Carnelian felt a swirl of emotions, wondering how her grandfather would react upon discovering that Jonathan had tipped off the secret dealings of Baldric Moore. How would she face her grandfather then? She silently hoped the matter would sink deep, forgotten like a stone in the vast ocean. For neither she nor Jonathan felt a hint of remorse. "Baldric's done for. I don't know whether to blame his father or mine. Jonathan, do you have any information on him? I have a favor to ask." Dieter's voice, infused with a pleading tone, broke the silence just as Carnelian's thoughts veered to Baldric Moore. Jonathan furrowed his brows, sensing unease. He felt the impending request from Dieter wasn't in his favor. "Please, speak, sir." "At this moment, I find myself confined to this sickbed, rendered helpless. The Moore household faces dire times. It seems our associates would rather wash their hands off their ties with us, and thus, we cannot place our hopes on them." "You know of my ski
The locations in the book will be changed, and the previous chapters have also been modified and are awaiting approval. San Francisco will become Elite Summit, New York will become Crimson Ridge, Los Angeles will become Crystal Cove, and the United States will become Eaglonia. The names of the following characters will be changed: Curtis Wang to Carla Wang (Jonathan Wang's daughter), and Joyce Charlie to Tommy Charlie (Jonathan's brother who welcomed him upon his release from prison). --- Carnelian was taken aback, staring at Jonathan in disbelief. Throughout their acquaintance, she had never seen him lose his cool, and today, though he wasn’t exactly furious, his amiable facade had certainly faded. “Do you believe I shouldn’t have helped Baldric?” Carnelian's voice was cold, cutting through the room. “Whether you should’ve or not, you already did. Can you stop playing the victim? To be blunt, you’re behaving like a temple maiden seeking reverence." he retorted, turning back to th
Thud! Thud! The echoing footfalls pierced the silence. Upon seeing the figure, Baldric's eyes widened in disbelief: "My elder brother." It was none other than Sherlock Moore, fresh from the hospital, yet looking anything but recovered. Seeing his younger brother's pitiable state, Sherlock's Adam’s apple bobbed, hinting at words he wanted to utter, but couldn't. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but he bit them back, fighting the urge to break down. "Why... why would you be so reckless?" Finally, a hoarse and pain-laden voice emerged from Sherlock. He had never imagined a day when he'd see his younger sibling wander so aimlessly astray. "Big brother, save me! Can you ask Jonathan to help me escape? I don’t want to die, I truly don’t want to die." In desperation, Baldric pleaded. Sherlock cast a hopeful glance at Jonathan, only to receive a solemn shake of the head in response. Jonathan clearly wasn't willing to aid Baldric’s escape. "Carnelian, you're my cousin! Can you
In a world where competition was an inescapable reality, Jonathan had long abandoned the notion of adhering strictly to noble means. Whether by intimidation or persuasion, the end justified the means, and his original intention was to leverage his influence to subdue his rivals. Mammon chuckled, as if the preceding sentence had encapsulated the essence of their conversation: "If the Chapmans merely sought a single audience with me, what would be there to discuss? I would simply refuse their money, and that would be that. But alas, the matter isn't so straightforward." "Jonathan, your stature is not sufficient to dominate the Chapmans." Taken aback, Jonathan tilted his head inquisitively, awaiting further exposition. "You see." Mammon continued: "they know you're in my camp. So, they've enlisted none other than your own uncle and cousin as their emissaries!" Jonathan was momentarily speechless: "Apollo Wang and Angelo, you say?" It seemed fate had a flair for dramatic irony. "Who
"Jonathan." Mammon playfully chided, his voice laced with sincerity: "I’ve crossed paths with Mr. Apollo for you this time. I expect you to remember my favor." As father and son Apollo took their leave, a half-jesting yet earnest tone laced Mammon’s voice. Jonathan, ever gracious, replied with a laugh: "Of course, Uncle Wang's efforts shall forever be etched in my heart." One of the underlying motives driving Mammon’s actions was his desire for Jonathan’s gratitude. In times of adversity, he hoped for a loyal ally in the young man. The wisest course for Mammon would have been to remain an observer, watching the familial feud between Jonathan’s kin unfold from a distance. But should Mammon choose such a passive role, it would place insurmountable odds against Jonathan's quest to aid the Moore house. Moderation, after all, was key. Shortly after, Mammon, with a gravitas in his voice, remarked: "The bidding is in two days. If both I and the Heavenly Pillar real estate remain contend
Not follow? Mammon was stunned. By refraining, wouldn't the project fall into Nora's hands? But Jonathan's expression was anything but jestful. The auctioneer was just about to slam down his gavel. Jonathan had made his decision, and there was no reason for Mammon to persist. If Mammon's Heavenly Pillar Realty refrained, the other companies certainly lacked the mettle to continue. In truth, for a massive project like Peaceful Island, they were out of their league. Their presence at the auction was merely ceremonial. If they were to bid so aggressively, the authorities of Wynstan City would surely stir the pot to their disadvantage. The auctioneer held a moment of silence, then declared that Nora had triumphed over his rivals in this bidding war. In other words, eighty-three billion was the final price tag for this project. Such is the nature of government tenders—nothing out of the ordinary. One company yields this time, and the next time, it's the opponent's turn to concede, a
Jonathan remained silent, not swayed by Dieter's hollow compliments. For Jonathan knew, of all places, Elite Summit was hardly a theater of illustrious figures. Were it Crystal Cove, perhaps he might've begrudgingly conceded the point. But Elite Summit? What did it offer? Still, empty flattery was better than none; it lent a certain sweetness to the air. "Jonathan, there's a favor I'd like to ask of you." Dieter finally disclosed his intentions. Jonathan wasn't surprised. The Moore family was in a state of disarray, teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Why else would Dieter squander an evening over dinner with him if not to seek some favor? "Speak, sir." Jonathan invited, his voice tinged with resignation. Though he had stretched himself thin helping the Moores, he couldn't guarantee the extent of the impact he could make. "In recent days, I've tallied up the debts of the Moore Corporation. The sum exceeds 65 billion." Dieter elaborated: "We've acquired raw materials for project
"Come now! Don't be like that! We've been childhood playmates, remember? Regardless of circumstances, our bond persists." Wynstan responded, pouring two glasses of wine with an exaggerated flourish. "This is a vintage from my personal collection. A true delight for the palate. Try it." Given there were just the two of them, the spread wasn't overly grand. Yet, countless esteemed businessmen from Crystal Cove would give an arm and a leg to be part of this dinner. However, to Nora, the invitation felt more burdensome than honorary. A toast always called for full glasses. And business often demanded the libations flow freely. Seeing Nora's thoughtful gaze, Wynstan chuckled: "Finding my wine lacking, are we? I suppose, being the magnate you now are, this might not match your status." Truth be told, the wine wasn't cheap, retailing at over a thousand. Yet to Nora, it was mere triviality. The wine wasn't the issue. Even if Wynstan had offered a commonplace wine worth mere tens, its