Heathrow Airport, one of the world's most famous civilian airports, the main airport serving London, one of the biggest air hubs on the planet, the busiest in Europe, and one of the busiest anywhere in the world.
On May 7, 2000, Bruce set foot on British soil for the first time in either life.
He had already booked a luxury suite at the five-star Hilton Waldorf, and with no language barrier to worry about, the trip from the U.S. to the U.K. was smooth from start to finish.
Once he was settled in, he opened his laptop, logged onto Yahoo, and pulled up the sports section. Nearly half the coverage was focused on the upcoming Champions League Final in just over two weeks.
Nobody seemed to believe Valencia could beat Real Madrid and lift the trophy.
That was hardly surprising.
Compared to a Real Madrid side stacked with stars like Raul, Redondo, McManaman, Roberto Carlos, and Casillas, Valencia was still seen as the weaker side, both in terms of squad strength and title aura. On top of that, they had just come through a brutal semifinal battle and looked much more vulnerable physically.
So on the betting boards, Valencia beating Real Madrid was listed at 2 to 1, while Real Madrid beating Valencia was only 0.5 to 1.
Football was unpredictable. That much was always true.
Even so, the gap was not enormous. Valencia had reached the final for a reason.
But betting on football was never just about win or loss. The real action was in exact scores.
A 0-0 draw paid 1 to 2.
Real Madrid 1-0 Valencia paid 1 to 0.8.
Valencia 1-0 Real Madrid paid 1 to 1.5.
Real Madrid 2-0 Valencia paid 1 to 2.
Valencia 2-0 Real Madrid paid 1 to 2.5.
Real Madrid 3-0 Valencia paid 1 to 3.5.
Valencia 3-0 Real Madrid paid 1 to 4.6.
There were plenty of other options too: 2-1, 1-2, 3-1, 3-2, even 4-0 and 5-0.
Most bettors still favored scores like 1-0 or 2-1. In football, two goals already counted as a decent total, and three-goal margins were not exactly common, especially not in a Champions League Final between two strong Spanish sides.
But Bruce knew the result.
Real Madrid would win 3-0.
That run from 2000 to 2002, with three Champions League titles in quick succession, had left too strong an impression to forget. Every Real Madrid fan knew it by heart.
Knowing the result and betting it correctly were two different things, though. The odds on a 3-0 Real Madrid win were high enough to be tempting, but placing eighty million dollars on football required more than enthusiasm.
He had to think carefully.
The first issue was tax.
Different countries handled gambling taxation differently. Europe was nowhere near as brutal as the U.S., where taxes could feel almost confiscatory, but France, Spain, and Germany still took significant bites out of winnings. The U.K. was better, only around fifteen percent.
Bruce was short on cash by the standards he actually cared about, so Canada looked attractive. No gambling tax there, as long as nobody decided you qualified as a professional gambler.
But that raised a second problem.
If he dropped eighty million dollars into Canadian sportsbooks and won, could they actually pay him?
He had doubts.
So he split the money three ways.
Twenty million would go through Canadian bookmakers.
Twenty million would go through British bookmakers.
The remaining forty million would be placed through offshore online gambling platforms.
Online betting at the time lived in a legal gray zone. Offshore companies were pulling in billions from it every year without paying taxes, and regulation was weak at best. In later years, governments like the U.K. and France would try to bring the sector under control with licensing and crackdowns, but even then it would never fully disappear.
Bruce did not want to pay taxes, and Phoenix Capital was already an offshore structure. With a Swiss banking relationship and enough discretion, the setup suited him just fine.
Still, offshore betting came with obvious risks. If things went wrong, there was little legal protection. So he diversified across as many platforms as possible.
That was why he also committed twenty million to physical betting outlets in the U.K. and another twenty million in Canada.
Three layers of protection.
Enough to reduce risk while still maximizing the upside.
Of course, football betting was not the only reason he had come to Britain.
The next morning, after getting ready, Bruce picked up a black briefcase and headed out. He had done his homework before flying over, so he had no trouble finding Ritt Literary Agency on the ninth floor of Zijinghua Tower in central London.
Publishing in the West did not work the way it did in China. Writers did not usually take finished manuscripts straight to publishers. They went first to literary agents, who then pitched the work to publishers on their behalf.
