Chapter 248: The Meeting

At the top floor of the Wiltonstein Building, an impromptu meeting was drawing to a close.

"Let's stop here for today. The matter of relocating the company headquarters to Manhattan cannot be delayed any further. All departments must accelerate their progress—"

Just as the group's president, Consuelo Wiltonstein, declared the meeting adjourned and rose from the head of the long table, the atmosphere in the conference room shifted instantly. All attendees either stretched wearily or hastily gathered the documents before them.

But at that moment, a young, clear voice rang out in the room: "Everyone! I think we've forgotten something."

The crowd turned to look at the speaker—a young man with fiery red hair, around twenty years old, with handsome, striking features and a sunny, robust demeanor.

"Hazel Wiltonstein—she is a member of our Wiltonstein family. Yet right now, this poor little girl is suffering inhuman torture in some basement in Atlanta. Perhaps tonight, she will become the sacrifice for the resurrection of the Calamity Flame Dragoness."

At this, even Consuelo Wiltonstein paused. But the first to respond was a slightly overweight middle-aged man seated in the second seat on the left. His eyes narrowed, glinting with displeasure.

"What are you trying to say, Philip?"

"What I'm trying to say is that we cannot ignore her!"

The young man pressed his hands on the conference table, glaring at the people on both sides: "I don't know what reasons have made you overlook her existence, acting as if nothing happened. But I can't stand it, gentlemen! The blood flowing in her veins is that of the Wiltonstein family! And now we are sitting by and watching one of our own blood die!"

"But Philip, she is no longer one of us."

The speaker was seated next to Consuelo, his demeanor sinister, a sneer on his face: "She and her father have been disowned, haven't they? We've already revoked her surname. Strictly speaking, she doesn't even have the right to use the name Wiltonstein."

"But that doesn't change the fact that the blood in her veins belongs to the Wiltonsteins."

The young man named Philip's eyes blazed with anger: "Uncle Cleo, and everyone, have you ever thought about how the elite families of Atlanta will view the Wiltonsteins after this? What will our own clansmen think of the family? This Wiltonstein Building, this group company worth hundreds of billions—wasn't the original intention of our ancestors to protect our clansmen, to protect our bloodline?"

"A powerful speech!"

From the first seat on the right, a woman in a red suit skirt, exuding nobility, smiled and applauded the young man: "I've always believed, Philip, that your talent lies in politics. If that day comes, your constituents will surely be captivated by your oratory."

"Don't praise him too much, Margaret. You'll make him even more carried away. A naive fellow like him, if he really goes into politics, he'll be devoured bones and all."

The overweight man chuckled softly and shook his head: "Since Philip has brought up that poor little girl, let's put this matter to a vote, shall we? Those in favor of rescuing Hazel from the Dragon Witch Cult, raise your hands. I think if the number exceeds one-third, we can deploy our private forces."

But ten seconds later, of the more than twenty people present, including Consuelo Wiltonstein, all remained indifferent. This made Philip Wiltonstein's face flush red, his eyes filled with anger and resentment.

"Wow! Only Philip?"

Margaret Wiltonstein—the woman in the red suit skirt—first let out an exclamation, then looked at Jennifer Wiltonstein, who was seated lower down: "You surprise me, Jennifer. With so many people in this room, I thought you would be the only one to agree with him."

"I don't understand why you say that, Aunt Margaret."

Jennifer's expression darkened slightly: "May I ask what reason there is?"

"Sorry, no offense intended."

Margaret's lips curled slightly: "I've heard about your family. Your mother was very close to Vivian, and your situations are quite similar."

Jennifer's hands, placed under the table, clenched tightly, veins suddenly bulging.

But just as she was about to respond, Philip's erratic breath suddenly steadied: "Everyone, I've recently heard a rumor—that the reason our Wiltonstein family has turned a blind eye to that little girl's plight is because of a trade. We offered Hazel as a tribute to the Calamity Flame Dragoness Adriana, in exchange for Her Highness not seeking revenge on our family for the death of the Calamity Dragon God Desfalk."

"Nonsense!"

The overweight man immediately stood up, furious: "Shut up, Philip! Do you know what you're saying? You brat!"

"Of course I do."

At that moment, golden-white flames blazed around Philip's body, and his eyes swept over the assembled crowd with contempt: "You disappoint me. A bunch of people who constantly talk about family bonds and the history and honor of the Wiltonsteins as if they're paramount, yet when it comes to truly defending the family's glory and protecting our clansmen, you act like rats in a sewer. I don't understand—what honor is left in such a Wiltonstein? Forget it. Since you're unwilling to save that little girl, I will intervene with my own power. If anyone dares to stop me or set obstacles through other means, I, Philip, swear I will make you pay the price with my life! I don't care who it is, even if it's my father—"

After speaking, he turned and walked straight out, covering his mouth and nose as if the place stank.

When he pushed the door and left, the overweight man seemed to feel a pang in his heart; he clutched his chest and sat down, his face pale.

"Truly worthy of one who has awakened the bloodline of the Sacred Dragon Oswythe—his sense of justice is unmatched."

Margaret chuckled softly, withdrawing her gaze from the door: "But we can't really just leave him alone, can we? It would be troublesome."

"Of course! The Dragon Witch Cult is not our responsibility."

Cleo Wiltonstein—the sinister-looking man on the left—spoke calmly: "Six hundred years ago, we jointly established this federation, allowed powerful institutions like the FBI and CIA to be created, and pay billions in taxes every year precisely so they could handle the security issues we can't deal with. At this moment, when the main body of the group is about to relocate to Manhattan, the Wiltonstein family cannot afford to make more enemies. Rodrio, Philip is your son; stopping him is your responsibility. Father, what do you think?"

"Agreed."

Consuelo Wiltonstein seemed disinterested. He stood up again and walked toward the door of the conference room: "Philip wants to save that little girl—that's his freedom. You want to stop him—that's your right."

After he left, the people in the room frowned, momentarily unsure of his meaning.

Jennifer was also puzzled, a look of confusion in her eyes. She wondered what her grandfather's words truly meant.