117: Chapter 117 Only Dollars Don't Lie

The sun in Texas didn't feel like it was hanging in the sky; it felt more like it was pressed against one's scalp, burning.

By eight in the morning, the air at the LS-09 drilling platform was already distorted.

The asphalt was as soft as melted chocolate, and the nauseating smell of sulfur, mixed with the lingering morning mist, drilled straight into the nasal cavity.

Ava Rockefeller sat in the back seat of the lincoln, clutching the file that had long since been soaked through with sweat.

Today, she had deliberately changed into a sharper-looking grey professional suit, her hair pinned up meticulously, trying to maintain a shred of dignity for the Rockefeller Family in this world of only men, sweat, and machine oil.

But dignity was worthless here.

Before the convoy could even enter the core operation area, it was blocked.

Over two hundred burly men in oil-stained work clothes stood like a grey-blue wall, sealing the gate tight.

They held either wrenches or half-meter-long iron bars, and some even carried those large heavy Hammers used for striking drill pipes.

"Go back to New York! Vampires!"

"We want our wages! No empty checks!"

The roaring was mixed with the noise of metal striking the fence, like a pot of boiling asphalt.

The leader was a redneck nearly two meters tall, his thick beard covered in black specks of what looked like soot or coal dust.

He wore a sleeveless work vest, and his tattooed arms were thicker than Ava's thighs.

"Don't stop," Ava said through gritted teeth to the driver in front. "I am the legal holder here. Drive through."

The driver, a local who had just been hired, glanced at the crowd waving iron bars, but his foot pressed down on the brake.

"Miss Rockefeller, we can't drive through," the driver gulped.

"That's Hammer, the head of the union sub-branch. Last week, a safety inspector got three ribs broken just for stopping him from smoking."

The car stopped.

Hammer saw the woman in the car and a malicious, savage grin appeared on his face.

He carried a pipe wrench and strode over; in those turbid eyes, there was no awe for his employer, only naked provocation and greed.

"Yo, isn't this our noble Miss?" Hammer bent down, his face pressed against the bulletproof glass, his hot breath leaving a patch of white fog on the window.

"What, the air-conditioned rooms in New York aren't cool enough, so you came here to smell farts?"

A burst of raucous laughter erupted from the surrounding workers.

Ava pushed the car door open.

The heatwave instantly engulfed her, carrying dust that nearly suffocated her.

She forced herself to stand straight, her high heels wobbling on the scorching gravel.

"Mr. Hammer," Ava tried to make her voice sound authoritative. "I am here to solve the problem. According to the contract, every hour of stoppage causes..."

"Smack!"

A fist-sized rock flew over.

It didn't hit Ava, but it smashed against the car window behind her.

Although the bulletproof glass didn't shatter, the massive impact made Ava instinctively shrink her neck.

Immediately after, someone—it was unclear who—threw an empty oil can, and the sharp edge of the tin grazed Ava's cheek.

A thin line of blood instantly appeared, and the stinging pain left Ava's mind blank.

"Contract?" Hammer slapped the pipe wrench in his palm, making a loud smack sound.

"Here, my pipe wrench is the contract! If you don't pay the overdue bonuses from last month and compensate us double for our 'mental distress,' this rig won't turn a single screw!"

In the distance, that familiar police pickup was parked in the shade.

Sheriff Big Bob leaned against the car door, chewing tobacco, his hat brim pulled very low.

He watched the riot over here, showing no intention to step forward and stop it; instead, he spat out the window, his face wearing an expression of watching a show.

Ava covered her cheek, blood seeping through her fingers.

Shame, anger, fear, and helplessness washed over her like a tide.

She was a Rockefeller, but in the eyes of these savages, she was just meat waiting to be slaughtered.

She subconsciously looked back at the man who hadn't said a word.

Chen Mo pushed the car door open and got out.

He wasn't wearing sunglasses, nor was he holding the M1911 he had just bought last night.

