Whoever had orchestrated this operation had not only hijacked the logistics vehicle and escaped swiftly, but had also known about that isolated village in the forest—and, crucially, the good relationship between that village and the film crew. To suggest such a feat could've been pulled off by someone unfamiliar with the area was simply laughable. The most likely explanation? The culprit was someone deeply familiar with the terrain—likely a local power.
There were hundreds of people here now. If the South African military and police forces were willing, they could easily muster reinforcements and launch a large-scale operation. With this many hands on deck, could they not eliminate the underground forces surrounding the area? Even if those factions weren't directly involved in Laila's disappearance, it wasn't like they were innocent. Wiping them out would only bring relief to the local, peace-loving population.
Laila had been missing for three days. Roy didn't know what condition she was in—what she'd eaten if she was being mistreated if she was suffering. The sheer uncertainty was driving him to the brink of madness. Meanwhile, these so-called professionals were still sitting around in tents, talking.
His blunt outburst left the room in awkward silence. Most of the people here were elites—the best of the best in their fields. But they all had their misgivings. They couldn't afford to make overly aggressive moves.
It wasn't that they couldn't see what Roy saw—an outsider like him could tell what needed to be done. The issue was that doing what Roy suggested—sweeping the area clean of all possible suspects—would undoubtedly impact innocent civilians. The public backlash could be severe. That was what Fusca feared most.
As for the newly arrived American agents, their concerns were more political. Back in the U.S., conducting a large-scale search might've been fine. But here, they were in South Africa—a foreign land. If they made one wrong move, disrupted local interests, or sparked an international incident, the consequences could be enormous. No matter how elite they were, they couldn't ignore national interests.
And so, what was arguably the most straightforward and forceful solution had been collectively and quietly shelved.
Now that Roy, the "outsider," had spoken it aloud, they all felt a deep sense of embarrassment. If word got out that an actor—a star—had more guts and insight than a room full of experts, they'd be a laughingstock in their circles.
"Ahem," one of the new agents coughed, trying to regain composure. "We did consider that plan. But the potential disruption to civilians would be too great. It could cause mass chaos."
"So what then?" Roy sneered. "You think sitting around tossing ideas back and forth will magically bring Laila back?"
He didn't care about disturbing civilians. Laila's life hung in the balance—he had no compassion left for strangers he didn't even know.
All he wanted—all he cared about—was her safe return.
Predictably, Roy's proposal was ignored by the room. None of them dared take such drastic actions on foreign soil. If it sparked diplomatic fallout, it would be a PR nightmare for the U.S. Even if higher-ups didn't mind, if anything did go wrong, it would be them—the agents on the ground—who'd be thrown under the bus.
Roy wasn't surprised in the least. He'd stopped trusting these people the moment they lost Laila. He couldn't believe that for a brief second earlier when Xiao Ye brought him into that tent, he'd felt a sliver of hope. How naïve could he be to still expect anything from these people?
What he hated more than them… was his powerlessness. In this foreign land, he couldn't even move around freely. The crew was worried that because of the diamond, he might still be a target.
Before coming here, everyone had assumed that if danger struck, it would hit Roy and Leonardo. Because of the diamond, bounties had been placed on their heads. All the security measures had been arranged around them.
That's why Laila had only had three people by her side—no one thought she would be the target.
But this was Laila—the only heir to the Moran family. A woman worth hundreds of billions. Someone who would receive top-level protection just by stepping into any country. Who would dare to touch her?
That night, Xiao Ye noticed Roy's room was still lit, and he knew the man was probably headed for another sleepless night. He knocked on the door, and as expected, Roy opened it with red, bloodshot eyes.
"I want to talk."
Roy glanced at him and stepped aside. "Say it."
His voice was flat—emotionless.
They weren't especially close before, but they had always gotten along. That coldness now was painful to Xiao Ye, but he couldn't blame him. If his own loved one had been taken without a trace—and the people with the power to help did nothing but hesitate—he'd probably react even worse.
"Roy, I know you're hurting right now—"
"If you're here to say useless things, save your breath," Roy interrupted coldly.
Xiao Ye gave a bitter smile. "You don't trust anyone now—not even me?"
"I owe Laila a massive debt," Xiao Ye continued. "Even if no one else helps, I will."
"Heh." Roy's laugh was hollow, forced. "Then don't say it. Do it. Actions speak louder than words."
How could he trust any of them? They all looked busy, but everything they did felt like theater. Yes, they were working with South African authorities to look for Laila—but at this pace, they might never find her.
Xiao Ye took a deep breath. "I can't speak for everyone else, but the team I brought—those mercenaries—they know this region inside and out. They aren't bound by political considerations. They've been searching non-stop. In fact—before you lie down tonight, take a look at this."
He tossed a bag onto the table with a soft thud, then let out a long sigh and turned to leave.
Roy watched his back as he walked away. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Was he telling the truth? Could he trust him?
He opened the bag. Inside were a few pieces of fruit, some bread, and a bottle of water.
Recalling Xiao Ye's words, Roy frowned and sat down at the table. He unwrapped the bread and took a vicious bite.
He was right. Roy needed his strength. If he wanted to keep searching for her, he couldn't afford to collapse.
He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in days. Swallowing the coarse bread was a struggle. His stomach rebelled, and even that small bite made him nauseous.
"Damn it!" he suddenly roared, slamming the rest of the bread onto the table in fury.