Chapter 73

“Wait, Philip, hold on. Why the rush? It’s not always that we get to meet old classmates. Let’s talk for a

little longer.” Wesley ran after him.

Philip’s eyebrows furrowed further, his expression darkening.

There was little he and Wesley Warren had in common. Philip would very much rather not deal with old

classmates like him anymore.

They had changed—changed into people of greater statuses.

Philip shook his head and said coldly, “Back then, you were but a piece of trash to me, Wesley Warren.

Though I did not expect that you’d still be a piece of trash now.”

Wesley froze. “What did you say?”

He did not expect a sentence like that to come out from the mouth of a good-for-nothing like Philip

Clarke.

He called him a piece of trash?

Who was the real piece of trash here?

“You think that now you’re the manager of Arc de Triumph, you’re at the top of the world? So cool now,

are you? So you’re showing it off to rub it in my face? What’s wrong with us delivery boys? You think

you’re f*cking better than us?” Philip snorted.

He had kept it in for long enough.

Not wanting to add fuel to the flames, he did not expect his toleration to result in the other’s

aggravation.

“Haha! Philip Clarke you dumb f*cker, are you kidding me?” Wesley laughed, his expression potent with

means to mock. “I, the manager of Arc de Triumph, earn a monthly salary of 40 thousand! You’re just a

delivery boy. Even after working your *ss off, I doubt if you can even earn six thousand. Perhaps you

only earn slightly more than five thousand a month. What do you have that’s better than me in terms of

familial background, status, and contacts? How am I not better than you, Philip Clarke? Yeah, I’m

f*cking better than you, Philip! What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

Wesley could not tolerate how the other was still pretending to be all high and mighty.

“You were f*cking great during university. You even had yourself a bunch of juniors falling at your feet.

Why’re you delivering food now? I’ll tell you why. ‘Cause you suck! You are all pieces of trash in my

eyes! So what if I think I’m better than you all?” Wesley seemed proud of himself.

Not only had Wesley offended Philip with what he said, but he also offended all of Philip’s colleagues

who were present at the scene.

Now over 60 people were angry at Wesley!

Stomping over to him, they surrounded Wesley with a menacing look on their faces.

“Sure, all of us deliver food. So what if you’re a manager? You’re working for other people too!”

“What’s this now? I heard someone calling us delivery boys pieces of trash. What are you, some kind

of god? Think you’re on the top of the world?”

“F*ck this! I hate people like you, I’m gonna f*ck you up! Absolutely disgusting!”

Instantly, the lobby began to riot.

Many had resorted to violence. They were letting their fists do the talking.

Right then, tens of bodyguards rushed to the scene. With Wesley protected behind them, the

bodyguards stood off against Philip’s mob of people.

“F*ck! They have the f*cking galls to hit me! What are you doing? Get this group of busybodies out!”

Wesley roared as he straightened his suit and touched the spot on his face where he had been

punched.

The group of bodyguards had Philip’s mob of people surrounded in an instant. Merely surrounded and

nothing more.

There were too many people, after all. Over 60 of them.

All of them stood on Philip’s side as they glared at Wesley.

“Very well, Philip Clarke. Can’t get you to leave on your own, huh? Fine. If you don’t want to leave on

your own, then don’t blame me for not being polite!” Wesley glared ominously at Philip.

With that, Wesley pulled out his cell and called security. “I’ve got work for you. Get here!”

Elated was an understatement to how he felt at the moment for he could pretty much already see the

scene of Philip Clarke being shamefully thrown out of the hotel.

Trying to look cool in front of me with a gang of delivery boys? F*ck you!

At the same time, the head of security arrived only to see the scene of chaos before him. Shocked, he

quickly ran over.

“Manager Warren. What happened?”

“You’re just in time. Throw this gang of f*cking *ssholes out!”

“I can’t do that Manager Warren. These are our hotel’s VIP clients!”

The head of security was stunned. Although he had no idea what was going on, it was evident to him

that Wesley was picking on Philip’s group of people.

“What do you mean you can’t? They’re merely a bunch of delivery boys, how can they be our hotel’s

VIP clients?” Wesley sneered, a mocking expression painting his face. He then slapped the head of

security, pointed his finger at him, and began to reprimand. “Who’s the manager here? If I tell you to

throw them out, you throw them out!”

‘What a waste of space. Talking back to a superior too!’

“Manager Warren, they’re really our hotel’s VIP clients. There’re at least 100 BMW motorcycles

outside, all parked under this client’s name. I can’t be responsible for the consequences if I were to

throw them out.”

The head of security did not like it one bit, but he kept it in.

Wesley was always arrogant and domineering, so the staff would usually just turn a blind eye.

Yet now he wanted to throw these people, who were evidently VIPs, out?

He would surely be fired if their boss got wind of this.

Wesley burst into laughter after hearing what the head of security said. “What kind of joke is this? 100

BMW motorcycles? Who the f*ck are you kidding?”

Wesley laughed harder.

He, too, had seen the 100 BMW motorcycles parked outside and was envious.

After realizing that such a nouveau riche VIP client had come to the hotel, Wesley initially planned to

make connections. When he saw Philip Clarke instead, he decided to mock him a little.

Now, someone was telling him that the 100 BMW bikes outside were being used for food deliveries and

that they belonged to Philip.

This must be a f*cking joke!

Yet, right at that moment…

Philip took his phone from his pocket and dialed for George Thomas. “Hey, Old Man George. How

much to buy Arc de Triumph?”