He simply straightened the buttons of his suit, carrying that black aluminum briefcase in his hand.

Amidst the noisy insults around them, his footsteps were light, yet they held a strange rhythm.

He walked to Ava's side without looking at the wound on her face, not even handing her a tissue.

He just passed by Ava and walked straight toward Hammer, who was still waving his pipe wrench.

"Are you the one who calls the shots here?" Chen Mo asked.

His voice was low and flat, as if he were asking about the weather today.

Hammer looked down at the Asian man who was half a head shorter than him, his disdain growing even stronger: "And who are you? The boy toy raised by that little girl? Get lost, this isn't the place for you to..."

"Click."

Chen Mo placed the briefcase on a rusty oil drum lid nearby and flipped the latches.

The lid popped open.

The midday sun shone into the case without reservation.

In that instant, the whole world seemed to have been pressed on mute.

The workers who had been clamoring were still open-mouthed, but they couldn't make a sound.

All gazes—hundreds of eyes—were fixed on that case like iron nails drawn by a magnet.

It was money.

Neatly arranged, densely packed Franklins.

The green ink reflected a charming luster in the sunlight, and every bundle was tied with a special bank band, with astonishing thickness.

A full million dollars in cash—for these oil workers who rolled in the mud all day and would break heads over a few dollars of overtime pay, this wasn't just money; it was a miracle.

It was something that could buy their lives.

"Gulp."

It was unclear who swallowed their saliva, but it sounded exceptionally loud in the silent crowd.

Chen Mo reached out and casually grabbed a bundle from the case.

The band was torn off by him, and one hundred brand-new hundred-dollar bills fanned out in his hand, making a crisp rustling sound.

That was the most beautiful music in the world.

He held that stack of money and gently tapped it against Hammer's stubble-covered face.

"There is one million here," Chen Mo's voice remained calm, but at this moment, it sounded like thunder to everyone's ears.

"This money was originally the startup bonus for today."

Hammer's breathing became rapid and heavy, his eyeballs filled with bloodshot veins, and his Adam's apple bobbed violently.

His hand instinctively wanted to reach for that stack of money; he could barely hold the pipe wrench.

"Miss Rockefeller is very sincere," Chen Mo waved the money in front of Hammer. "As long as the machines are running, everyone gets a share."

The crowd stirred. The iron bars they were holding slowly lowered, and the ferocity in their eyes turned into desire.

"However."

Chen Mo changed his tone, and that stack of money wasn't handed to Hammer but hung in mid-air.

"Only those who work get the money," Chen Mo stared into Hammer's eyes, the corners of his mouth slightly raised, revealing a row of white teeth. "Those who cause trouble only get funeral money."

Hammer's eyes flickered.

He thought of the promise McLean had given him, but this million in front of him was real cash, and it was right within reach.

Greed overcame reason.

"Give me the money." Hammer suddenly reached out, wanting to snatch the stack of bills from Chen Mo's hand, or even grab the case directly. "I'm the one in charge here!"

His fingers just touched the edge of the bills.

Chen Mo let go.

The bills drifted down like green snow.

The moment Hammer's gaze followed the bills downward, Chen Mo's hand moved.

That hand, which didn't look particularly sturdy, was like a hydraulic clamp, instantly locking onto Hammer's outstretched wrist.

There was no warning, no superfluous words.

The muscles in Chen Mo's arm instantly tightened, exerting force in the opposite direction.

"Crack!"

A crisp, teeth-aching sound clearly spread across the entire site. It was the sound of the ulna and radius breaking simultaneously.

"Ah—!!!"

Hammer's scream was as shrill as a butchered boar.

His palm bent back at an eerie ninety-degree angle, white bone fragments pierced the skin, and blood sprayed out instantly.

"Too bad," Chen Mo let go, letting the two-meter-tall giant kneel on the ground, clutching his wrist and rolling around. "Your hand is broken; you can't work."