"Hmm? Fear?" Martin looked at Griff in surprise. "Is that why you underperformed today?"
Griff nodded.
"But what could Mr. Devonshire have done to scare you? He's not some Mafia boss from your hometown in Sicily," Martin said.
"You don't understand. It's a fear that grips the soul. Whether it's the Mafia in Sicily or New York, compared to William Devonshire, they're like Italian mastiffs—vicious on the outside but just thugs, trash, criminals. At least they're human. When we ordinary folks get desperate, we can still take them down with guns and knives.
But standing in front of William Devonshire is different. It feels like facing a demon straight out of hell, a demon wrapped in wailing spirits and reeking of blood. Although he always wears a smile, I can feel that when he looks at us, there's not a trace of emotion in his eyes, as if he's just looking at numbers.
If it weren't for the slight affection he shows when looking at Miss Ambrosio, I might have wet my pants from fear."
"FKU, Griff," Martin cursed under his breath, grabbing Griff by the collar in anger. "You crazy Sicilian, have you been doing too many drugs? Or are you treating me like an idiot? I thought you just found William Devonshire dangerous, and now you're telling me he's some kind of demon? Do you think I'll believe this crap?"
"Damn it, it's a metaphor, you high school graduate idiot! A metaphor! Don't you get it? How did you even become the manager of the New York Yacht Club?
And I swear, what I'm saying is true. In all these years, aside from tricking you into paying for a few meals, when have I ever lied to you about anything serious? William Devonshire really does have a blood-soaked aura," Griff explained.
"FK, shut up," Martin quickly covered Griff's mouth. "Idiot, lower your voice, or Mr. Devonshire might hear you."
Glancing at the superyacht several dozen meters away, Martin dragged Griff back to his office. After releasing him, he cursed, "You stupid Sicilian. Even if William Devonshire is a ruthless killer, what does that have to do with us? You're not a cop.
You're just a salesman who'll get fired if you don't meet your quota. Damn it."
Martin eyed Griff suspiciously. "After all these years, I never took you for a nosy saint."
"Screw you. I'm no saint. You just don't understand why I want to find William Devonshire," Griff replied, frustrated, slapping his forehead.
"I don't care why you want to find him, just don't get in the way of my commission."
Martin waved his arms excitedly as he continued, "Do you know how much commission I'll get if I close this deal? $120,000! That's ten months of my salary.
And that's just the membership fee. If we can keep Miss Ambrosio interested in yachting, she'll be out at sea once a month, and $1 million will be eaten up by fuel and yacht maintenance in less than six months. My commission will keep piling up."
Martin glared fiercely at Griff. "Don't mess with my money and my mortgage, or we're no longer friends."
Griff rubbed his face, feeling like it was impossible to reason with Martin, this American idiot. He looked at him, his expression conflicted, struggling internally before finally forcing a professional smile.
"Fine. Whether William Devonshire is covered in blood has nothing to do with us."
He pulled out his phone and dialed the number on the note.
The call was quickly answered. After a brief exchange, Griff and Anthony quickly reached an agreement. Hanging up, Griff turned to Martin and nodded.
"It's settled. They want me to go to London to sign the contract. Anthony's lawyer has William Devonshire's electronic authorization, so he can sign on his behalf."
"That's more like it," Martin said with a smile, patting Griff on the shoulder. "What kind of person these big shots are doesn't matter to us. I'm sorry for getting on your case earlier, my friend.
Last year, I took out a loan to buy a house on Long Island to give my two kids a better environment. But damn it, within six months of buying it, the price dropped by half, while the mortgage stayed the same.
The industry's in a slump, too. It's been almost five months since April, and our yacht club hasn't added a single new yacht. No commissions. On just my $12,000 a month salary, there's barely enough left after the mortgage to cover living expenses."
Hearing this, Griff felt a surge of joy in his heart but kept his expression dejected, nodding in agreement.
"Sigh, it's the same at Lafadite. Since we took over the Riva Yacht Company three months ago, we haven't sold a single boat.
Not only can't we sell them, but many customers who had placed orders are refusing to pay the balance, even at the cost of losing their deposits. Otherwise, we wouldn't be in such a hurry to sell this Riva 50MT.
A lot of people in the company are worried that this superyacht might sit in the dockyard for a year or two without any interest. If that happens, this boat will be a total loss."
Martin sneered. "You're complaining about getting lucky? At least you sold it. And you got so much feedback for improvements.
Even though Mr. Devonshire's comments were harsh, he wasn't wrong. Clients aren't obligated to test your new technology and ideas."
After a pause, seeing Griff silently smiling, Martin continued, "Don't tell me your company's going to set the next 50MT's price at $18 million. With your experience, you could probably cut costs by 30%, right?"
"More or less. With current prices, it might even be lower. A lot of material suppliers are having a hard time now. Some high-end woods have dropped by more than 60%."
"God, have they dropped that much?" Martin was shocked for a moment, then realized something. "FK, no wonder your company isn't acting like it's in a crisis despite the economy. You've been using your funds to buy up materials at rock-bottom prices?"
"Hehe, Martin, you really are a hyena. You catch a whiff of something and immediately figure it out," Griff said, cautiously glancing around Martin's office. "Is it safe?"
Martin thought for a moment, then stood up, grabbed a bottle of liquor and some glasses, and suggested, "Let's go sit in the outdoor café."
"Okay," Griff nodded.
Once they were seated at the outdoor café, Martin quickly leaned in and asked in a low voice, "So, what's going on?"
"Well," Griff replied, "You know about Bahama lignum vitae, right?"
"Of course. Anyone in the boat business knows it's rare and vital for shipbuilding."
Griff leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I don't know the reason, but I know that two months ago, our parent company, Lafadite, and a few board members from the Riva shipyard who own 40% of the shares started secretly buying up Bahama lignum vitae in small batches.
The wood is being stored in the materials warehouse of this 50MT yacht. If it weren't for this test voyage and sale, I wouldn't have had the chance to inspect the warehouse myself.
You wouldn't believe it, but those idiot Northern Italians made this so-called secret move and only changed the warehouse code to last year's password."
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