California sun? Even if you sold all your assets plus your organs, you wouldn't have scraped together a fraction of it—what, are you planning to sell yourself to some super-rich woman in her bedroom after the competition to pay off your debts?"

"Don't get excited." Chen Ming put the car keys into his pocket without changing his expression.

"Bonuses are only considered expenses when they are actually given out."

"What do you mean? You're planning to renege on your debt and run away?" Sophia was stunned.

"Of course not, because I will also participate in the competition." Chen Ming raised his eyebrows, his tone matter-of-fact.

"If I'm destined to be the champion, what difference does it make whether the prize money is ten million or one hundred million? As long as I don't lose, this money will always just be a number written on a poster—I even think ten million is conservative, but writing one hundred million would be too much of a fuss."

Sofia stared, speechless for a long time, stunned by this logic.

A full ten seconds passed before she rolled her eyes dramatically and sat back down at the computer.

"Fine, whatever, you lunatic." Sophia irritably pressed the Enter key.

"Since you're so confident in your driving skills, I won't care if you set the reward as a space shuttle. But I'm warning you, if you dare to shortchange me on my $400 a day and my 5% commission—I'll report you to the IRS."

"Don't worry, you'll get your share."

Chen Ming waved his hand and pushed open the apartment door.

Half an hour later, the Ford food truck stopped in the backyard of Elena's racing club.

Although he was very confident in his driving skills, objective laws do not give him special treatment just because he is confident.

The publicity for this competition was so extensive that the rich kids, who were so excited, would definitely bring out the fiercest beasts from their garages. Trying to win first place in this kind of competition with just a food truck is nothing short of a pipe dream.

He needs a real beast's ride.

As soon as he opened the car door, Chen Ming raised his eyebrows.

Next to the club's private track, a dozen dazzling top-of-the-line supercars and heavily modified muscle cars were lined up, as if a small-scale high-end car show was being held.

Porsche GT3 RS, Ferrari SF90, McLaren 720S — and even Elena’s iconic Dodge Hellcat.

She was leaning against the door of an Aston Martin, tossing a bunch of car keys in her hand, and whistled loudly at Chen Ming.

"I knew your food truck, full of rice and cooking fumes, wouldn't be able to handle this big event," Elena said, stepping forward and pointing to the line of vehicles behind her.

"Choose, Mr. Pilot. See which one suits you best."

"You robbed the underground parking garage?"

Chen Ming scanned the row of steel monsters, whose combined value exceeded eight figures.

"No, this is called the celebrity effect," Elena said with a smug smile.

"I mentioned to the young masters at the club that you needed a car, and guess what? They practically shoved their car keys at me, practically begging me to choose their car—"

She handed Chen Ming a can of chilled Monster Energy drink.

"The car owners only have one condition: as long as you don't drive your car straight into the incinerator and report it, you can build whatever you want. Getting a 'pilot' to win a championship in their own car is enough for them to brag about in nightclubs for half a year."

Chen Ming took the drink and pulled the tab.

"It seems that California's rich kids are indeed more generous and vain than I imagined."

"Except for that one." Elena suddenly reached out and pointed to the most flashy car parked at the very edge.

"Chad's car? Didn't his mom ground him?" Chen Ming remembered this unlucky guy.

"He escaped through the window last night and also managed to completely sort out the helicopter thing." Elena rolled her eyes, her tone helpless.

"His exact words were, 'Even if you drive this car to pieces and burn it to ashes, it doesn't matter, as long as you carry it to victory.'"

"He really wants to sit in the passenger seat?" Chen Ming laughed until his stomach hurt.

"He was terrified last time."

"You might not know this, but Brad is his sworn enemy. Once, the two of them had a fight in a nightclub, and Brad got really worked up and pulled out a gun, almost shooting Chad in the groin—"

Elena shrugged.

Chen Ming's gaze swept back and forth among the dozen or so cars, his brain starting to race.

In the desert environment, with its long straight-line acceleration and extremely rough corners, the overly delicate European supercars would simply not adapt well to such conditions.

Finally, his gaze settled on the Dodge Hellcat.

"I choose yours," Chen Ming said, pointing to Hellcat.

"It has enough horsepower and a stiff enough chassis, making it perfect for catching sand."

"You have good taste." Elena tossed the keys to Chen Ming with precision, then winked.

"But you'd better treat it well; it's my lifeline—how are you going to explain this to Chad?"

"Simple." Chen Ming steadily caught the key and walked towards Hellcat.

"Let him wear a helmet and sit in the back, and bring a vomit bag too. As long as he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't bother me, I guarantee he'll be the coolest co-pilot in all of Los Angeles."