The previous reporter, seeing someone else ask the question on his behalf, immediately brightened. Surely, she couldn't brush this off with an excuse like "That's your second question" now, could she?
Laila still wore a faint, composed smile and replied unhurriedly, "I think you've misunderstood something. I'm aware of the 'New York Post'—it seems they've been against me since the very beginning of my career, criticizing and questioning my films. If I were to acquire them just because they said something unfavorable about me, why would I wait until now? Why not do it earlier, back when they first started targeting me? I'll say it again—this was simply a normal business decision by the Morans. Please don't overinterpret it."
The 'New York Post' had long been a leading force in the anti-Laila alliance. Ever since she debuted as a filmmaker, under Cooper's leadership, the paper had relentlessly attacked her. Anyone who did even a little research could easily confirm this.
But now, nearly a decade into her career, after countless smear campaigns, why would she suddenly decide to acquire the paper just because of this latest attack? The reporters tried to find a definitive connection between the two events, but frustratingly, they couldn't uncover any concrete evidence. Without proof, they couldn't convince their readers. In the end, the reporter who had asked the question had no choice but to sit back down, disgruntled, just like the one before him.
The press conference lasted two and a half hours. For the first time, Laila patiently fielded every question, leaving many American journalists half-tempted to check if it was raining red outside. If only she were this cooperative back in the U.S.! Then they wouldn't have to endure their editors' scolding every time they failed to get exclusive material about her.
After the press conference, Laila wanted to speak with the young South African official, so they headed to a nearby café.
But as they passed a fork in the hallway, she couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that someone was watching her. When she turned to look in the direction of the discomfort, all she saw was a potted plant standing there.
She frowned, a strange unease lingering in her chest as if something were stuck there, neither rising nor falling.
"Is something wrong?" The official, walking ahead of her, stopped when he noticed her pause.
"No, it's nothing." Laila shook her head, mentally filing away the odd sensation before catching up with him.
The hotel wasn't particularly crowded, mostly hosting international travelers and wealthier locals. The facilities and cuisine were refined, leaning more toward Western tastes rather than catering heavily to local preferences.
Take the coffee, for example—it was authentically American in flavor. Yet Laila took only one sip before setting it down. After two lifetimes, she still preferred tea.
"Mr. Fosca, I'd like to understand more about the diamond industry's boycott against our film."
The official's full name was long and difficult to remember. Fortunately, he had introduced himself as "Fosca" from the start, making it easier for Laila and her team to address him.
Fosca had graduated from a prestigious American university with excellent grades and returned to his homeland hoping to contribute to his country. Likely due to his family's high social standing, the education and values he had received instilled in him a deep love for his nation. As a result, he had little patience for those who not only failed to contribute but actively undermined progress.
This boycott was a prime example. What Laila and her team could bring to the country was invaluable—perhaps more than what decades of advocacy could achieve. They had a chance to leverage this opportunity to benefit the nation, yet some were calling for resistance instead!
Even before Laila's arrival, Fosca had caught wind of certain companies planning to stir up trouble. He had warned them through backchannels, but now it seemed his earlier approach had been too lenient.
"Director Moran, rest assured. I will not tolerate any discord. You focus on making your film—leave the rest to me."
Laila was more than happy with this outcome. While she doubted these companies could force her back to the U.S., a peaceful filming environment was essential. If someone else was willing to handle the mess, all the better.
"Thank you for your support." She stood and shook his hand. "You've already shown me how rapidly South Africa is progressing. I love this country—everything I've seen is breathtaking, from the skies to the land. I'm certain we'll create unforgettable memories here. When I return to the U.S., I'll share everything I've experienced with the world."
Delivering such diplomatic platitudes required zero effort from Laila. She could improvise for days without breaking a sweat.
The key was that people loved hearing it. Judging by the man's beaming smile, she had struck the right chord.
Once it was confirmed that a military escort would be arranged for them the next day—and would remain as their security detail—Laila returned to her room. She first briefed Xiao Ye about the boycott and asked him to investigate, then settled at her desk to review the script. If all went smoothly, filming would begin soon!
Some crew members had arrived ahead of them to set up the necessary scenes. Since the story was set in Sierra Leone, they had to import and plant some of the region's distinctive flora. Of course, they could have skipped this step to save money, but Laila, never one to cut corners, insisted on authenticity.
Meanwhile, the props team had also arrived early to craft the necessary items. Some sets weren't fully ready due to time constraints, but that was fine—they could start shooting in the completed areas first.
As Laila immersed herself in pre-production, she had no idea that the owner of that unsettling gaze—the one she had dismissed—was now in a hidden building, reporting to his boss.
"The hotel has a lot of security. Looks like twenty or thirty bodyguards, all armed. They seem professional."
"Only twenty or thirty?" The leader's eyes darkened as he calculated the odds. "We have over a thousand men and hundreds of guns. Taking them down shouldn't be a problem."
"You're right. Even if we outnumber them ten to one, it's still a sure win. But… government officials are involved. We don't know if they'll provide extra protection."
The leader pondered for a moment. "Since they don't have many people, keep this quiet. No leaks. Only bring in the most reliable and skilled hands."
"Understood!"