I searched and fought in America.

Rosen's skillful repairs in the maintenance area just now left the surrounding mechanics speechless.

After Rosen left, the mechanic boasted to his colleagues, "The Father only listened to the engine and knew how to fix it! He didn't even use a diagnostic tool!"

Under the somewhat reverent gazes of the crowd, he was led by Morris to the core area of ​​the recycling company, the secondary processing workshop.

Just by getting close, you can feel a very unpleasant odor coming towards you; it's the smell of piles of various waste products.

In the cramped, dimly lit workshop, several men were bending over, re-sorting the already sorted waste. They had to pick out even the smallest pieces of scrap copper, no bigger than a fingernail, or some high-value rare metals from tons of waste.

Upon seeing Rosen enter, these usually fearless and burly men stopped what they were doing, their eyes showing some hesitation, and bowed according to gang rules.

"You are all key members of the gang, you are all good, keep up the good work."

Rosen quickly took a few steps and reached out to help the old man at the front to his feet.

Seeing the company's appalling environment, Rosen's heart sank. Although the Iron Claw Gang was a gang with strong cohesion, it only had a dozen or so members.

Because they refuse to engage in the high-profit black market, these people can only huddle in this harsh workshop, earning a meager profit by selling their physical labor, even at the cost of damaging their lung health.

In this transition, "poverty" and "nobility" seem so heavy and helpless.

Just then, a loud "bang" suddenly came from the workshop!

While carrying the oil, a burly man accidentally knocked over an abandoned oil drum, spilling old gasoline all over the ground, where it spread.

The atmosphere in the workshop froze instantly. The once orderly men were all shocked, their eyes revealing a sense of panic.

"Hey! Rory! What are you doing, you idiot!"

When Caesar, who was originally standing behind Rosen, saw this scene, his eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

He didn't care about maintaining his image in front of the Father, roared and rushed over, grabbing a blanket and covering the oil stain.

Rory looked ashamed and frantically stomped on the blanket as if he had committed some unforgivable sin.

Rosen frowned slightly, somewhat puzzled. Why was he so frightened by pouring a bucket of waste gasoline? Was he afraid of a fire?

"Father, hurry, get the absorbent cotton! If those environmental group's hounds smell it, all our work for the past two weeks will have been for nothing! We'll be lucky to escape with our lives!" Caesar shouted at the house next door.

A short while later, several men rushed out carrying several bags of absorbent granules that looked like sand, frantically scattering them on the ground with practiced ease.

Just as chaos erupted at the scene, a series of hurried footsteps came from outside the workshop.

A younger brother stumbled in:

"Boss! Those 'hounds' from the environmental protection company are here! They're right at the gate!"

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Caesar cursed three times, then turned sharply and growled at Rory and the others, "Cover this up! Put heavy things on top of it! Now!"

After saying that, Caesar wiped the sweat from his face, took a few deep breaths, suppressed his anger, and rushed out to deal with those guys.

Morris walked over to Rosen, and seeing the confusion in Rosen's eyes, he lowered his voice and explained:

"Holy Father, you may not know this, but in America, if these environmental companies catch you dumping chemicals, they will forcibly send so-called 'environmental advisors' on the grounds that the environmental assessment is not up to standard."

Morris was seething with hatred as he said this:

"The so-called 'guidance' means that we have to pay tens of thousands of US dollars to their shell company account every month. They send two rich kids to sit in the office and spend their days indulging in debauchery, and we have to pay for it."

Our monthly profit is less than $100,000, and everyone is struggling financially, yet they still take $30,000 from us.

Later, under the leadership of Father Kevin, they refused to give it up, and the pack of hounds began their frenzied revenge.

As you can see, they come for surprise inspections seven or eight times a day. If they smell even the slightest odor or see a single oil stain, they have to stop work for rectification, which greatly impacts our operations.

Rosen understood.

This isn't environmental protection; it's high-end protection money collection.

"What are they mainly investigating?" Rosen asked.

"Plastic debris, heavy metal residue, and most importantly, the most sensitive issue: fuel leaks," Morris sighed.

"Scrap metal and other metal are money to us, and we can't bear to waste them, so they can't find any leaks, except for the handling of the gasoline..."

Many scrapped cars arrive with broken fuel tanks, and the dismantling process is often rough, making it extremely difficult to prevent any fuel from leaking onto the ground.

Rosen nodded thoughtfully; he remembered that he had a secret formula.

He didn't stay in the workshop, but turned around and walked straight to the door.

At the entrance of the recycling company, two men in suits and ties stood with their hands behind their backs, arrogantly scanning the surroundings.

They wore name tags with the words "Green Forest Environmental Consulting Company" printed on them, their leather shoes were polished to a shine, and they made no attempt to hide their disdain when looking at the group of workers from the Iron Claw Gang.

Caesar followed him, and the two men would occasionally raise some troublesome issues, but Caesar always managed to deflect them with words.

Just as they were approaching the processing workshop, a device on the chest of the young white man leading the group began to beep frantically. The white man's expression suddenly became very agitated, and he glared at Caesar, whose face was full of scars.

"Mr. Caesar, you are attempting to dump waste oil. According to the state government's authorized inspection regulations, we need to enter the secondary processing plant to take soil samples. Please move aside."

Caesar spread his arms to block the doorway, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace:

"Oh, Mr. Caul, that's probably just my body odor from not washing properly. The workshop is undergoing high-pressure cleaning, and going in now might soil your expensive suit."

"Body odor? No, that's the smell of gasoline, Caesar. Don't try anything funny." Caul's eyes sharpened. He noticed that Caesar's obstruction was somewhat unusual, which made him even more certain of his own thoughts.

He gave Caesar a hard shove, but failed to move him. His companions behind him immediately pulled out a camera and sampling bottles, making a show of forcing their way in.

Caesar dared not make a move; to use force against these "legal hounds" would be tantamount to declaring war on the government. He could only retreat while continuing to maneuver.

Just as Kaul was about to step into the workshop, Rosen came out with his men.

Kaul paused for a moment, but then he rushed into the workshop with a cold smile, heading straight for the place where the accident had just occurred.

However, it didn't have the oily sheen I had imagined.

The ground where they had just been standing was now covered with adsorbed particles, and several heavy scrap steel beams were piled on top of it. Rory and the others were welding nearby as if nothing was wrong, with sparks flying everywhere, masking the last possible trace of volatile fumes.

Kaul lay on the ground like a hunting dog, sniffing for a long time, then poked the crevice with a probe, his face so gloomy it was almost dripping with water.

"Damn, you guys cleaned up really fast."

He stood up, dusted off his hands, and looked at Caesar:

"Don't get cocky. We're right outside, and I absolutely won't give you the chance to 'damage the environment.'"

Watching the two men leave, cursing and swearing, Caesar let out a long sigh of relief, leaning against the doorframe as if all his strength had been drained.