Son-In-Law Madness

The location where Weston and his team intended to film was quite remote, so they would not head there unless absolutely necessary.

Weston's trip into the city this time was to pick up Donald to ensure that the latter would not get lost on his way to the set.

However, despite waiting at the agreed-upon hotel for a long time, Donald still had not shown up.

“You mentioned that our set is quite remote, Mr. Tanner. Do you think Mr. Campbell would be able to adapt to the place?”

Drogo Zapata, Weston's assistant, was seated on the couch, gazing toward the hotel entrance, looking slightly worried.

Though he had never met Donald, the mere thought of the latter being a CEO drew him toward the conclusion of how pampered and privileged such a man would be once he ventured into the countryside.

Weston frowned. “I can't speak for others, but I don't think Mr. Campbell will have a problem with it. He's not the type of leader who couldn't bear to get his hands dirty. You'll understand when you meet him.”

In truth, Weston wanted to tell Drogo that Donald was a formidable character, especially how he looked like a Stella Warrior when he puts other bosses in their place.

Upon second thought, however, it occurred to him that Donald had been able to put those wealthy people in their place because of the powerful backing provided by Dragon Fide Corporation.

Once he ventured into the remote regions, Donald would be forced to confront harsh conditions and unexpected obstacles.

In light of that thought, Weston suddenly realized that Donald's identity and background would not matter much, and he became unsure about how long Donald could bear it. Thus, all he could say was that Donald was a different kind of employer.

“Listen, Mr. Tanner, I don't care what kind of person your boss is. I just want to remind you that if we don't get in the car in the next fifteen minutes, we won't be able to get back today.”

Sitting across from Weston was a man, roughly in his early fifties.

The old man was dressed in a cotton-padded jacket with a dagger tucked at his hip.

To Weston and his companions, his attire seemed extremely peculiar. To the locals, however, it represented a presence not to be trifled with.

It pointed to the indication that the old man was a hunter whose hands have been stained with blood.

“Please bear with us a little longer, Mr. Hackett. We will cover the hotel expenses if we can't make it back today.”

Adler Hackett stared at Weston. “I don't want to stay in your hotel,” he scoffed. “My own tent is far more comfortable. I'll be heading home if your boss doesn't show up soon. I can't be away from my family for too long.”

Though Weston harbored his own opinions about Weston's proclamation, he found it difficult to voice them.

Adler was the local guide they hired. He was reputed to be the best one in the area.

If it were not for the fact that Ronson and Adler got along well, Adler would never have agreed to act as their guide.

Just as Weston was contemplating if he should give Donald another call, the latter appeared at the hotel entrance.

“Over here, Mr. Campbell.”