Farming Life Starting in Africa

The four kneeling Japanese men's eyes were fixed on the gleaming gold coin of the Continental Hotel on Rosen's fingertip.

One second ago, their faces were filled with resentment and a sense of relief, but in an instant, their expressions completely changed.

His previously tense jaw relaxed, and the fierceness in his eyes vanished, replaced by apprehension and fear.

The four of them subconsciously exchanged glances several times, their eyes rapidly communicating. They huddled together, lowered their voices, and whispered a string of rapidly spoken Japanese.

From their hurried tone and flustered expressions, Rosen could tell that the group was extremely panicked.

They didn't give Rosen a chance to ask a question. The man with the neat little mustache in the crowd immediately knelt forward half a step, his posture extremely low, his waist bent so low that his face was almost touching the ground, and his tone was respectful.

"Sir, we are all employees of the Mainland Hotel! We were blind and offended you. Please forgive us, sir. We are willing to fully compensate you for your losses!"

Rosen walked straight past the four people kneeling on the ground and slowly walked to his car.

He bent down and approached the car door, his eyes scanning the car body carefully. He quickly spotted an inconspicuous scratch in the gap of the door.

The damage must have been caused when those people pried the car open with wire.

A thin white scratch appeared on the smooth paint, which was particularly glaring in the sunlight. Rosen found it quite unpleasant to look at, even though he could fix the paint in a minute.

He opened the car door and peered inside; they hadn't caused any scratches or damage to the interior.

Just as Rosen was checking the damage to the vehicle, the man with the mustache quietly took out his phone, about to make a call for help, when he saw the bald man next to him shaking his head in refusal.

The man with the small mustache sighed softly, silenced his phone, turned on video recording mode, and then quietly slipped the phone into the nearby bushes.

After checking the car's condition, Rosen straightened up and casually quoted a compensation amount: "Alright, I won't argue with you anymore. Compensate me for my losses with one million US dollars, cash or bank transfer, your choice."

Upon hearing this, the four Japanese men kneeling on the ground froze instantly, their respect shattered, replaced by disbelief in their eyes.

The next second, the four of them huddled together again, chattering away at a rapid pace, their emotions running high. It was clear from their tone that they had a disagreement; some were frantically trying to explain, while others were vehemently refuting, arguing until their faces were red with anger.

After arguing for a while, the bald man finally suppressed his companion's voice, forced himself to look up, and said with a hint of resistance and resentment, "This is impossible! Your request is outrageous and completely unreasonable. We simply cannot afford to compensate you! Besides, you haven't suffered such a great loss."

Upon hearing this, Rosen's lips curled into an extremely disdainful smile. He gently raised the muzzle of his gun and slowly scanned the four men.

The dark muzzle of the gun carried a terrifying sense of oppression. Whoever it swept across, their body would instinctively tense up for a moment, and even their breathing would become cautious.

"My car was scratched by you, so it's only right that I get a damage assessment and claim compensation." Rosen's tone was light, but it carried an undeniable firmness.

"My car paint is made of carbon nanotube arrays, which is a very high-tech process, mainly used in aerospace and military fields. Since it's damaged, you have to pay for it at cost, which is one million US dollars."

Seeing Rosen's outrageous demands and the dark muzzle of his gun, the group felt both fear and resentment. Despite their dissatisfaction, they dared not act recklessly for the time being.

In the midst of the chaos, the bearded man suddenly had a flash of inspiration and quickly called for reinforcements.

"Please calm down, sir! My name is Hidetoshi Tojo, and the current manager of the Continental Hotel Rio is my uncle! I can go through the hotel's internal procedures to apply for official compensation!"

Upon hearing the name, Rosen's eyes narrowed slightly, and a ripple of emotion instantly stirred within him.

Tojo.

This surname itself carries an inherent sin in the world.

Moreover, this person's name differs from that of the Class A war criminal by only one character, making it highly likely that they are descendants of the same clan.

He suppressed the turmoil in his mind and keenly caught another key piece of information—that mainland hotels actually had such a compensation arrangement.

He was truly stumped by Lawson. He had always thought that mainland hotels only cared about rules and money, and were rigid and cold-blooded.

Who would have thought that a hotel would actually compensate its employees for causing trouble outside the hotel? This isn't the style of an underground organization; it's practically a charity!

The mainland hotels under the High Table Group have always used gold coins as their core settlement currency. One gold coin corresponds to a favor or a transaction, and its value is quite high.

The gold coins held by internal employees, when converted to cash, are worth at most tens of thousands of US dollars per coin, which is negligible compared to one million US dollars.

This compensation clause is an obscure rule that has been largely ignored and rarely used.

But ever since the Continental Hotel in Rio fell into the hands of this group of Japanese, they have been adept at exploiting loopholes in the rules and have made good use of this previously unpopular regulation.

Even if things occasionally escalate, Rio hotels only need to find an unfortunate scapegoat, offer a perfunctory apology and accept a penalty, and the matter can be hastily resolved, with the cost essentially negligible.

As long as Rosen agrees to the hotel's compensation, this group can get away with paying only a few gold coins, easily avoiding a million-dollar compensation, even if the compensation itself is suspected of being extortion.

Rosen quickly realized that there must be some trickery involved. He figured that once the guy got back to the hotel, he would try to renege on his debt and refuse to pay.

Then I'll have to collect the debt from the manager of the Rio Continental Hotel.

Rosen immediately became interested in the group of Japanese people. What exactly was going on at the Rio Continental Hotel?

After all, the Continental Hotel in New York was basically Winston Scott's personal fiefdom.

He casually asked, "I don't need compensation; I want the money now. But... who's managing the Rio Continental Hotel right now?"

Seeing that Rosen seemed inclined to press for answers, Hidetoshi Tojo's tone carried a hint of smugness: "It's my uncle, Teruo Tojo, who officially took over the management of the Continental Hotel Rio last year. After taking office, he reorganized the staff. Now, almost everyone in the hotel is one of our own! Applying for compensation will absolutely not be a problem, you can rest assured!"

Rosen sighed inwardly. He had only known that Brazil had the largest Japanese population in the world, and that Japanese residents could be seen everywhere on the streets.

Unexpectedly, these people's infiltration capabilities were so terrifying that they even completely controlled the Mainland Hotel, which controlled the underground order.