I searched and fought in America.

Those who clearly needed the government's help the most were, at that moment, like an impenetrable fortress, impossible to breach.

On the way back, Emily sat in the car, her face ashen.

She just couldn't understand it.

A group of sewer rats, a group of social outcasts, a group of people who don't even have the courage to live—

On what grounds?

Why should I refuse her?

Until someone reminded her:

"I heard that those people listened to a Chinese man, the one who rescued them. He's a gang leader named something like Rosen."

Because of the time constraints, Emily had no choice but to suppress her disgust and personally contact Rosen.

In the study.

Emily's tone became somewhat impatient:

"Mr. Rosen, let me be frank with you, we've tried to communicate with them, but they—well, they're not very cooperative. We've heard they listen to you a lot, so you're stepping in now to help us resolve this."

She paused, looking directly at Rosen:

"Don't worry, I won't let you do it for nothing. After it's done, I can apply to my superiors and give you some benefits."

For example—your waste recycling business might be a little more lenient during environmental inspections in the future. You know, those 'hunting dogs' are watching you every day; it's very annoying.

Rosen looked at her, his expression unchanged.

Emily continued:

"Furthermore, you should also think about the future. We are not unaware of what you are doing now."

Loan sharking, forced prostitution, drug trafficking—if these things were investigated, you wouldn't have a good ending. But as long as you cooperate, we can turn a blind eye.

She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and a slight smile played on her lips.

"You should understand what I mean, right?"

Rosen looked at the exquisitely made-up woman opposite him and suddenly chuckled softly.

The laughter was soft, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet study.

Emily frowned slightly. She didn't like the laughter, and she disliked even more the way the Chinese man in front of her was looking at her.

There was no fear in his eyes as she had expected, no servility that a lowly thug should have when facing an official; only a playful look that made her uncomfortable.

"Mr. Rosen," Emily's tone became more forceful, "did you hear what I just said?"

"I heard you right." Rosen leaned back in his chair, his attitude casual. "But I refuse."

Emily paused for a moment.

She thought she had misheard.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I refuse." Rosen said slowly and deliberately, a smile on his face. "You want me to persuade the survivors to speak well of the government in the media? I won't do that."

Emily's expression changed.

Before she came, she had considered many possibilities. She thought the other party would try to bargain, that the other party would take the opportunity to extort benefits, and even that the other party would agree obsequiously. But she never thought that the other party would refuse outright.

A gang leader refuses the city government's "cooperation"?

"Do you know what you're saying?" Emily's voice turned cold. "I'm here on behalf of the mayor's office. If you refuse me, you're refusing the city government."

Rosen picked up the water glass in front of him and took a sip.

The water had gone cold, but he didn't care.

"I know what I'm talking about," he put down his cup, "but my answer remains the same—I won't do it. Besides, you might not even represent the city government. At most, you represent some faction behind you."

Emily took a deep breath, suppressing her anger.

She told herself that perhaps her tone had been too harsh, making this lowly thug feel embarrassed.

That's just how people are; the lower they are, the more they care about that pitiful dignity.

"Mr. Rosen," she changed her tone, trying to make her words sound as pleasant as possible, "you may have misunderstood. I'm not here to order you around; I'm here to discuss something with you."

She forced a stiff smile:

"You know, those survivors are very obedient to you now. They will definitely cooperate as long as you ask."

This is also good for you. Having a registered number with the city government will make things easier for you if anything comes up in the future.

Rosen looked at her.

Looking at her face, which was trying so hard to force a smile, and at the deep disgust in her eyes that she couldn't hide no matter what.

He suddenly remembered a term he had seen online in his previous life—"lickdog".

This is probably how a goddess treats a simp.

She came to ask for a favor, yet she acted as if she were bestowing a great gift upon him, as if her "negotiation" was a huge reward and he should accept it with gratitude.

Rosen twitched the corner of his mouth.

"Ms. Emily, I think I've already made myself very clear: I'm not doing this. Are you asking me to repeat myself a third time?"

Emily's smile froze on her face.

A few seconds later, his face turned completely cold.

"Rosen, don't be so ungrateful." Her voice turned sharp. "Who do you think you are? A small-time thug burdened with loan shark debts, a mob boss who collects scraps in the slums—you really think I can't do anything to you?"

She stood up and looked down at Rosen:

"Loan sharking, forcing women, drug trafficking—if I wanted to lay a hand on you, you'd be in jail tomorrow. I'm being nice to you now, giving you face. Don't push your luck!"

Rosen did not get up.

He simply leaned back in his chair, looking at the emotional woman in front of him with a hint of pity in his eyes.

"Ms. Emily," he began, his tone still calm, "you investigated me before coming to me, didn't you?"

Emily sneered: "Of course."

"You investigated quite thoroughly," Rosen nodded, "but unfortunately, you went in the wrong direction."

He stood up, walked around the tea table, went to the bookshelf, and pulled out a folder.

"Loan sharking?" He opened the folder and flipped through a few pages at random.

"That's a debt from Black Gold Capital. I owe them money, but I didn't lend it out. You can check and see if I've ever been involved in loan sharking."

"As for forcing women?" He turned another page.

"The first rule of the Iron Claw Gang is that you can't do sex work. You can ask my men and see who has done it."

"Drug trafficking?" He looked up at Emily.

"The Iron Claw Gang strictly prohibits drugs. They haven't touched a single gram in the past twenty years. You can check it. If you find out, I'll admit defeat."

He closed the folder and tossed it casually onto the tea table.

"I admit you do have the power to put me in jail," he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"However, the premise is that I actually did these things. The problem is, I didn't do them, so where are you going to find the evidence?"

Emily's face turned ashen.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found herself speechless.

She hadn't really investigated. In her eyes, what good could a slum gang leader be?

It must be tainted by pornography, gambling, and drugs.

She never imagined that there were gangs in the world that didn't deal with these things.

"You—" she gritted her teeth, "Even if we can't find these, your scrap metal recycling business is still under our control, isn't it?"

Environmental inspections, fire safety inspections—any one of them can shut you down!