The scene was awkward for a moment. After snapping photos like mad, the reporters realized that Black Noir had simply been standing by the door without any reaction. They immediately began exchanging suspicious looks.
"This doesn't look like grief from Black Noir. It looks more like he has some unspeakable difficulty."
"Yeah. Compared with the old photos, why has the front of his pants caved in?"
"What's that black powder falling out of his pant legs?"
If this continued, exchanged glances would sooner or later turn into open discussion. Black Noir would surely fly into a rage and start slaughtering people, and Vought International's stock price would be completely finished.
Thus, at this critical moment, a mysterious fat man emerged from the luxurious elevator that went straight to the top floor.
He looked to be in his fifties. He wore the hairstyle of a strong man, commonly known as "local support for the center." His excessive obesity left him panting, but the manner and bearing of appearing with dozens of masked bodyguards still cowed everyone present.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. Refreshments will be brought to you shortly."
The fat man wiped away his sweat and walked onto the podium in the hall. He wore a mysterious smile of unflappable calm.
"Also, please cooperate with us in revising any footage you have taken or articles you have prepared. Vought International will reward you generously."
Yes, that was his tactic. Activate the signal-jamming equipment, completely cut off the hall from the outside network, then use threats and incentives to collect and destroy all unfavorable evidence.
As long as no conclusive evidence got out, the company's media power would make it easy to twist black into white. No matter what these people said after leaving, no one would believe them.