Chapter 127 Cook's Collapse: Even the Assembly Plant is Gone?

The green plastic lighter spun twice across the solid wood desktop.

The plastic shell made a faint clattering sound.

It finally stopped at the edge, nearly falling off.

Mr. Guo stared fixedly at that dollar lighter.

His back was completely soaked through with cold sweat.

His shirt stuck to his skin, feeling ice-cold.

His Adam's Apple bobbed with difficulty.

Lu Jingming's threat of a "Super Robot Factory" echoed in his ears.

His hand trembling, he grabbed the Montblanc fountain pen on the table.

The nib rested against the signature line of the gambling agreement.

His hand shook so violently that it made a "scratching" sound, tearing the top layer of paper.

"Swish, swish, swish."

A few heavy strokes passed over.

Mr. Guo signed his name as if he had exhausted the last ounce of his strength.

The fountain pen slipped from his hand and rolled onto the carpet.

Chu Xuan hurried over.

He was wearing that large floral shirt with a blue background and yellow flowers, the collar wide open.

He snatched the agreement over.

He shoved it haphazardly under his armpit where he was holding other files.

"Oh my, Mr. Guo, your hand was shaking quite a bit."

Chu Xuan dug a crumpled ball of tissue out of his pants pocket.

He wiped the greasy sweat off his neck vigorously.

"The signature looks like an EKG. But as long as you pressed your fingerprint, it's fine."

Lu Jingming sat on the leather sofa, one hand in his pocket.

His washed-out black T-shirt was slightly wrinkled.

He didn't even look at the agreement, extending his right hand.

He fished the lighter from the edge of the table back into his hand.

His thumb pressed down on the metal striker wheel.

"Click."

A ghostly blue flame shot up, dancing restlessly in the cold air conditioning breeze.

"Mr. Guo, congratulations on keeping your job."

Lu Jingming stared at the flame, one side of his stark white canine teeth glinting coldly.

"I'll give you three days."

He casually snapped the flame shut.

"Dismantle all the old production lines. Xinghai Technology's robotic arm engineering team will be on-site tonight."

Across the ocean.

California, Apple headquarters building.

The sunlight outside was vicious and blinding.

But the air pressure in the top-floor CEO office was low enough to suffocate someone.

Cook gripped the edge of the desk tightly.

His knuckles turned a deathly pale white.

His fingernails scratched several white marks into the mahogany desktop.

The Greater China Executive stood before him, his legs shaking uncontrollably.

The back of his suit was already soaked dark with sweat.

"Boss... Foxconn has issued a joint announcement."

The Greater China Executive swallowed dryly, his throat feeling as if it were stuffed with sand.

"Guo Taiming has transferred over eighty percent of the assembly lines to the Xinghai Technology Mate series."

His voice trembled, "They are installing fully automated robotic arms."

The flesh on Cook's face twitched violently twice.

His chest heaved like a broken bellows with a snapped string.

Heaving violently, he couldn't catch a steady breath.

"How dare he!"

Cook gritted his molars, making an ear-piercing "creaking" sound.

"Without Apple's orders, Foxconn will go bankrupt next month!"

The Greater China Executive wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

"Xinghai Technology offered them a gambling agreement with double the profit per unit."

He hunched his neck, "And those robot blueprints—Guo Taiming didn't even look at our exploitative contract; he tore it up directly."

The red blood vessels in the whites of Cook's eyes burst instantly.

Like a nest of red venomous spiders crawling across his eye sockets.

"Get out! Make them get out!"

He snatched the bone china coffee cup from the desk and smashed it hard against the explosion-proof glass door.

With a muffled "bang."

Brown liquid mixed with broken porcelain shards splattered all over the floor.

"Apple is not short of foundries!"

Cook roared, his tie pulled crookedly.

"Immediately send the blueprints for the new models to the foundries in India and Vietnam!"

He panted heavily, his eyes full of hysterical madness.

"Tell them, whoever can take this order, Apple will give them a twenty percent premium!"

The Greater China Executive suddenly looked up, gasping in cold air.

"Boss, that won't work!"

He slapped his thigh in anxiety.

"The factories in India simply cannot handle our high-end craftsmanship!"

"The workers there won't even wear anti-static suits; they grab the motherboards with their bare hands!"

Cook lunged over in a few steps.

He grabbed the Greater China Executive by the collar of his high-end shirt.

"Shut up!"

Cook sprayed saliva onto the Greater China Executive's face.

"As long as they can tighten the screws and slap that damn Apple logo on, that's all that matters!"

Blue veins bulged on the back of his hands.

"Within a week, I want to see the production line running! Otherwise, you can go scrub toilets!"

Half a month later.

California headquarters office.

