He always played the game by his own rules, driven by profit or whim. If he was not into it, nobody could make him budge.
Joseph looked down, his gaze growing heavy. "I get where you're coming from, Sir Hoffman. I really didn't want to bug you with this. However, it's about Frotconn's future, and I had to swallow my pride and ask for your help. You have no idea how much we've put into this deal—three months of non-stop prep. Now... Sir Hoffman, if you don't care about the effort, could you at least remember when I saved Mr. Henry Hoffman's kid?"
Clarisse, who had been listening all that time, finally got it. Joseph was there to drum up some business. Pushing hard did not work, so he turned to pulling heartstrings. She had figured out her son was not keen on working with Joseph, but since Maxwell had already made a promise, Joseph was in full panic mode, begging Maxwell for a favor.
"I think you've come here for nothing today. That Mr. Henry Hoffman's daughter you saved? She's not actually a Hoffman by blood."
"What... how can that be, that Layla..."
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