Zhang Bo nervously looked at Deng Guoyong's phone. The two exchanged glances, and with unease, Deng Guoyong answered the call, respectfully saying, "Boss."
"I heard there's trouble at the company." The voice on the phone was neither cold nor warm, as if inquiring about something unrelated to himself.
But Zhang Bo and Deng Guoyong, having followed their boss for many years, knew his temperament well: the calmer his voice, the angrier he was inside. Deng Guoyong glanced at Zhang Bo, signaling him to speak. However, Zhang immediately shook his head and shrank further behind the sofa.
Deng Guoyong felt helpless and mustered his courage to reply, "Boss, there's a small issue, but rest assured, we will handle it."
"A small issue?" The person on the phone almost laughed. "So many people have died, and you call that a small issue? Do you need the assassin to find you before you start telling me the truth?"
"No, I..."
