Two days later, at the Cheney Group.
When Charles Mcintosh was delivering a report to Sylvan Cheney, he saw Sylvan standing by the window, smoking.
The white smoke swirled around his sharply outlined face, with a profound light in Sylvan's eyes.
During this period, Charles had seldom seen Sylvan smoke.
But today, with just a glance, he saw the ashtray was filled with cigarette butts.
Hearing footsteps, Sylvan turned around: "The report from the northern construction site?"
"Yes, several projects have started. If they stop now, the losses would indeed be huge. I'm trying my best to minimize the losses."
"Anything else?"
"Some shareholders withdrew today, saying they would pull out of the Cheney Family even at a loss."
These were all expected, and there was no significant change in Sylvan's expression.
The cigarette between his fingers burned, flickering like tiny stars.
"I got it, leave the report here. I'll look over it and find you afterward," Sylvan said.
"Alright."
