"The men we sent," the man swallowed hard, casting a nervous glance at Easton seated above him before continuing, "none of them returned."
"Such a simple mission, and you managed to botch it completely?"
Easton slammed his teacup onto the table with a sharp crack.
The delicate porcelain, adorned with intricate patterns, split instantly, sending scalding tea spilling across the polished surface and seeping into the expensive carpet beneath.
"Useless fools!"
The man kept his head bowed, barely daring to breathe.
Easton's eyes darkened, his expression twisting into something icy and unreadable.
It seemed he—like Mr. Harrison and Mr. Andrea before him—had made the same grave mistake.
He underestimated Sinclair.
Or perhaps, more accurately, he had underestimated the Luther Family.
"My lord," the man mustered his courage and spoke again, lifting his gaze.
"There's a strong chance the identities of our operatives have been compromised."
The murderous glint in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Shall we go all out and send more men to eliminate that man once and for all?"
"If you couldn't kill him when he was unprepared, what makes you think you can now?"
Aiston's tone was icy.
"An assassination attempt is out of the question. We'll have to find another way."
"Yes, sir," the man bowed his head again, not daring to speak further.
"Go in person and deliver the message to Luna.
And while you're at it," Aiston sighed, his expression darkening as he continued, "tell her I'll find a way to deal with him as soon as possible. he shouldn't act rashly."
The words were meant to preempt Luna's fury. "...Understood," the man nodded and turned to leave.
"My lord," the assistant entered with a grave expression.
"Disaster strikes!!"
Disaster?
Again with this nonsense?
A vein throbbed at Alston's temple, his already foul mood darkening further with rage.
"I'm perfectly fine.
Keep spouting such nonsense, and I'll have someone rip that mouth of yours clean off!"
His long-standing authority made the outburst all the more terrifying.
The assistant froze in place, too frightened to move.
"Y-yes, my mistake, sir."
Alston massaged his temples, the icy fury in his eyes barely contained.
"Out with it then! What's so earth-shattering that you'd come barging in like this?" "R-right," the assistant stammered, scrambling to collect his words.
"Those major international contracts the family just signed—there's been a problem. Only a tenth of the promised goods have been delivered.
The clients are demanding tenfold compensation for breach of contract."
"What?!"
Alston shot up from his seat, shock and fury twisting his features.
"How did this happen?
What explanation has the Nolan family given?"
Although the contract was signed by his family, the actual supplier was the Nolan family.
To put it simply, they were playing both sides in this deal, reaping massive profits with minimal effort.
The assistant glanced at Easton's expression and reported truthfully,
"The Nolan family claims their raw material suppliers have been monopolized, and they're trying to find alternative sources…"
That was the official explanation, but he clearly didn't buy it for a second.
For one thing, given the Nolan family's wealth and influence, who would dare—or even be able—to monopolize their supply chain?
And even if such a situation did arise, the Nolan family wouldn't wait until the contract was breached to mention it.
The only plausible explanation was that Nolan Junior was doing this deliberately—to damage his family's reputation and finances simultaneously.
But he couldn't fathom why Nolan family would resort to such tactics.
"Absolute nonsense!"
Easton slammed the tea set in front of him onto the floor, his fury unmistakable.
"Get Nolan Junior on the line immediately.
I want to hear what the hell he's playing at."
"Yes, sir."
The assistant hurried to the desk and dialed Nolan's private number.
"Count," The assistant gripped the telephone receiver, his gaze shifting toward Aiston.
"The call is connected."
Suppressing the fury simmering within him, Aiston settled back into his seat and pressed the speakerphone button.
"Count—"
Nolan's deep, composed voice drifted through the line.
"Nolan," Aiston's voice dropped to a hushed, menacing tone, laced with unmistakable accusation from the very first word.
"What's the meaning of those canceled international orders?"
"Didn't the team explain it clearly to you?"
Nolan's voice remained as calm as still water, devoid of any surprise—as though he had anticipated Aiston's interrogation all along.
"The raw material supply fell short.
There was nothing we could do."
"That excuse might work on others, but don't insult my intelligence,"
Aiston's voice was rough and shadowed with barely restrained anger, his condescension dripping from every syllable.
"Don't think that just because you're now the head of the Nolan family, you can disregard me and my family.
Have you forgotten what your father promised me and the Crown Princess?"
What was that promise?
Nothing more than willingly becoming Luna's cash cow.
The faint smirk tugging at Nolan's lips carried a trace of mockery.
But that was his father—not him
. Seeing Nolan remain silent, Easton assumed he had been cowed and snorted coldly before continuing.
"If these business deals fall through, it will severely damage the international reputation of both the Crown Princess and my family.
You'd better think carefully about the consequences."
The mockery in Nolan's smile deepened, though he still said nothing.
"You have two options now," Easton lowered his voice, pressing on.
"Either find a way to replenish the goods smoothly within the next couple of days—"
"Or prepare ten times the compensation amount upfront to minimize the fallout." Nolan didn't respond.
Instead, he let out a quiet chuckle.
Easton's brows furrowed in displeasure.
"What are you laughing at?"
"I'm laughing, Count, because you've misunderstood one thing."
Nolan's lips curled slightly, his deep voice still laced with a faint trace of amusement.
"What mistake?"
Aiston remained baffled, his voice hoarse and grim.
"Speak plainly."
"I'm a businessman," Nolan said slowly, his strikingly handsome yet shadowed face twisting into a sneer.
"Not a philanthropist." Aiston's pupils dilated sharply before constricting, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard.
His voice was heavy and deliberate when he demanded,
"What did you say?"
"I believe you heard me perfectly well, Earl," Nolan chuckled, his tone laced with a barely concealed satisfaction that bordered on vindictiveness.
"Philanthropists do good deeds without expecting returns, but we businessmen value profit above all."
His dark, penetrating eyes narrowed.
"You were the one who signed the contract. You were the one who promised to deliver the goods on time.
And you were the one who agreed to the tenfold penalty clause—naturally, the profits would have been yours too."
"From start to finish, this matter had nothing to do with me or the Nolan family. Isn't that right?"
"Nolan," Aiston's fury surged to new heights, his breaths coming in heavy, labored gasps.
"Do you have any idea what you're saying?"
"Of course," Nolan replied, amusement flickering
in his eyes as he sensed Aiston's rage.
"Rather than wasting time interrogating me, perhaps you Earl should consider alternative solutions."
"Nolan, aren't you afraid of the Crown Princess holding you accountable for this?"
"The one who should be afraid is you, not me.
After all, it's you that has tarnished the Crown Princess's reputation."
Aiston choked on his words, momentarily speechless.