893 Ugly Duckling Is Still Small

After the dinner party, they left one after another.

Scheer got into the carriage. A soft glow from a golden luminous pearl illuminated the whole carriage. She looked at the middle-aged man sitting across from her holding a folder, and said, "Raise the Blair Transportation's offer by 30%."

The man looked at Scheer, and said, "Young Mistress, the negotiation between Blair and Celtic is almost over. I'm afraid Celtic won't accept such a sharp increase now."

"Any change is allowed as long as the contract is not signed. I don't care if they don't accept it." Scheer's lips curved in a faint smile. "And I believe he'll accept the offer."

"But Young Mistress, the Blair Transportation has brought great rewards to Buffett Banks over the years and is a great asset. Some people at Buffett Banks think it unwise to sell it."

"Those old men who don't even have the right to vote. If they like to question my decision, let them. I don't have time to explain it to them." Scheer raised a corner of the curtain to look at the street view. "They think it's a booming business, but it's going to become a sunset industry very soon. If you don't get rid of it now, you'll never get rid of it."

The man looked at Scheer's face and swallowed his questions. He opened the folder and wrote something down.

Scheer had the final say in every decision made in Buffett Banks. No decision she made needed to be explained to anyone, and no one could interfere with her decisions, including Ian Buffett.

No one could understand why Ian Buffett had given such a power to Scheer, but all doubts had disappeared as Buffett Bank had been maintaining a rapid growth in Scheer's hands in the past three years.

She was smart and talented, and had an unparalleled understanding of market demand.

"I don't accept 50,000,000 in deposits, but I'll charge you 50,000,000 more and dig a hole to bury you." A faint sneer of satisfaction crossed her face. She reached out and picked up a financial report from the bookshelf beside her. The carriage was fast and steady.



In a magnificent house, Bart knocked down a cabinet full of beautiful collections. "Damned b*tch! One day I'll buy Buffett Banks. I'd like to see you talk down to me again after I fully control the transportation industry!"

Porcelains and jadeware fell to the ground and broke into pieces.

The servants stood shivering in the corner, afraid to speak.

Bart smashed a few more objects before his anger abated a little.

That was when a man dressed like an accountant rushed into the door. He was taken aback by the mess, but still he walked over to Bart hurriedly. "Master, I have some bad news."

Bart frowned. "What?" He had a bad premonition and raised his hand to signal the servants to leave.

"The Blair Transportation has raised their offer by 30%, and they don't accept any counteroffer. They give us one day to consider it. They want the money to be paid in full in cash," the accountant answered hurriedly.

"What?!" Bart's face darkened, and his eyes went round with anger. "We had a deal! How could they have changed their mind like that?!"

Wearing a long face, the man shook his head. "I… I don't know. What do we do now, Master? Do you still want to sign the contract?"

Bart thought a moment. "Yes. Do it!" he said through gritted teeth.

"But I'm afraid we don't have enough cash right now," the accountant said hesitantly. "We can barely come up with 150,000,000. Another 50,000,000… We'll have to take out a loan from Buffet Banks."

Bart's veins bulged out of his head. He was well aware of his financial problem. Celtic's expansion had been too rapid recently. It might seem unstoppable, but it had been running on financial fumes. In addition to trying to take advantage of Christy, he had also wanted to talk about future cooperation with Buffett Banks, but Scheer had turned her back on him before he could.

"Don't worry about money. I'll find 50,000,000 for you by tomorrow night. We have to take over Blair. It's the most important part of my expansion plan. Get them to sign the contract now. When it's done, Celtic will have little competition in Chaos City."

"Yes, Master." The man hurried away.

"Those bastards!" Bart kicked over a big vase and stormed out.



"Can you play with Jessica tomorrow, Amy?" Mag said to his daughter, who was lying in her bed. "I have to go out to source new ingredients. It's a long way and may be dangerous, so I can't take you with me."

Amy sat up quickly and shook her head. "If it's dangerous, you should take me with you, Father," she said solemnly. "I learned a powerful spell from Master Urien the other day. I can protect you.

"I only have one rest day a week. I want to spend it with you, Father. Please." Amy pouted, looking at Mag with a pitiable expression in her watery blue eyes.

Mag felt as if his heart was about to melt. He could not utter a word of the speech he had prepared.

"Fine, I'll take you with me. I'll cook a roast duck for you when we come back." Mag smiled as he stroked Amy's head.

Amy turned to look at Ugly Duckling, who was sleeping with its legs wrapped around her own leg. She hesitated, and said, "But Father, Ugly Duckling is still small. We… Why don't we eat it when it's bigger?"

Mag looked at Ugly Duckling with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "Right. I'll find a bigger duck for you."



It was a dark and chilly night in late autumn.

A figure jumped quietly from the second floor of the restaurant, ran all the way west, climbed over the city wall, and headed towards the mountain in the distance.