“Why did you come?” Dima’s voice is soaked in hostility.
“The desired biomaterial has been obtained. I sent the money to you. Do you need something else? If you don’t have enough money, you could just write—I would have sorted it out. You shouldn’t have come for something this small.”
I stand there and keep silent. What can you say here? “I was wrong, sorry”? No, it sounds too pathetic and low. I can’t think of anything fast.
“Yul, you’re distracting me. I called you a taxi. You can go down. The Black Merc, three nines, is already waiting. Tell the secretary to let them in—if it doesn’t bother you,” he says, pointing toward the door with his eyes.