Farming Life Starting in Africa

Letty looked at her, as if judging how much of what she said was true. "It had better be that way." She paused for a few seconds, then, as if making a decision, said, "Mia, I've contacted Brian."

Mia's expression stiffened slightly upon hearing the name. "Why did you contact him...?"

She picked up an old part and pretended to examine its condition.

In that instant, her memory seemed to be stirred by something, and those scenes that she thought she had put away were unfolding again.

She remembered the first time Brian walked into her family's small neighborhood store. His sunny face made Brian appear clean, gentle, and not irritable.

I also ordered the tuna sandwich she made.

Despite clearly not liking the taste, Brian forced himself to swallow it all, leaving not a single bite.

Brian was the first person to compliment her sandwiches, and from that day on, he ate her sandwiches every day.

Mia vividly remembers how they repaired cars together, participated in races together, attended family gatherings together, and went on sweet dates together.

Later, Brian made Don a wanted criminal, and she hated him for that. But he also let Don go. Her feelings for this man never truly settled.

"I asked him to find a way to have the warrant on Tang removed, and he agreed!"

Mia looked up, her voice filled with an excitement she hadn't expected: "Really? When will my brother be back?"

Letty reached out and pressed her shoulder. "Mia, it's not that easy." She paused. "Brian gave me a mission. If I complete this mission, they'll drop the warrant on Don in exchange."

Mia asked eagerly, "What kind of mission is it?" He didn't think the mission would be simple.

Letty shook her head. "I'll finish this task, so don't get involved. I promised Tang I'd take care of you, so don't make things difficult for me."

Mia was silent for a while, then looked into Letty's eyes and said gently, "Letty, we're family. I don't want you to take risks, and Don definitely thinks so too."

Letty looked at Mia, "It's precisely because we're family that I should do something for Don. It's been five years; he can't keep drifting around like this. I have to bring him home."

Mia opened her mouth, wanting to retort, but found herself unable to find the right words. She didn't know what to say, so she simply stepped forward and hugged Letty.

Rosen followed Barney to Harry's racing car parts store. Before even entering, his gaze was drawn to a car hanging from the roof.

The body shell of an old Mustang, secured to a side bracket on the roof with a few bolts, looks like a specimen that has been amputated and is being displayed.

When Rosen looked up at the car, he couldn't help but move to the side.

Are all Americans crazy? Texas is a place that often experiences strong winds, and they just use a few bolts to suspend a car body from the roof. Are they waiting for a strong wind to come so they can randomly select lucky disabled audience members?

The store was much bigger than he had imagined; it was practically a giant supermarket for auto parts.

The shelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling, densely packed with various parts, from oil filters to complete brake disc sets, from xenon headlights to steering wheel covers, all neatly categorized and stacked, with a numbered yellow label hanging on each shelf.

Barney walked up to the counter and looked at the chestnut-haired white owner. "I'm here to ask about something."

Harry glanced up at him briefly before looking down at his ledger, scribbling and drawing on it.

His business has declined significantly in recent years. Since Tang left, many car modification enthusiasts have stopped buying from him, and the figures in his ledger are not comparable to what they used to be.

Harry didn't want to pay any attention to this old man who was barely able to walk and had come to his door asking for information, and who was clearly not his client. He continued flipping through the ledger as if he hadn't heard him.

Barney stood in front of the counter, his expression not changing much, but his fingers paused briefly near his belt.

Rosen promptly approached and stood in front of the counter. "Boss, a friend recommended you to buy a car. We heard your cars are the best Macallan models?"

Upon hearing the words "buy a car," Harry's expression immediately changed. He looked up, and the wrinkles on his face seemed to be smoothed out instantly. A warm smile spread across his face, a clear contrast to his attitude towards Barney.

"Haha, of course! This is the best car dealership in McAllen. What do you need? Off-road, performance, family use—whatever you want, I have it. I recently acquired a batch of used cars from Houston, and a few are in good quality. Shall I show them to you?"

"I want a nice car, but only if you can answer my friend's questions."

Harry smiled and nodded, having already closed the ledger and put it in the drawer. He then emerged from behind the counter and led Rosen towards the parking lot at the back of the shop. Barney also calmed down and followed behind; resolving the situation without resorting to violence was the best course of action.

The parking lot was much larger than Rosen had imagined, about the size of two standard football fields, with a compacted gravel surface and hundreds of cars of all kinds parked on it.

From vintage cars to campus buses, and a green Hummer that looks like it was retired from a military fleet, the variety is so complete that one might wonder if the owner has acquired used cars from several nearby states.

Rosen's gaze swept across the area before stopping at a large, square, gray-green vehicle. It was a Paramount Marauder, tall and with thick wheels, looking like an armored rhinoceros taking a nap.

Rosen pointed at the car and asked curiously, "Is this allowed on the road?"

Harry followed his finger, his tone smug, as if to say, "You have excellent taste." "It might not work in other states, but it does here. Especially the state troopers here; they'll let you drive any car you buy from me."

Rosen immediately understood. This shop must have paid protection money to the police, or had some kind of tacit cooperation with them. After all, with so many cars seized every year, parking them in the police station's parking lot is a waste; wouldn't it be better to move them out and generate secondary value?

Rosen walked over to the Marauder, and the moment he stepped on the door sill, he felt the car body not move at all, as if he were stepping on a rock fixed to the ground. It seemed that this car was quite heavy.

He glanced out the window; the interior had been completely converted to civilian use. The original weapon interfaces, weapon mounts, and grenade launcher mounting points were all gone, replaced by a set of seats and a center console that looked like they'd been salvaged from a family SUV. He instantly lost interest in the car.