"What paintings? Those crappy pictures you mentioned, didn't we already settle those just now?"
"Look, the money's still right there." Pointing at the ten-yuan note still lying on the floor, Jiang Fang said angrily.
The general manager let out a cold snort. Ten yuan—what kind of joke is that?
Trying to get rid of a beggar?
"These paintings of ours are imported from the West, real works by famous artists, worth their weight in gold."
"Enough, I'm not going to waste words on you. Assistant, bring out the receipts from when we purchased these paintings, then do the math and tell them the total."
"Yes, sir!"
The assistant moved quickly, and in no time he set the calculated result on the table.
"The total loss in value for these paintings is twenty-two point sixty-eight million." the assistant said.
