Song Heping returned to the container house to find the cook already awake.
He seemed very excited, his face flushed as if the effects of last night's alcohol had not yet worn off.
Upon seeing Song Heping, the cook shouted at him in English tinged with a Russian accent, "Song! We've struck it rich!"
Struck it rich?
Song Heping only understood after asking, it turned out that the God of Wealth, Angel, had decided to continue hiring the "musicians" as her personal bodyguards, and the fee had been increased to fifteen thousand US dollars per day.
Song Heping could hardly believe his own ears.
Ten thousand dollars already seemed a sky-high sum in his eyes, and that foreign girl had the nerve to offer more?
What kind of move was this?
Was there ever such a thing as an employer who willingly raised the price?
It was as if, in a market, when the vendor says the pork costs ten bucks, the customer insists on paying fifteen.
There are only two reasons for this kind of situation—either the vendor is crazy, or the customer is.
On the way to the Republic Palace, Queen Julia rarely joked with Song Heping, asking if that Angel had been beaten silly by him yesterday? Or whether she had some special fetish that led her to decide to continue employing the "musicians."
Queen Julia's expression was quite suggestive when she said this.
She was White Bear's girlfriend and had always been very displeased with Song Heping.
After all, Song Heping had kicked White Bear, causing him to have a sore jaw while eating these past two days.
Her initiating a joke with Song Heping today could, in a way, be taken as her acceptance of him as a member of the team.
The world of mercenaries worships the strong.
Only those with the ability can earn the respect of others.
No one is exempt from this rule.
The group made their way to Tulip Hotel next to the Republic Palace, joking and laughing. Tulip was the hotel where Angel stayed, and it housed quite a few international reporters.
As soon as they got out of the car, they saw ISF people around and a familiar figure—Lars.
Lars was raging mad, standing in front of Angel and roaring loudly, like a Mad Dog whose tail had been stepped on.
"Miss Angel, you're in breach of the contract! In order to take on your security job, I've turned down several tasks and emptied our team's best men's schedules expressly for you! Damn it! This is extreme disrespect to us!"
Angel didn't seem intimidated by Lars's fierce demeanor but insisted firmly, "I signed the contract with Blackwater International, but I suggest you go and take a good look at the contract with your superiors. I have the right to choose the security personnel I trust within your company!"
"Security personnel you trust!?"
Lars saw the cook and Song Heping walking into the hotel lobby from outside.
He pointed at them in anger, his spittle flying everywhere.
"Them?! They're not even formal employees! They're not professional at all! Several Russians and even a China Person—you trust them? Are you insane?!"
Angel said, "Whether they're professional or not is for me to say, not you. Whether I trust them is also for me to say, not you. I'm the client, and my word is final!"
"Even if you change personnel, you have to compensate us for our losses!"
"It's not your place to talk to me about losses! You're just a mercenary! Stop bothering me; my time is extremely precious. Get out of here now!"
Angel's firm attitude made Song Heping look at her with newfound respect.
He was starting to find this girl baffling.
Yesterday at the combat site, she was such a coward, nearly peeing her pants from fear.
Yet, faced with Lars and his physically imposing, ominous mercenaries, Angel looked quite calm, as if she didn't take any of these people seriously at all.
This foreign girl was really something...
The cook had no intention of getting tangled up with Lars either.
He crossed his arms, standing aside with his people, watching the drama unfold.
Clearly, the matter was already settled.
Angel was right; she had signed a security contract with Blackwater International, but she had the right to designate any person within Blackwater— including non-formal employees—to provide her with security services.
Lars's roaring here did nothing to change the situation; it was just a venting of his inner fury.
After all, being abruptly replaced in the world of mercenaries is a kind of humiliation.
It would be seen as a replacement due to lack of professional standards.
Moreover, this was a protection fee of fifteen thousand US dollars a day.
Even for someone like Lars, a former Da Ying military officer formally employed by Blackwater International, the commission from such a deal was quite substantial.
To take on this task, he had indeed cleared his team's top men's schedules to provide Angel with protection.
But just when everything was ready and they came here to take over officially, Angel told them she wanted to change her personal guards.
No wonder he was furious.
The bitch!
Lars cursed in his mind, nearly shouting it out.
Angel's satellite phone suddenly rang.
She glanced at the number and immediately picked up.
"Angel, hand them the phone."
"Mr. Lars?" Angel handed the satellite phone to Lars, "General Wood's call."
Upon hearing this, Lars's expression changed.
General Wood was retired and now a senior advisor at Blackwater International. Despite being just an advisor, he was one of the big shots behind Blackwater, with significant influence in the company.
Angel getting him to personally call about Blackwater's specific business revealed that this foreign girl was no ordinary person.
Lars took the phone after a moment's surprise.
"General... yes... okay... I understand..."
Lars, who was previously as ferocious as a rabid bull, suddenly turned into a docile kitten. After he finished the call, he handed the phone back to Angel, waved to his people, and said, "We're leaving!"
As he passed by the cook, the poison in Lars's gaze flowed freely, and he squeezed through clenched teeth, "Just wait and see!"