Invasion of the United States

Kelly's eyes lit up, "Yes, Kongges definitely can't go back to the police station. But with his ability and public reputation, he is more than qualified to be a project manager."

Kongges has been a policeman for over ten years, handled hundreds of cases, arrested a plethora of criminals, and faced gunfire without flinching. He isn't a simple brute.

He is fierce, alert, resilient, responsible, and possesses both decisiveness and seriousness. Such a person is needed to control the overall situation in a start-up project.

"I'll find Old Beck and see if he can come up with something. At worst, I'll spend more on bail. We should be able to get him out."

Kelly decided to use her connections to solve this problem. She also said casually, "That guy named Maurice came, and he said he wanted to thank you personally for your help."

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At the same time, Old Hammer appeared quietly in Philadelphia, USA, with thirty million US Dollars—this "old revolutionary city" just two hundred kilometers from Washington.

This is the birthplace of the United States' independence, with many old buildings in the city, and a heavy sense of history permeating every brick and stone.

When Hammer stepped into the city, his appearance was completely renewed.

The old man who was half-buried, waiting silently to die, disappeared, replaced by a suit-clad, radiant old-school elite.

The only thing unchanged was the phone he clutched tightly in his hand, with the screen displaying snippets of his records since leaving the nursing home.

"Turns out I experience memory loss from time to time," Hammer murmured, brows knit tightly. He looked through his phone records, piecing together his experiences since leaving the nursing home.

"I worked as an 'hourly worker' for a while and even met a silly kid named Victor."

"I actually got thirty million US Dollars from Victor? Is that kid an idiot? Giving me so much?"

But the key question left the old man perplexed: "Why did I leave the nursing home in the first place?"

He searched his phone but found no relevant records. This matter was too important, too discreet, and he hadn't recorded it on his phone.

Beside the old man was a fierce-looking man, the same person who drove him away that day and saluted Zhou Qingfeng.

Seeing Hammer's bewildered look, the man gently reminded him, "The Tree of Liberty must often be refreshed with the blood of patriots and tyrants."

"Ah… the blood of patriots and tyrants," Hammer repeated softly. This sentence was a key, instantly unlocking his closed memories.

His expression became solemn, his eyes firm, "I know why I'm here.

Let's go, meet the foundation companions, hope their blood is still hot, still determined, still devoted to God and believing in justice."

The two drove to a nondescript café in the city. In the café's second floor, several members of the 'Patriot Foundation' had been waiting for a long time.

Among these people, some were old with white hair, some were over fifty, and some were in their prime. As Hammer appeared, they all stood up, eyes full of respect.

The meeting's organizer stepped forward with enthusiasm, saying, "Everyone, welcome Hammer Lee. The genuine article resides on M|V|L&EMPYR.

He raised thirty million US Dollars at once for this operation, completely solving the funding issue."

Although it was broad daylight, the small meeting room had closed windows, with only an old-style hanging lamp overhead, casting dim light and shade.

Washington traffic maps were pasted on the walls, stacks of books and documents marked 'top secret' piled in the corner, with a faint coffee scent lingering in the air.

In the center of the room was a simple wooden table surrounded by a few chairs, with scattered cups of cold coffee and several handwritten plans on the table.

The room, though simply furnished, was filled with a secretive atmosphere of a small organization's private gathering, every inch brimming with untold conspiracies and silent vows.

In a cheer of slogans, Hammer walked into the room with a calm and confident smile on his face.

He nodded to everyone, his gaze sweeping over each eager face, confirming his companions' loyalty and passion.

But as he did so, the old man's mind started to get fuzzy again.

Each clear face gradually twisted and spun, as if pulled by invisible forces, becoming blurred and unfamiliar.

The surroundings also began to shake, with walls seemingly melting, the floor tilting, and even the coffee aroma in the air becoming pungent and unpleasant.

Everyone's words rang in his ears, yet sounded distant, obscure, as if in a language he had never heard before.

He tried to focus, attempting to grasp those scattered words, but they slipped away like sand through his fingers, irretrievable.

His smile grew stiff, his eyes vacant, as if his soul had been drained from his body, leaving only a useless shell maintaining the surface calm.

"Hammer, are you okay?" someone asked with concern, the voice echoing in his ear but failing to penetrate his chaotic thoughts.

He opened his mouth, wanting to respond, but found himself unable to organize even the simplest words.

The old man's mind repeated one name incessantly: "Victor... where is Victor? My name is Hammer, I was his hourly worker."

"Who is Victor? Is he the secret hunter you recruited for this plan?" Seeing the old man confused, his 'Patriot Foundation' companions grew anxious.

"Hammer, the 'decapitation' operation has begun. You are one of the planners, you can't fall ill at this critical moment!"