C79 Enemy

Inside the CEO's office, Olivia Ye meticulously reviewed the information at her disposal, her delicate fingers pressing incessantly against her temples. The partnership between Sourcehood Cloth Factory and Olivia Group had always been rock-solid, with no hiccups in the past. The Freeman family was known for their business integrity, so it was baffling that they would pull the rug out from under her now.

She was at a loss.

No matter how much Olivia racked her brain, the situation eluded her understanding. She had recently inked a substantial deal with a major European fashion mall, worth a whopping 1.5 billion. While Olivia Group was a conglomerate with diverse interests, fashion trade remained its cornerstone.

This significant order, if fulfilled, promised not just tens of millions in net profit, but also a breakthrough into the European market—a pivotal move for Olivia Group's global aspirations.

But Sourcehood Cloth Factory's sudden change of heart spelled potential disaster. The financial fallout for Olivia Group could be catastrophic. Worse still, failing to meet the contract's deadline could saddle Olivia Group with a lawsuit and triple the damages in compensation—a blow they simply couldn't withstand.

Amidst her growing unease, Yetta Liang entered the room.

"What's the word? Any response from Sourcehood Cloth Factory?" Olivia asked, her anxiety palpable.

"Their lead won't pick up the phone, and the contacts I've reached out to are avoiding conversation. Director Rogers, I'm afraid the outlook isn't good," Yetta reported cautiously.

"And the other factories?" Olivia's voice shook as she pressed for answers.

"Either they lack the necessary production credentials or they can't scale up in time—they're too apprehensive to commit to such a task," Yetta explained with a sigh. "We've even tried reaching out to factories in neighboring provinces, but none are willing to take on Olivia Group's order."

Upon hearing this, Olivia's expression darkened, her demeanor as if the very soul had been drained from her. Indeed, Sourcehood Cloth Factory was not just a provincial leader but a national powerhouse in textiles, with unmatched scale and technology, holding a virtual monopoly in the region.

Only Sourcehood Cloth Factory had the capability to fulfill such a massive order in such a short timeframe.

The discomfort was indescribable.

After a moment of contemplation, Olivia stood up with a determined look, grabbed her windbreaker, and headed for the door.

"Director Rogers, where are you off to?" Yetta inquired.

"I'm going to see Old Mr. Freeman to get a handle on the situation," Olivia replied.

She was well aware that her social standing with the Freeman family might not be enough to gain their approval.

But she was willing to take even the slimmest chance.

She couldn't just stand by and watch Olivia Group crumble.

She was also determined to find out why the Freeman family had abruptly stopped their supplies.

Once Olivia had left, Yetta shut the blinds and locked the door.

She retrieved a SIM card from her thigh-high stockings, inserted it into her phone, and dialed a number.

"Everything is proceeding smoothly as planned. We're ready to move to the next phase."

After speaking, Yetta swiftly snapped the SIM card in half and tossed it into the trash bin, then covered it with a few tissues.

She carried out the entire process quickly and with ease.

"My mission is nearly complete," Yetta whispered to herself, a wistful smile crossing her lips.

Westley grabbed a quick bite on Five-dragon Street and then spent some time chatting with Tafari in Wood's shop.

The more they interacted, the more impressed Westley became with Tafari's capabilities.

As they were squatting by the door for a smoke, a Lincoln along with several Cadillacs pulled up abruptly at the entrance.

A procession of men in sharp suits and black attire emerged from the vehicles.

Westley remained unfazed by the scene, while Tafari seemed visibly tense.

Nevertheless, he steeled himself and stood protectively in front of Westley.

Just then, a towering figure, nearly 1.9 meters tall and muscular, sporting sunglasses, stepped out of the lead car.

He walked purposefully toward Westley.

"Hold on, who are you looking for?" Tafari called out, extending his hand to block the path.

The man didn't acknowledge him, instead, he deftly ducked lower and sidestepped with agility.

Tafari was left speechless, his body rigid with shock.

The man approached Westley, bowed, and greeted, "Mr. Westley, how are you?"

Westley was squatting on the ground, smoking. He asked with a hint of indifference, "And who might you be?"

"I'm a bodyguard for the Freeman family. You can call me Carl," Carl replied with respect.

"Oh? What can I do for you?" Westley inquired nonchalantly.

"My employer has extended an invitation for you to visit the Freeman Mansion. He wishes to thank you personally," Carl explained.

"If he truly means it, why didn't he come to ask me himself?" Westley responded coolly.

Carl stiffened, his face taking on an odd expression.

Elder Freeman was a man of renown, a formidable figure in Lindzac City from years past.

Yet, Carl knew the high regard the old man held for Westley and spoke softly, "The elder has just left the hospital and isn't well. If there's been any oversight in his hospitality, please forgive him."

"How did you find out where I was? Have you been tracking me?"

Westley crushed the cigarette underfoot and fixed Carl with a steady gaze.

For some reason, Carl felt an intense sharpness emanating from Westley's tranquil eyes, like a razor-edged blade unafraid to show its mettle.

He was profoundly shaken.

Having been with the Freeman family for years, he'd encountered many influential people.

But he'd never met anyone with Westley's piercing intensity.

"Mr. Westley, please don't take it the wrong way. With the Freeman family's intelligence network, locating you from the traces you left at the hospital wasn't particularly challenging," Carl said with a sheepish grin, feeling somewhat guilty.

"Fine, I'll accompany you."

Westley signaled to Tafari with a glance, reassuring him there was no need for concern.

He then made his way to the Cadillac.

Carl quickly stepped forward, holding the door open for Westley, and respectfully cautioned, "Mr. Westley, please watch your step."

Once Westley was seated, Carl took his place in the front passenger seat.

The convoy set off, an impressive sight as it departed.

"Westley's the man!" Tafari silently cheered, giving a thumbs up, filled with admiration.

After about a half-hour drive, they arrived at their destination.

Westley stepped out of the car and beheld the grandeur of the aged Freeman Mansion.

Two massive stone lions coiled outside the mansion, guarding a door lacquered in brilliant red—a clear sign of extraordinary wealth.

Carl pushed the door open and stepped into the courtyard, addressing his guest with deference, "Mr. Jimenez, if you could please wait here, I'll go notify Elder Freeman immediately."

"Sure," Westley nodded.

As Carl disappeared to deliver the message, Westley found himself with nothing to do but take in the scenery.

"Is that really you? What are you doing at our place?" A voice, heavy with unending bitterness, suddenly pierced the air.

Westley turned to face the source of the voice.

What a coincidence indeed!