Three samples of the new models just air-freighted from India were laid out on the table.

Cook sat in the boss's chair.

He hung his head, staring fixedly at one of the phones.

The office was so quiet that one could hear the whistling of the air conditioner.

The Greater China Executive stood to the side, not daring to breathe.

He held that soaked tissue in his hand, imitating Chu Xuan's way of wiping sweat, but the more he wiped, the more there was.

Cook extended two fingers.

He pinched the phone.

Just one look.

His breathing stopped instantly.

At the seam between the phone's metal frame and the glass backplate.

A large ring of yellowish-brown, low-quality glue had overflowed.

It had dried on the frame like a ring of disgusting boogers.

Cook's hands were trembling.

He fished a twenty-five-cent coin out of his pocket.

"Click."

The coin actually slid into the gap in the back cover without any resistance!

It could even wobble around inside.

"Is this the foundry you found for me?"

Cook's voice was low, revealing a predatory ferocity.

He slammed the phone onto the desktop.

With a "snap."

The shoddy assembly quality couldn't withstand a drop at all.

The edge of the screen popped open, and the motherboard's ribbon cable was exposed to the air.

The Greater China Executive was so scared that he retreated half a step.

"Boss, this is already the batch with the highest yield rate."

He said, his voice laced with tears.

"The workers in India say the assembly line speed is too fast, and they must have afternoon tea three times a day."

"If they miss one, they smash the machines and go on strike!"

The Greater China Executive pointed at the pile of scrap metal.

"The overall yield rate is less than ten percent. Even if they are made, the battery temperature soars past fifty degrees after ten minutes of use!"

He swallowed, "This kind of junk can't pass customs quality inspection at all!"

Cook's heavy body suddenly went limp.

He slumped into the leather chair like a pile of mud.

The chair emitted an "overwhelmed" creaking groan.

He opened his mouth wide.

A "gurgling" weird sound came from his throat.

There were blueprints, technology, and chips.

But the whole world couldn't find a single assembly line capable of putting these things together.

Just then.

"Bang!"

The office door was pushed open.

A blonde assistant scrambled in, rolling and crawling.

His leather shoes tripped on the wool carpet, and he nearly broke his front teeth.

He held a freshly printed assessment report tightly in his hand.

The pages were crumpled from his grip.

"Boss! The latest rating from Wall Street is out!"

The assistant panted heavily, cold sweat dripping frantically down his chin.

"A joint report from Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs!"

Cook's eyelids twitched wildly.

He braced himself on the armrests and sat up straight, "What does the rating say?"

The assistant handed the report over with trembling hands.

Cook snatched it away.

His gaze fell on the title.

After just one look, his heart felt like it had been violently crushed.

The blood-red bold characters stung his retinas.

"The Tech Giant That Lost Its Assembly Capability: Apple Completely Trapped in a Dead End."

Below was the final recommendation from the rating agency.

Only four words.

Strong Sell.

The report stated it clearly.

Relying on fully automated robotic arms, Xinghai Technology has achieved a daily production capacity of over one million.

While Apple can't even find workers to apply glue to the phones.

The capital market smelled the stench of a rotting corpse.

Panic selling had already begun before the market opened.

"It's over..."

Cook's hand loosened.

The assessment report fluttered onto the carpet like waste paper.

Night fell.

In the CEO office at the California headquarters, the lights were not on.

Outside the window, the traffic on the highway was like a weave, and the light trails of car headlights streaked across the glass.

The air conditioner was still tirelessly blowing cold air.

Cook was like a soulless corpse.

Slumped dead in the large boss's chair.

His shiny bald head faintly reflected the dim light from outside the window in the darkness.

The three shoddy phones on the table were like three little devils mocking him.

Suddenly.

"Ring, ring, ring—!"

The red dedicated line phone on the corner of the desk that went straight to Wall Street.

Started ringing frantically like a death-knell watchman.

The red light flashed rapidly in the darkness, stinging the eyes.

Cook's fingers moved.

He swallowed dryly, his Adam's Apple sliding with difficulty down his parched throat.

With a trembling hand, he fumbled to pick up the receiver.

And placed it to his ear.

"Mr. Cook, I am a representative of the Morgan Consortium."

The voice on the other end of the line was devoid of emotion, as cold as a blade pulled from an ice cellar.

Without a shred of human warmth.

Cook opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single syllable.

Only heavy panting was transmitted through the receiver.

"The board of directors concluded an emergency vote ten minutes ago."

The consortium representative's voice continued.

"We are currently discussing your severance package."

In the background, there was the sound of keyboards clattering with trading activity.

"Don't struggle anymore. Wall Street does not support trash that cannot build phones."

The consortium representative paused for a second and spat out the last few words.

"Pack your things."