Concert Hall.
"Did it work?"
Looking at the three Burmese scientists in the distance, Fred felt a pang of bitterness. After months of acting, he was almost at his limit. The pressure he endured was so immense that he would wake up several times in one night.
In his dreams.
"Swindler."
"Despicable."
"Hang him, I never thought Fred was that kind of person."
"Disgrace."
"..."
Countless times of being exposed, ruined reputation, becoming a street rat, and finally living in despondency for life. Although it didn't turn out as expected, as long as the result was the same, his task was over.
Next.
It's up to the consortiums.
Succeeded.
Everyone would be happy.
If not.
It had nothing to do with him. He could take a hefty reward, retire, and enjoy a peaceful life. As for alternative products, the consortiums would take care of it; he didn't have to worry. The plan he saw was excellent.
His reputation was intact, and he could enjoy his twilight years.
...
Soon after.
