Chapter 125 Heading to Washington

The negotiation between John Mitchell and Ramaswamy didn't drag on for too long; Ramaswamy wanted to sell, Mu Xin needed to buy, and both sides were sincere.

The price was negotiated down from three million per unit to 2.4 million. For a package of twenty units at 48 million dollars, Ramaswamy grit his teeth and signed.

Twenty power generation modules, refurbished from retired military engines in Kazakhstan, would be shipped in batches over the next thirty days to the vacant warehouse on the east side of Oxford Town.

Mu Xin didn't ask about the machines anymore. Sergei would calibrate them, John would inspect them, and Victoria would handle the payments. A power generation capacity of 400 megawatts was already on the way.

As the boss, he began to work on another matter: contacting Jack Harrison, the lawyer in Washington.

Jack Harrison's office on K Street wasn't large, but the location was superb; the back door of the White House was visible outside his window.

K Street, Washington's lobbying street, was the largest power marketplace in the United States.

On that street, there were more lawyers than politicians, and more lobbyists than lawyers. Every office building was packed with people trying to influence federal government decisions.

The fact that Jack Harrison could establish a foothold in such a place showed he was no ordinary lawyer.

He was the kind of lawyer who could settle any trouble for his clients, though of course, his price wasn't cheap.

But Mu Xin didn't care about the price; what he cared about was whether this man could help him block the troubles that were drawing near.

When Mu Xin pushed the door open and walked in, Harrison had his feet propped up on his desk, holding a bottle of cola, and was talking into his phone.

Seeing Mu Xin enter, he lowered his feet, nodded toward the sofa, and said into his phone, 'My client is here, talk to you later,' before hanging up.

"Mr. Mu, please sit," Harrison said, placing the bottle of cola on the desk and clapping his hands. "Governor DeWine mentioned you to me. He said you're an interesting young man."

Mu Xin sat down on the sofa and looked around the office. A huge map of the United States hung on the wall, marked with red and blue pushpins.

The legal classics on the bookshelf were covered in a thin layer of dust, but the copy of 'Yachting World' magazine on the coffee table was dog-eared. In the cabinet behind the desk, several rows of whiskey were neatly lined up.

"Would you like something to drink?" Harrison walked over to the cabinet, grabbed a bottle, and unscrewed the cap. "I don't have coffee here, only this."

"Cola is fine," Mu Xin said.

Harrison paused for a moment and then smiled. "Young people drink cola, old fogies drink alcohol."

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, didn't add ice, downed half of it in one gulp, and then sat in the chair opposite Mu Xin, crossing his legs.

"Governor DeWine said you've set up several major projects in Ohio—the Water Plant, a power plant, a hotel, and the Medical Center—adding up to nearly three hundred million dollars."

"Just about," Mu Xin said.

"So why did you come to see me? What do you want?"

"I need someone who can help me handle government and business relations in Washington," Mu Xin said after a moment's thought. "Not the kind of consultant who occasionally makes a few phone calls, but someone for a long-term partnership who can represent me."

"My projects are in Ohio, but sooner or later, I'll run into federal-level approvals, permits, and regulations."

"I'm a Chinese international student. Some things are not convenient for me to deal with directly, and there are some doors I can't knock on."

"So you need a white glove?" Harrison asked.

"No," Mu Xin shook his head. "A white glove is someone who does dirty work for me. What I need is someone who can walk the walk for me in Washington, not in the shadows, but out in the open."

"You have money, projects, and jobs. These are all hard currencies."

"But you need someone to convert these hard currencies into political capital, using your projects to influence those who can influence you," Harrison rephrased.

"Yes," Mu Xin nodded. "That's exactly what I mean."

Harrison stood up, walked over to the cabinet, poured another glass of whiskey, and added some ice.

This time he didn't down it in one gulp. Instead, he held it in his hand, swirling it slowly, watching the ice cubes spin in the amber liquid.

"Mr. Mu, do you know who I am?" Harrison suddenly asked.

"Governor DeWine said you are the best lawyer in Washington," Mu Xin said.

"Governor DeWine was just being polite." Harrison turned around. "I am indeed one of the best lawyers in Washington, but not because I'm a good person."

"I charge a lot, and I look at the money, not the person."

"Whether you're a good person or a bad person, I don't care. Whether you're Chinese or American, I don't care."

"Whether what you do is legal or illegal, I don't care either, as long as you don't ask me to help you launder money."

"I don't take terrorists as clients, not because I have morals, but because terrorists can't afford my fees, and they'd have the FBI watching me all day, which is a hassle."

Harrison sat back in his chair. "Mr. Mu, you're not a terrorist, are you?"

"Of course not," Mu Xin chuckled.

"Then are you a spy?"

"The CIA isn't useless," Mu Xin said, somewhat speechless.

"Then are you an agent sent by the Chinese government to infiltrate local American politics?"

Mu Xin looked at him. "What do you think?"

"I don't think so," Harrison took a sip of whiskey. "A spy wouldn't pour three hundred million dollars into a small town of only twenty thousand people to build a bunch of visible physical assets."

"Spies want influence, not concrete and steel. The things you're building—the Water Plant, power plant, hotel—are all fixed assets that can't run away. That's not how a spy operates."

"Then what are you worried about?" Mu Xin asked in return.

"I'm worried about your money." Harrison set down his glass. "Three hundred million dollars in bitcoin, and you say you made it trading crypto. Mr. Mu, do you believe that?"

"I believe it myself," Mu Xin said earnestly.

"It's useless if only you believe it." Harrison leaned forward. "The key is whether the FBI believes it, whether Congress believes it, and whether those who keep an eye on Chinese capital believe it."

"They don't, which is why I came to you," Mu Xin was very direct.

"Mr. Mu, what exactly do you want me to do? Be specific," Harrison sighed.

"Two things. First, help me lower my profile. My projects are too big to hide, but I don't want to become news."

"If anyone asks, I want the words coming out of your mouth to be that I'm just an ordinary investor doing ordinary business, nothing special."

"Second, help me handle relations at the federal level. If one day someone wants to target me in Washington, I need you to know in advance, tell me in advance, and help me block it in advance."

"Just that?" Harrison asked, somewhat unsure.

"Just that," Mu Xin nodded.

Harrison leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

"Mr. Mu, do you know there's a specific term for what you just described?"

"What term?"

"Lobbyist." Harrison withdrew his gaze. "What you want is a lobbyist, not a lawyer. A lobbyist."

"A lawyer helps you fight lawsuits in court, while a lobbyist speaks for you on Capitol Hill. You want the latter."

"Then what is your role?" Mu Xin frowned.

"I'm a lawyer, but I'm also a lobbyist," Harrison laughed. "On K Street, those two things are inseparable."

"You come to me for a lawsuit today, ask me to lobby congressmen tomorrow, and have me settle regulations the day after. I'll do anything, as long as you pay."

"So, are you willing to do it?" Mu Xin's expression was serious.

"I am," Harrison replied without any hesitation. "But I have conditions."