"You want to partner with us? Have us do your manufacturing?" The director of the clothing factory was in his early fifties. His hair was thinning, and his face was deeply wrinkled, making him look much older than his age.
He looked at Oscar Osborne and Grace Winslow with a bewildered expression.
He knew that the textile mill had branched out into a new line of business: making and selling their own clothes.
He had even gone to the higher-ups to file a complaint about it.
He felt the textile mill was stealing their business.
But the higher-ups had completely ignored him.
'I can't believe Oscar Osborne still has the nerve to come see me.'
"We have our own production quotas. We're not taking on any contract manufacturing, so go find someone else." Elvis Wyatt had no intention of cooperating.
He regarded Oscar Osborne with utter disdain. The fact that he wasn't cursing him to his face was already a show of great restraint.
