How to escape from here?
Laila had thought of two possibilities. One was to simply walk out from the mountain, bold and brazen. As long as the watchers in the shadows failed to react, slipping away wouldn't be that hard.
The other option was to use the excuse of filming a movie—heading up the mountain to some location where she could stage an opportunity. Officially, it would be "shooting on location." In truth, it would give her rescuers the chance to extract her.
The first plan seemed impossible to most, but this so-called impenetrable defense? Laila didn't think much of it. If her physical fitness weren't so poor, she might've already taken advantage of their underestimation and walked out on her own.
She'd asked Roy—it took about half an hour to walk from the foot of the mountain to where she lived. If she ran, she could probably cut the time in half—ten minutes, give or take.
Everyone here thought of the shantytown as one big surveillance net. The moment a stranger showed up, someone would report it immediately in exchange for a small payout.
But Laila knew such reports couldn't be going directly to Martin. What crime boss would let the common people know his number? So the intel must be reported to intermediaries—who would then relay it to Martin.
And what was the fastest way to report something? Phone calls. So… what if the lines were cut? Then the whole area would fall into a communication blackout. Everyone would have something to say, but no way to say it. There was no way she believed that Dong-ge and the others couldn't pull off something that simple.
Plus, most people in the slums were poor—many didn't even have electricity in their homes. No electricity meant no lights, and at night, they had to grope around in the dark. Even if there were planted watchers, how many could realistically monitor such a vast area?
Filmmakers never lacked imagination. Aside from the two plans above, Laila had even considered gas-based hypnosis devices or other sci-fi-esque ideas. She genuinely didn't believe this place was as airtight as everyone thought. Martin's long-time control over the area might only be because the authorities didn't care to intervene. If they arrested him, someone else would just take over. So why not let the dumb one stay in charge—a threat easier to manage?
Despite all these ideas, the plan she offered Flanders boiled down to just eight words: "Startle the snake, lure the tiger away."
The rescue team had debated endlessly, hesitant to act rashly. If word got out, Martin might move Laila somewhere even more hidden.
But Laila's approach was the opposite. She wanted to startle Martin—make him so paranoid he'd relocate her himself. Anywhere else would be easier to break into than here.
As for luring the tiger away, it was simple. Many of Martin's old lieutenants had been thrown in prison during the anti-gang crackdowns. If something big enough happened to draw Martin and his remaining men away from here, the rescue team could break through the defense and get her out much more easily.
Once she was rescued, the people invested in her safety could finally act freely. Laila had no doubt they were already furious over her disappearance, and once they had an outlet to vent that rage, Martin's fate was already sealed.
That way, she'd be safe, and Flanders' wish would be fulfilled. Both sides would get what they wanted—the perfect outcome.
After laying out her plan, even Flanders had to admit it made sense. And with his help from the inside, the success rate would jump to near certainty.
But one doubt still lingered.
"What if the rescue team doesn't go after Martin afterward? They're here for you—not him. How can I be sure you'll do what you promised?" Once she was safe, what reason would she have to keep helping him?
Laila let out a short, cold laugh. "You think I'd allow someone who kidnapped me to remain a permanent threat? You think I'd be so saintly as to let him live after that?"
Not letting threats lie next to your bed—this was her creed. And if she didn't act, Grandpa Moran certainly wouldn't let it slide.
Once again, Flanders found himself completely persuaded by her words. She was right. No one would willingly let a dangerous enemy live—especially someone as rich and influential as her. People like her were obsessed with personal safety.
He finally nodded. "Pleasant working with you."
"Pleasant working with you," Laila echoed with a satisfied smile.
Flanders watched her leave. Only when her figure completely disappeared did he quietly close the door?
He walked over to his bookshelf, reached into a corner, and pulled out a thick book. Hidden inside its pages was an old photo.
It was a photo of a happy family of four—mother, father, and two children, all smiling with dazzling white teeth. The photo had yellowed with time, clearly taken many years ago.
Flanders gently traced the photo with his fingers before sliding it back into the book.
The picture was of his parents and younger brother. His father had been a doctor—one of the rare success stories from the slums. Even now, many people still look up to him. Though he only ran a small clinic, that was already a towering achievement in the eyes of the locals.
Flanders remembered his childhood fondly. The clinic was always busy, but his family was happy and content with their life. Until one day—Martin showed up and shattered everything.
That day, Martin had been carried in by his men, riddled with bullets. One of the wounds was right in his chest. It was a miracle he survived.
Flanders' father and Martin had been childhood friends and neighbors. They'd drifted apart after leaving the slums, but Martin's men had no other choice and brought him there. Back then, Martin didn't have the empire he did now. The slums were still a battlefield between various gangs.
Flanders' father saved his life—after a surgery lasting over ten hours.
From then on, Martin began showing up more often. Sometimes injured, sometimes bringing injured subordinates.
His father, adhering to the physician's duty to save lives, treated them all. But somehow, he eventually became the gang's doctor. Armed thugs came and went daily, scaring off the regular patients.
Even that might have been manageable—powerful friends were a necessary evil in that country.
But the real trouble began when Martin's rivals, unable to defeat him, turned their sights on Flanders' family.