While in America, the system says Roosevelt was an emperor.

At 10:40 a.m., Tom arrived at the French restaurant first, intending to make arrangements for the venue.

Standing at the entrance, the opulent French-style decor already made many passersby feel suffocated.

Tom walked straight into the restaurant and looked at the person in charge of reception.

The receptionist, dressed in a French service uniform, stood lazily at the door, as if the whole world owed him money.

When Tom came in, the receptionist glanced at Tom's suit and realized it was a brand he couldn't afford.

She glanced again at the car Tom got out of—a top-of-the-line Ford luxury model, costing at least eight thousand dollars, more than ten years' worth of her own salary.

Instantly, the receptionist put on a smiling face, stood up straight, and politely greeted the young man:

"Sir, do you have a reservation or a membership card?"

Tom replied:

"No appointment, and no membership card."

"But I want to book your entire restaurant."

The receptionist's eyes lit up; he knew a big deal had arrived.

If someone dares to book a restaurant in the heart of Manhattan, they can earn at least tens of dollars in commission.

The receptionist replied:

"Our restaurant doesn't accept walk-in customers. Would you like me to take you to get a membership card?"

"I believe that with your abilities, you can definitely get it done within three days."

Tom frowned. Three days? He had to wait three days for a membership card just to have a meal?

Tom said somewhat impatiently:

"Call your manager over, I need to see him to apply for a membership card."

"It needs to be done now, so we can have lunch today."

The waiter hurried to find the manager, while Tom looked at a sign that listed today's menu.

High-end French restaurants will post today's menu, telling customers what they can eat that day.

Some restaurants even add a touch of romance by calling it "Today's Love Letter".

The chef presents a love letter to each customer.

But Tom just thought it was a marketing ploy.

A few minutes later, the manager came down.

The manager was a middle-aged white man with a pocket watch pinned to his chest. He was well-proportioned and slightly broad-shouldered, exuding masculine strength.

The manager walked up to Tom. He had entertained many wealthy people, and even more nouveau riche.

In the manager's eyes, Tom was the latter;

The manager said in a seemingly polite but subtly derogatory tone:

"Sir, I have heard of your request;"

"I regret to inform you that our membership card application process is very strict."

"To protect the interests of other members, even if you contact me, I need to review your information..."

Tom didn't waste any words, pointed to the menu beside him, and said:

"Caviar, foie gras, whelks, Lorenz tarts..."

"I estimate this meal will cost at least fifty dollars, right?"

The manager said proudly:

"Sir, you're overestimating. Today's menu is a complete set for only forty-seven dollars."

Tom nodded, then began counting the number of tables in the hall, saying:

There are thirteen tables in total.

"We'll calculate based on three table turnovers per day, meaning we can only serve a maximum of thirty-nine guests per lunch break."

"If each table orders four sets, then your restaurant's revenue for lunch today will be around seven thousand US dollars."

"I didn't miscalculate, did I?"

The manager rolled his eyes, neither admitting nor denying.

A restaurant's revenue for a normal lunch is considered good if it can break two thousand US dollars; let alone turn over tables, it's difficult to even fill the seats.

Tom continued:

"My friends are a bit rough around the edges, so they might bump into things and damage the furniture here."

"How about this, I'll round it up to ten thousand dollars."

"I've booked the entire restaurant for lunch today."

The manager looked disdainful and said:

"But it's just a mere ten thousand..."

"Wait? Ten thousand dollars?"

The manager's pupils dilated as he looked at Tom incredulously.

Tom didn't say anything, but pulled out a whole stack of money from his pocket, a full ten thousand dollars.

The manager and the receptionist kept their eyes fixed on the ten thousand dollars.

Three seconds later, the manager hurriedly bowed, performing a standard French waiter's bow, and with a forced smile, said:

"My esteemed sir, please come in."

"This lunchtime, our restaurant will only serve you and your friends."

Tom watched the manager's Sichuan opera-style face-changing act, patted the manager's face with a coin, and said:

"I still prefer your rebellious self from just now. Try to come back to your old self."

After saying that, Tom put the money into the manager's pocket.

The manager touched the thickness, smiled at first, then straightened his back and resumed his arrogant, dismissive manner.

At 11:30 a.m., representatives of various forces arrived one after another at the main table in the center of the hall.

The Corleone family - Vito Corleone,

Devil's Stick - Thomas

Our Lady of the League - Yevgeny

Blood Lion Gang - Moore

Fuxinghui - Mr. Lai

The Bald Gang – Big Bald, whose real name is Henri Maupassant.

Only today's guest, Nemanja Kovich, the head of the Kovich family, has not yet arrived.

The core business district of Manhattan is relatively peaceful, with few gangs or local thugs.

Everyone treated it as a victory celebration, so they didn't bring many underlings, only one or two people each.

The small tables around the perimeter were also filled with "guests".

But they weren't real guests; they were Tom's "courtroom" henchmen.

Luca, accompanied by dozens of elite gunmen, sat scattered across various tables, keeping a close eye on the main table.

At 11:45, Nemania arrived at the French restaurant with four fellow Balkan natives.

Before they even entered, the manager stopped Nemania and his group, saying:

"Those who are not properly dressed will not be received."

Nemania saw Tom at the head of the hall, his hand reaching for the Thompson submachine gun at his waist.

But Nemania looked at the restaurant's layout again and realized that if she acted now, she would never be able to kill Tom.

Nemania suppressed his rage. If his brother was really dead, today was his only chance to kill Tom, and he couldn't miss it.

Nemania asked:

"What does it mean to be properly dressed?"

The manager replied:

"At the very least, you should wear a tie."

Nemania pointed to Tom's table and said:

"I'm from that table. He invited me here. We have a big business deal to discuss."

The manager continued to look at people with his chin raised, and said:

"You should at least dress appropriately, otherwise it's disrespectful to the other guests."

"Well then, I see that your and your friend's overall attire is appropriate for etiquette."

"It's just a matter of tying a tie, it's not that complicated."

"I have a spare tie here, I can lend it to you to talk business."

"But..."

The manager stretched out a hand and rubbed his thumb against his index and middle fingers.

Normally, Nemania would have become suspicious.

But the hatred for his brother's murder had clouded his judgment, especially the grenade at his waist, which gave Nemania a false sense of security:

Regardless, if I get close to Tom, Tom will surely die.

In the end, Nemania took out one hundred dollars and bought the manager's tie.

Upon entering the hall, Nemania placed his hand on the grenade.

If anything goes wrong, he will immediately perish together with Tom.