Chapter 119

In the living room of the Field family villa, Clive's face was swollen, his hands bruised, and his clothes ripped. His usual aggressive demeanor and martial artist bearing were gone, replaced by the dejected appearance of a defeated general.

Cupping his hands, he said to Clinton, who sat on the sofa with a surprised expression, "Mr. Field, our operation failed last night!"

Clinton recovered. "What happened?" he asked, looking at the disheveled Clive. "How come I haven't heard from you all night? Aren't you an elite martial arts expert? Even with dozens of experts, you couldn't handle Gilmore?"

Clive looked embarrassed. "Mr. Field, we didn't see him. On the way up the mountain, we were hit by rolling boulders. They pushed our cars off the road, sending them tumbling down. Over a dozen of our men were killed or severely injured; they're all in the hospital. I didn't go because I wanted to report to you directly."

Clinton was stunned. The sheer improbability of a boulder incident causing such heavy casualties—the odds were astronomical—left him speechless. Finally, he said, "First, let's settle the score with Gilmore. You're injured. See the villa's doctor."

Clive replied, "Yes, Mr. Field," and limped out.

Clinton remained speechless. Then, footsteps approached. A respectfully dressed elderly man, the Field family housekeeper, entered.

"Mr. Field," he said, "Whittlesea Hospital in Vista Verde called. About thirty Field family bodyguards were hit by rolling boulders last night. Thirteen died; seventeen were critically injured. The hospital expects us to pay."

Clinton frowned. "How much?"

"Three hundred thousand dollars," the housekeeper replied.

Clinton scoffed. "Good-for-nothing incompetents! They want me to pay? Tell the hospital the bodyguards weren't on villa business and it's not our responsibility. If they want money, they should contact the bodyguards' families."

The housekeeper looked uneasy. "Mr. Field, even if they weren't on villa business, they were Field family bodyguards. Shouldn't we compensate them?"

Clinton glared. "Do you have a problem with me not paying? They're fired! And if you want to pay the three hundred thousand, be my guest."

The housekeeper, speechless, dared not reply.

"What are you waiting for?" Clinton snapped. "Tell the hospital what I said!"

The housekeeper, his face pale with fear, hurried out. Once outside, he muttered angrily, "Heartless animal! You wouldn't be making these decisions if your father wasn't unconscious! You even drove Miss Field, whom your father adored, out of the family. Aren't you afraid of karma?"

As he left, a figure emerged from a corner—a servant, about fifty years old. He smiled grimly as he entered the villa.

Inside, Clinton sipped tea, seething. Clive's failure and the loss of so many men enraged him. His quick thinking in firing the bodyguards had saved him three hundred thousand dollars. Then he heard footsteps.

"Greetings, Mr. Field," a servant said respectfully.

Recognizing him as Martin Field, an old servant, Clinton impatiently asked, "What is it, Martin?"

"Mr. Field," Martin said, "I overheard someone speaking ill of you."

Clinton's eyes flickered, but he smiled. "Who?"

"Housekeeper Murdoch Field, who just left," Martin replied. "He said you're heartless, that you wouldn't be making decisions if your father wasn't unconscious, and that you drove Miss Field out of the family. He said you're afraid of karma."

Martin added, "Mr. Field, Murdoch has always looked down on you. He believes Miss Field should lead the family. Helene's defiance of your father enraged him. He's clearly trying to exploit your father's coma. You don't have a strong foundation yet. Murdoch wants to join forces with Helene to seize control. Be cautious!"

Clinton smiled coldly. "Martin, you're loyal. Murdoch has always been loyal to Helene. Even though she's been expelled, we must remain vigilant. Keep an eye on Murdoch. If he and Helene act against me, report to me immediately. Your loyalty will be rewarded."

Martin, who coveted Murdoch's position, readily agreed.

"You may leave," Clinton said.

Martin departed, leaving Clinton with a gloomy expression. Helene, the rightful Miss Field, was a thorn in his side. He, an adopted son of Graham, the former head of the family (a secret known only to the core members), had used every means to maintain power. He would never let that power fall into Helene's hands. In five days, he would become the official chairman of Horizon Group, solidifying his control over the Field family. Then, Helene would be powerless.