I searched and fought in America.

The next morning, Rosen drove to Iron Claw Recycling Company.

He originally just wanted to check on the factory's progress, since he had been busy dealing with the municipal government and public opinion these past two days and hadn't had time to attend to things here.

But when he walked into the factory, he was stunned.

The once empty workshop is now filled with equipment: conveyor belts, mixers, and packaging machines, with rows of brand-new machines neatly arranged.

What surprised him even more was—

A considerable number of people.

A dozen workers in gray uniforms were busy on the assembly line. Some were pouring raw materials into the machines, some were watching the instrument panel, and some were moving the packaged finished products.

The entire workshop has actually entered a semi-operational state.

Rosen stood there, staring at the scene before him, momentarily speechless.

"Holy Father."

Morris's voice came from the side.

Rosen turned his head and saw the elderly black man with half-gray hair walking briskly over, holding a document in his hand.

"This is..." Rosen pointed to the workshop.

Morris smiled slightly:

"The equipment arrived the day before yesterday, and I arranged for someone to install it."

Rosen raised an eyebrow:

"Where are they? Where did these people come from?"

Morris handed the documents in his hand to Rosen:

"His job was hired from the community."

Rosen took the document, opened it, and glanced at it.

The above is a list with more than twenty names, followed by their respective positions and salaries.

"Residents of the Ronnie community?" Rosen asked.

Morris nodded:

"Yes, Father, our Iron Claw Gang has been operating in the Ronnie community for five years. Although we are not a big force, we still have a reputation and prestige. As soon as I announced that we were hiring, more than thirty people came that very day."

He paused, then pointed to the workers in the workshop:

"I selected some quick and efficient people with clean backgrounds and trained them first. For the core processes, such as formulation and packaging, we used our own people."

"You've given me the formula and the process, and I've broken it down into several steps. Each person only knows a part of it, so there shouldn't be any problems."

Rosen listened, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes.

He hadn't expected Maurice to act so quickly.

"And your salary?" he asked.

"Two thousand five hundred a month, meals included," Morris said. "That's a very good salary for this place."

Rosen nodded.

Two thousand five hundred dollars is not a high salary in the United States, but in a slum like Ronnie, two thousand five hundred dollars including room and board is definitely considered a "high salary".

He recalled a statement he had seen online before: when opening a factory in the United States, the biggest cost is not wages, but union fees.

It's not a big deal if you pay low wages when there are few people.

But once there are more workers and it goes on for a long time, they will spontaneously organize themselves, form unions, and then strike, negotiate, demand wage increases, and frequently sue you at the Department of Labor.

The reason why large companies are moving their factories to Southeast Asia and Mexico is not because the wages of workers there are much lower, but because workers there are less likely to strike or sue you when they are unhappy.

But in the Ronnie community—

Morris and his group are not afraid of this.

The Iron Claw Gang has been operating in this area for so long that they know exactly who everyone here is and what their background is. Who would dare to cause trouble on the Iron Claw Gang's territory?

They may be a little innocent, but don't forget, they're also gangsters!

Rosen snapped out of his reverie and turned his gaze to Morris.

He suddenly remembered something.

Since he met Maurice, he seemed to have never seen the old man's attributes.

A thought crossed my mind.

[Investigation]

The next second, a data panel appeared in front of him.

Name: Morris

[Identity]: Iron Claw Gang Apostle

[Strength]: 43 (Underdog)

[Strategy]: 85 (Advanced)

[Exclusive Attribute - Logistics]: 92 (Top Tier)

[Exclusive Specialty]: Head Butler

Brief introduction: A natural logistics manager with an almost instinctive talent for resource allocation, personnel arrangement, and cost control.

Ability 1: Clear thinking, extremely sensitive to data, intelligence attribute +3.

Ability 2: Wartime Coordination. In emergency or urgent situations, logistics attribute +3 and intelligence attribute +2.

【Skill】:

Logistics coordination: Top-notch

Personnel Management: Advanced

Cost control: Advanced

[Rating]: Four-star low-level talent (in the field of logistics management, it can be regarded as four-star top-level talent)

Rosen stared at the string of attributes for a few seconds, stunned.

His combat strength was 43, which was mediocre. He had expected this, since Morris was not a combatant to begin with.

But his intelligence is 85, and his logistics is 92...

He recalled Morris's actions these past few days: arranging hospitalizations for the survivors, dealing with the city government, handling the media, and now quietly getting the factory back to half-operation...

This person is simply a born top-notch butler.

The system's evaluation of a four-star low-level talent refers to the overall level, but in the field of logistics, Morris is a four-star top-level talent.

Rosen put away the panel, his gaze towards Morris filled with delight. (System)

Morris felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze:

"The Holy Father?"

Rosen smiled and patted him on the shoulder:

"It's alright, let's go, take me to see the finished product."

The two walked through the workshop and came to a warehouse at the back.

The moment Rosen pushed open the door, his eyes lit up.

Rows of shelves were neatly stacked with gray bags. The bags were small, about the size of a palm, and had simple markings printed on them—the Iron Claw Recycling Company's logo and a series of numbers.

Morris picked up a bag and handed it to Rosen:

"Holy Father, this is our finished product, 100 grams per bag."

Rosen took it, weighed it in his hand, and opened the bag to take a look.

It contained gray powder, exactly the same as the one he produced in his original experiment.

"Not bad." He nodded, put the bag back on the shelf, and asked, "How's the production?"

Morris opened the document in his hand:

"The equipment has just been debugged and can currently produce about 500 kilograms per day. Once the workers are more skilled, we can increase it to 800 kilograms. If we add more shifts, we can also produce 1,000 kilograms per day."

Rosen silently did some calculations in his mind.

Two hundred kilograms is two thousand bags.

According to their previously agreed price, one bag...

He suddenly remembered something.

"By the way," he said, looking at Maurice, "this thing hasn't been named yet, has it?"

Morris paused for a moment, then smiled:

"Yes, Holy Father, we await your name."

Rosen thought for a moment and then casually said:

Let's call it "Iron Claw Brand Environmentally Friendly Solid Oil Powder".

Morris blinked. "Isn't this name... a bit long?"

Rosen waved his hand:

"It doesn't matter if it's a bit long. Keep it simple and straightforward, and you'll know what they do as soon as you hear it. Those recycling companies don't have that much time to think about fancy names."

Morris nodded and made a note of it in the document.

Rosen looked at the bags on the shelf and suddenly asked:

"Maurice, how much do you think would be a suitable price for this bag?"

Morris's eyes lit up at the mention of this.

He turned to another page of the document and cleared his throat:

"Father, I started doing market research as soon as you got the formula."