"Fifty million," Annika stated.
That figure was the absolute lowest cost she had calculated after factoring in every possible expense.
Conrad blew out a thin stream of smoke and scoffed. "And what's your projected timeline for completion?"
"Three to five years," she replied without hesitation.
"Too long." Conrad rose from the sofa and walked to the blinds, gazing out at the distant mountain range.
"Three to five years is already the fastest timeframe to recoup the costs," Annika argued. "We developed several plans, and this one is the most efficient."
At her words, Conrad turned, his gaze turning cold. "If I gave this to someone else, it would take two years, maybe three at most. Annika, from a time-cost perspective, Sargent Group is not suitable for this project."
"I know, but—" Annika was trying to find the right words to fight for her case when the air was pierced by a soft “ding.” Someone had sent her a message. She pulled out her phone and saw the sender was 'Lana.' The message was only a few words: [Monroe's fever won't break. He's having seizures.]
Lana rarely contacted her, so for her to send such a frantic message meant Monroe's condition was critical. An image of her son's small body convulsing flashed through Annika's mind. Her heart seized, and the color drained from her face. Her breath caught in her throat, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped her phone.
Annika shot to her feet. "Mr. Beryl, something urgent has come up. We'll have to discuss this another time."
Without another word, she grabbed her files and bolted from the room.
Conrad was stunned for a second, recalling the unnatural pallor of her face. He quickly chased after her, but the corridor was empty. By the time he reached the main hall, Harvey and Wayne were also gone.
Conrad stepped outside the banquet hall, and his eyes inadvertently caught sight of a black car speeding out of the hotel's underground garage. It was the car Annika had arrived in.

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