A good literary agent brought more than literary taste to the table. They also had the negotiation skills and legal instincts most authors lacked, and they could protect the author's interests in ways a writer usually could not.
Of course, that service was not free.
Agents typically took five percent of royalties.
At the front desk, a blonde receptionist smiled professionally.
"Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?"
"I'd like to see Christopher Ritt."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No," Bruce said. "But I do have this."
He opened his briefcase and took out a thick manuscript.
On the cover, in bold letters, was the title:
Harry Potter Prequel: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
This was not 1997 anymore, when J. K. Rowling had been dragging Harry Potter around and getting ignored.
Ritt Literary Agency had played a major role in helping Harry Potter become a global phenomenon. From the owner down to the front desk, nobody there was likely to miss a manuscript connected to that world.
The receptionist's eyes locked onto the title almost instantly.
Bruce held the manuscript out to her.
"You might want to let Mr. Ritt take a look at that. If he likes what he sees, I imagine he'll be very pleased with your initiative."
She hesitated for a moment, then took it.
"Please wait here."
"Of course."
Bruce sat down in one of the chairs by the wall and smiled to himself.
He had every confidence that once Christopher Ritt saw the story he had built around the core film-style plotline of Fantastic Beasts, the man would come out personally. And once that happened, the rest would be much easier.
Six or seven minutes later, he heard hurried footsteps approaching.
When he turned, three people were coming out from the office area.
Besides the blonde receptionist, the one who caught Bruce's attention was the man in the center: a lean white man in his mid-thirties wearing a dark suit.
"Boss, he's the author," the receptionist said, pointing at Bruce.
Christopher Ritt gave Bruce a quick once-over. Black coat. Young face. But the eyes were different. Older somehow. Calm, steady, like someone who had seen much more than his age suggested.
Then he stepped forward.
"Hello. I'm Christopher Ritt."
"Pleasure to meet you. Bruce Guo."
They shook hands.
Ritt tilted his head slightly after hearing Bruce's fluent English.
"You're British?"
"No. American."
Something flickered in Ritt's eyes. Then he stepped aside and gestured inward.
"Mr. Guo, why don't we talk inside?"
"Gladly."
Christopher Ritt led him through the office and into his private room.
Bruce's eyes briefly passed over the large Harry Potter cover art framed on the wall before he took a seat on the couch in the reception area.
Ritt's young assistant brought coffee, and once that was done, the negotiation began.
"Mr. Guo," Ritt said, "I haven't had time to read very far, but Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is clearly an engaging manuscript. That said, a lot of the material overlaps too closely with Rowling's Harry Potter universe. Unless you obtain authorization, this cannot be published."
Bruce set down his coffee and smiled calmly.
"Mr. Ritt, you and I both know that aside from broad public-domain-style fantasy concepts like wizards, a ministry of magic, and wands, this manuscript does not actually owe Rowling's Harry Potter a penny. And strictly speaking, the title isn't Harry Potter Prequel at all. It's simply Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."
"Then why label it that way?"
There was a shift in Ritt's expression now. Interest. Tension.
Bruce decided not to waste time hiding his real purpose.
"If I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have gotten to see you this quickly."
The meaning landed immediately.
And with it, Ritt relaxed.
He had only read five or six chapters, but that was enough. With his experience, with the commercial link to Harry Potter handled cleverly rather than clumsily, he already had at least an eighty percent sense that this could become another million-copy bestseller.
"Mr. Guo," he said, extending his hand, "I think we're going to work very well together."
Bruce did not take the hand.
"Mr. Ritt, no need to rush. I have two more manuscripts you should see first."
Then he opened the briefcase again and took out two more stacks of pages.
Pirates of the Caribbean
Fifty Shades of Grey
Christopher Ritt blinked.
"These are yours too?"
"Of course. And for all three, I've already registered the copyrights in the United States."
Ritt nodded slowly, then picked up the first Pirates manuscript, The Curse of the Black Pearl, and started reading.
Bruce's version of Pirates of the Caribbean had been adapted from the film. For now, he had written only the first three arcs: The Curse of the Black Pearl, Dead Man's Chest, and At World's End. The later installments, including On Stranger Tides, Dead Men Tell No Tales, and King of the Seas, had not been finished yet.
His idea was simple.
Claim the territory now.
The sequels could come later.