Bolton waved his hand to signal the purchasing agent to leave, his face as dark as the smokestack of a steam engine.
This was already the fourth purchasing agent returning from France, and all of them had come back empty-handed—even when someone offered thirty times the price, it made no difference.
"Those damned French bastards," Bolton grabbed the expensive gold-inlaid quill pen on his desk and snapped it in two, "they're simply lunatics!"
Up to now, he still firmly believed Frank's line: "If they have money, why don't they take it?" Thus, he could only use the word "madmen" to explain the decision of the French companies.
The assistant's knock interrupted his rage. "General Manager, you still need to attend an inquiry with the Fund Management Committee this afternoon. There's less than an hour left."
Bolton immediately felt a headache, but had no choice but to get up and start changing his clothes.
