Fred Bradshaw eyed Sai Kung, a sleepy town by the sea. Fred thought, I’m going to shake this lot out of their slumber. Ha ha.
Mummy was rich. She married well, a man who inherited an IT business, then built it obsessively. Fred was the lucky progeny of Mummy’s first relationship. A ship’s captain renowned at the yacht club for his thirst and success with a string of young ladies.
Now both of Mummy’s men were gone. And Fred had access to Mummy’s money. Fred rubbed his hands. Sai Kung was boring. It cried out for a make-over. I’ll create a whole new theme for the place. It’ll be the new Bahamas. Look at those islands. Resorts, hotels, luxury housing, all Caribbean-style.
Let’s tell the South China Morning Post. The reporter was gullible, about 22 years old, awed by Fred’s wealth. She dutifully noted Fred’s fervid imaginings, the sweep of his vision. Next day the story appeared.
Fred was the talk of the town. Right, what will I do first? Mummy’s money is inexhaustible. How about a nightclub like Sai Kung’s never seen before? Chic decor, live music, barmaids with tits. I’ll call it Va-Voom.
Yeah, that’s great. What’s next? A fleet of luxury junks. Gaily decorated, hip crews. The punters will love it. My talent and Mummy’s money. Can’t lose. What’s next? How about a go-kart track. Flags streaming, bustle of crowds. Roar of little engines. Va-Voom.
Fred was on a roll. Grabbing property. The resort by the water. I’ll have that. The new multi-storey building too far from town. I’ll have that. This town ain’t big enough for Fred.
Ten years later. It’s all gone. The Va-Voom nightclub. Gone. The resorts on the islands. Never happened. The fleet of luxury junks. Gone. The go-kart track. Gone.
It never dawned on Fred. Money is not enough. Retail businesses must be managed. They all failed.
Has Fred learned? No, reportedly more are on the way.
One awed resident said, “Fred Bradshaw is Sai Kung’s best speculator and worst businessman.”
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