Chapter 194: Remember That Rejected Order?

Hausman’s eyes practically gleamed with excitement. By his calculations, their mercenary group stood to make at least tens of millions from this deal! Large financial transactions like this had to be reported to the leader—it was a rule they had established long ago. So, Hausman quickly dialed Irene's number. Meanwhile, at the hotel, Irene was napping, only to be jolted awake by the loud ringing of her phone. She quickly snapped out of her drowsiness, her voice cold as she answered, "This better be important, or you can forget about getting that new gun you wanted." Hausman had never really gotten used to Irene’s original voice. Previously, she’d always used a disguised, husky, and commanding tone that he had grown accustomed to. Now, hearing her icy tone in her natural voice, he couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated. "Boss, I swear this is good news! Someone placed a huge order with our custom clothing service! We’re looking at making millions here, Boss!" Hausman exclaimed. Irene didn’t seem particularly moved. But then Hausman added, "And you’ll never guess who placed the order—it’s the same people who were looking for their missing daughter, the eighth young lady. I think they must have found her, or they wouldn’t be ordering so many clothes!" Now fully awake, Irene sat up, her interest piqued. "Mr. Robertson?" she asked. Hausman continued, "They’re loaded! I’m sure they found her—why else would they cancel that search order?" As he spoke, Hausman couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Why couldn’t his own father treat him like that? Even without his bratty little brother, his childhood had been more like that of a neglected child. Life wasn’t fair. Irene was reviewing the invoices Hausman had sent over and said coolly, "Your prices are too high." Hausman was puzzled. "Boss, we’re not doing this for free, you know. Sure, the price is high, but we’re ranked second in the fashion industry this year! And our prices are 20% lower than the top-ranked company’s. We’re being more than fair!" Irene didn’t respond. Hausman muttered, "Besides, if we price it too low, they might start questioning our taste." He had a point—some wealthy clients balk at low prices, equating them with inferior quality. And didn’t the boss set our market positioning with that in mind? Irene got up, folding her blanket neatly, and said, "Do you think the Norman family cares about that? What they value is the prestige we earned at the fashion awards, not our pricing." Hausman was starting to piece things together. Did Irene have some connection to the Norman family that he didn’t know about? If they were that close, wouldn’t she have helped with the search for the eighth young lady sooner? "How about we give them a 30% discount?" Hausman suggested cautiously. Irene, now putting away her nightclothes, replied, "Give them a 90% discount. And throw in a pair of East Pearl earrings." Hausman was stunned. "Boss, do you know what you’re saying? A 90% discount? And you’re throwing in East Pearl earrings? Those earrings are worth nearly as much as this entire order!" Even though the earrings belonged to Irene, this level of generosity felt excessive to Hausman—it pained him to think about it! But Irene was the boss, and what she said went. After confirming the new pricing, Hausman couldn’t help but gossip, "I wonder who this eighth young lady is. I heard she was found in a village. If the Norman family doesn’t teach her anything, it could be tough." He mused aloud, "Boss, do you think the eighth young lady spent her days herding cows and milking them? I hear that place is big on livestock! They have some good beef there." Irene could only shake her head at his chatter. Does your brother know you’re such a gossip? she thought. Ignoring his ramblings, she started checking her gear. When Hausman finally wound down, she asked, "What happens if the Norman family doesn’t teach her?" Hausman answered confidently, "If they don’t, she’ll be a laughingstock. Boss, you wouldn’t believe how much the capital’s social circles value their traditions. They look down on new money." "Take my father, for example. He was well-respected in the capital, but after spending too much time in A City, people started looking down on him when he went back." Hausman’s reasoning seemed sound. "Since Alice moved in with the Norman family, they’ve been sponsoring underprivileged students and giving Alice all the credit. I hear she’s not much of a talker, but she’s brilliant." "If the newly found eighth young lady is clueless and returns without learning anything, she’ll be ridiculed." For all his rough edges, Hausman was surprisingly perceptive. "It’d be like losing before she even started—how sad." Suddenly, Hausman felt better about his own family. At least his father treated him and his brother the same—like they didn’t exist. And at least he was the older brother, free to discipline his sibling. Of course, only when his brother misbehaved. Irene’s thoughts drifted to the events of her dream. If even Hausman could foresee these challenges, how could the Normans not? A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. If Hausman were here, he’d probably feel a chill just from seeing it. "And who exactly do you think can’t measure up to Alice?" Irene asked, her tone menacing. Hausman was confused. Why did she sound so angry? He was talking about the eighth young lady—what did that have to do with the boss? Suddenly, a flash of realization struck Hausman like a bolt of lightning. Wait a minute. Would the boss be mad if someone insulted the eighth young lady? And the boss just gave the Norman family a huge discount? Hausman stammered, "B-Boss... are you... are you the Norman family’s newly found eighth young lady?" Irene’s cold laugh sent shivers down his spine. "Yes, I’m the so-called clueless, easily bullied eighth young lady you were just talking about." Hausman was so shocked that he dropped his phone. His brother, Faure, poked his head into the room, curious about the noise, only to be shooed away by Hausman. Hausman grabbed the phone off the floor and saw that the screen had gone black. Oh no. The boss is going to think I hung up on her on purpose! Panicking, Hausman dashed into Faure’s room, swiped his brother’s phone, and logged into his own account. Faure whimpered in the background, helpless. Meanwhile, Irene had just heard the abrupt disconnection and raised an eyebrow. Has Hausman grown a spine? But before she could think much of it, a flood of frantic messages from Hausman began popping up on her screen, all desperate attempts to explain what had just happened.