I searched and fought in America.

Chapter 107 He was arrested

Rosen raised an eyebrow.

prom?

Thomas Roll, that old fox, is quick to act.

He knew the other party would make a move after the last press conference, but he didn't expect the invitation to arrive so quickly.

"What kind of dance is it?" he asked.

"I heard it's an annual charity gala that Houston's political and business elites attend, with the mayor himself making an appearance; it's a high-profile event."

Rosen nodded.

This was exactly the kind of occasion he needed.

There, he could meet those powerful and influential people who were usually high and mighty, and he could also let those powerful and influential people meet him.

"Reply to them, I will go," he said.

Morris made a note of it, then looked up at Rosen, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back.

Rosen noticed his unusual behavior: "What's wrong?"

'

Morris hesitated for a moment, then said, "Father, today is Monday."

Rosen paused for a moment, then realized what was happening.

on Monday.

The Latin Kingdom.

Weiss.

"Did they agree?" he asked.

Morris nodded: "Agreed. Seven o'clock tonight, St. Sis Grand Hotel. They've booked a private room and are waiting for you."

Rosen was silent for two seconds.

That guy Weiss, he was publicly humiliated by him last time, yet he managed to swallow his pride and even conceded, choosing to stay in a neutral area like the Hilton.

Either the other party is genuinely wary of his current public attention and dares not act recklessly.

Either they're preparing some big surprise.

"Okay," Rosen said. "I'll go see him tonight."

He took two things out of his pocket and placed them on the table.

One of them is the permanent land deed for those 50 acres of farmland.

One of them is the architectural blueprint for the [Holy Church].

Morris's eyes widened instantly.

"Holy Father, this is—"

"50 acres, freehold." Rosen pushed the land deed forward. "It's located in the eastern suburbs of Houston, at the intersection of Grant Road and Highway 47. Take some time to go and take a look, and figure out how to use it."

He pointed to the blueprint again: "I got this with great difficulty. Find someone to build this building in the very center of that land, according to the requirements on the blueprint, as quickly as possible."

Morris took the blueprints and examined them carefully.

The drawing depicts a church-like building with simple lines, yet exuding an indescribable solemnity.

The sides are densely marked with various dimensions and requirements, some even accurate to the centimeter.

"Holy Father, this is—"

"This is the headquarters of our Ironclaw Sanctuary," Rosen said, looking at him. "From now on, all gatherings, prayers, and activities of the believers will be held here."

Morris's breath caught in his throat for a moment.

Headquarters.

The headquarters of the Iron Claw Sanctuary.

He followed Father Kevin for twenty years, but the Iron Claws never had a true "headquarters".

When Father Kevin was alive, his greatest wish was to have a piece of land that truly belonged to him, and to build a church that truly belonged to him.

Now, the land is available.

This church is going to be built soon.

He gripped the blueprint tightly, his hand trembling slightly.

"Holy Father, I will definitely—I will definitely do it well."

Rosen nodded, then remembered something else: "By the way, what are you planning to do about those 'hunters' from the environmental protection company?"

Morris took a deep breath, calmed himself down, and then regained his composure: "Father, rest assured, I've been dealing with those people for a long time. Let them investigate, we'll do our thing. As long as they don't find any real evidence, they can't do anything to us."

"Moreover," he paused, a cold smile playing on his lips, "now that we have solid oil powder, the problem of waste oil leaks is completely solved. They won't have a chance to find fault with us."

Rosen nodded in satisfaction.

Leave professional matters to professionals.

Maurice was the right choice in selecting the head butler.

"There's one more thing," Rosen said, "Could you help me see if anyone in the community knows any local Chinese people?"

Morris paused for a moment: "Chinese? The Father wants to—"

"There are a few books I'd like them to help me find." Rosen thought for a moment. "Tell them we can offer a thousand dollars to help them find three old books from China."

"What book?"

Rosen recalled: "The first one was called 'The Barefoot Doctor's Manual,' the second one was called 'The Militia Military Training Manual.' The third one—"

He frowned, trying hard to recall.

I can't quite recall the name of that divine book right now.

"I think it's called something like—dual-use military and civilian—" He thought for a long time, then finally slapped his thigh, "That's it, 'Friends of Dual-Use Military and Civilian Talents'! That's it!"

Morris looked bewildered.

He had never heard of any of these three names.

But since it was the Father who wanted it, there must be a reason for it.

He carefully wrote it down in his notebook: "Yes, Father, I will do it as soon as possible."

Rosen continued, "The second thing is, how many people want to join our gang right now?"

Morris turned a page: "There are almost a hundred, and the number is still increasing. Our community has more than 500 people, and young adults make up about half of them. Now, more than 50% are willing to join."

Rosen nodded.

Fifty percent of them are young and strong, which is more than a hundred people.

With the original core members and the thirteen survivors, the Iron Claw Gang will soon be able to exceed one hundred and fifty people.

But this is not enough.

What he wanted was not a gang.

What he wanted was an organization.

"From now on," he said, looking at Maurice, "we're officially changing our name."

Morris's expression turned serious.

"From now on, there will be no more Ironclaws." Rosen's voice was calm, but every word was like a nail driven into Morris's heart. "Only the Ironclaw Sanctuary will remain."

"We are an organization, not a simple gang. We have organizational discipline, organizational guidelines, and an internal structure."

Anyone who wants to join, regardless of age or gender, can join as long as they agree with our principles; there are no restrictions.

Morris quickly jotted it down in his notebook.

"The third thing," Rosen held up three fingers, "is to assign a task to those who are about to join the community."

Maurice looked up and listened attentively.

"Now there are a lot of outsiders in the community. Some are here to inquire about information, some are here to watch the excitement, and some are here of unknown origin. We need our prospective members to approach these people as ordinary community members."

"Remember," Rosen's tone became more serious, "don't let them know that you're acting under orders. Just have them pretend to be ordinary neighbors, chat with those people, and try to get information out of them."

The investigation included: the other party's personality, ideology, family background, and whether they were a spy sent by other forces.

"Each person must investigate information on at least five people."

Morris's hand paused slightly.

He raised his head and looked at Rosen, a complex expression flashing in his eyes.

The Father's move was truly brilliant.

Let newcomers participate in the organization's operations in the most natural way.

It not only completed the investigation of outsiders, but also honed their abilities.

Kill two birds with one stone.

"Understood." He lowered his head and continued taking notes.

After saying these three things, Rosen leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh.

There are too many things to do; we have to take them one at a time.

However, everything proceeded in an orderly manner.

He was about to ask something else when he suddenly remembered someone.

"By the way," he looked at Maurice, "how's it going with Pastor Meyer? Did you make an appointment with him?"

At this point, Maurice's expression changed.

Rosen frowned.

"What's wrong?"

Morris took a deep breath, his voice becoming low: "Father, I sent someone to the Zion Chapel first thing this morning."

"Then?"

"And then—" Morris gripped the notebook in his hand tightly, "the men he sent back said that Reverend Mair had been captured by the Fang Gang."

Rosen's pupils contracted sharply.

The Fangtooth Gang.

It's the Fangtooth Gang again.

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