Verbal attacks, against someone who did not care, were no more threatening than a toothpick no matter how vicious they were.
So...
If you could throw hands, talk less.
Honestly, Hayato did not think highly of Daniel. He had been away from Rand Group for too long, knew nothing about management, and had virtually no control over the company.
Sometimes, in a multinational corporation like Rand Group, there were too many twists, turns, and constraints. Having more shares did not necessarily mean having more say. There were far too many cases of outsiders taking over the nest.
The Rand Group port had become like this because the company's upper management, corrupt cops, and port personnel had formed a complete chain of collusion. Uprooting it all was easier said than done.
Setting aside his identity as Iron Fist, Daniel knew neither management nor the right people. Put bluntly, he was just an inexperienced young man, like a child holding gold and silver out in the middle of a bustling market.
The urgent priority was to establish a foothold, not to chase after pointless fantasies.
Not long after the second freighter departed.
Under the staff's guidance, a large truck pulled into the container area.
Several vans followed behind the truck and came to a stop.
More than twenty burly men in black filed out. Their leader waved a hand. Without needing any further instructions, five or six men slipped into the darkness while the rest took up guard positions behind the vehicles and nearby objects.
Those were only the men in plain sight.
In the darkness, at least fifty black-clad ninjas lay hidden, quietly surrounding the area where the truck stood.
In Hayato's field of vision, there were three snipers, forming a crisscrossing triangular firing zone.
They looked well-trained, nothing like ordinary