A swift and decisive victory in the early stages, a post-apocalyptic survival story in America!

After a busy day at work, Maeve McCallister drove back to her residence.

The moment she took out her key and opened the door, she saw the white-haired man sitting on the sofa in the living room.

Maeve instinctively reached for her gun, then quickly withdrew her hand, placing her briefcase on the cabinet by the door. She sighed, "Bernard! When did you arrive? Let me know beforehand, and I could have picked you up from the airport..."

Bernard sat in the armchair, looking at Maeve, and remained silent.

Maeve felt a little embarrassed. She poured herself a glass of wine, carried the bottle to the sofa, and refilled Bernard's glass as well.

After she sat down, Bernard asked, "Does Dylan know that man?"

Maeve blushed, but thankfully her skin was dark, so it wasn't very noticeable. She shook her head hesitantly, "You...you noticed?"

Bernard sighed. "I understand the difficulties you face coming from Washington, D.C., and living apart from your spouse. But you are the head of ICE in Los Angeles, and your scandals could have irreparable damage to our image. I hope you remember that."

Maeve lowered her head and explained, "We haven't been together long, so don't worry, I know what I'm doing..."

"That would be best." Bernard picked up his glass and took a sip. "After the incident in Minnesota, we've encountered a lot of obstacles in our work. There's a wave of public opinion, the higher-ups aren't taking it seriously and their attitude is very tough, while the people below don't care. We're caught in the middle, which is the most difficult situation. You need to be clear about this."

Maeve was taken aback and asked, "I feel the situation has deteriorated rapidly these past few days. What exactly is the higher-ups' attitude?"

Bernard scoffed: "What kind of attitude could it be? Donald is about to face the midterm elections, and he can't wait to use this to promote his image as a countryman and a people's advocate! But when this term ends, do you think he has a chance to be re-elected? If he can't be re-elected, will those of us who are on the front lines be purged by the Democrats?"

"When he walks away, all of us will face congressional hearings and trials! Don't forget, he was investigated at the end of his last term!"

Maeve nodded solemnly.

Even after a president steps down from office, he is still called a president.

If even the president's Mar-a-Lago resort is being investigated, one can only imagine what a small fry like myself would face.

"It's uncertain how far the situation in Minnesota will escalate. There are many different voices within the department, including radicals and appeasers..."

Maeve moved her lips, wanting to ask, "Which faction do you belong to?", but she held back.

As if on cue, Bernard shook his head: "I've always been pragmatic; things should be done the way they should be done. People need to be arrested or killed, but the necessary media publicity also needs to be done. It's just a pity that I'm not valued now. My suggestion..."

Maeve nodded solemnly; her old mentor was indeed that kind of person.

It's just a case of killing the wrong person, nothing serious. We should apologize where necessary, rectify the situation where necessary, and continue as before.

Without this kind of style of doing things, one cannot be promoted from Los Angeles to Washington.

Even if someone is ostracized or marginalized, it's not because they lack ability or skill.

On the contrary, the fact that the department still relies on Bernard's abilities despite their differing ideologies speaks volumes.

"Nothing else matters. What matters is keeping what we have. That's your foundation, understand?" Bernard stood up, tugged at his leather jacket, and put on his cowboy hat, looking like an ordinary old cowboy.

He instructed Maeve, "Hurry up and get on with what I asked you to do. I was just passing by, so don't let anyone know and don't alarm Lola. She's my only daughter, and if something happens to her..."

Maeve nodded hurriedly, "Don't worry, this won't happen again. I've set up a special investigation team and we'll definitely find the mastermind behind this. Please give me a few days!"

"I've always believed in your abilities, which is why I recommended you to succeed me as the head of the Los Angeles region. Don't let me down."

Watching that elderly yet still upright figure disappear into the night, Maeve clenched her fist tightly and gently closed the door.

……

……

Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue neighborhood in southern Los Angeles.

Roger Stern parked his beat-up Skoda in the driveway and pulled out his keys to open the door.

"Hey buddy, need some money?" A few handsome young black men approached under the cover of night. They were all dark-skinned and wearing black jackets, so you couldn't see them unless they opened their mouths.

Roger took off his hoodie hood: "Do you recognize my face?"

"Holy mozzarella!" one of them exclaimed. "It's Dr. Roger Stern! Hey, Stern! I never knew you lived here!"

"You know me?" Roger knew he had run into someone he knew, so he didn't need to bring up his connections to intimidate him.

"Of course! Two years ago, I was shot in the butt, and you were the one who removed the bullet! But you definitely don't remember me!"

"Really? Your butt doesn't hurt anymore, right?"

"Thank you for the anti-inflammatory medication; it left no lasting effects!" The man was very enthusiastic and asked curiously, "Hey, buddy, how come you live in a place like this?"

Roger shrugged. "This is my father's old house, of course I'll live here. But what about you guys, how did you end up making your fortune here?"

The young Black man grinned, revealing his large white teeth in exasperation: "We have no choice. We can't get into the better neighborhoods, and we can't rob anyone in the poorer ones, so we can only try our luck here..."

Roger waved his hand: "This won't work, those are all poor bastards. Go three blocks north, that's where the bankers and insurance agents are, go extort and rob them!"

"Roger that, sir!" The young Black man gave a military salute and pulled a box from his pocket. "I don't have much money, so please keep these spiked cigarettes for yourself!"

Roger politely waved his hand, "Keep it for yourself, I don't need it."

Roger breathed a sigh of relief after seeing the group off.

I'm not afraid of gang members. As long as there's a chance to reason with them, I don't need to worry.

What I fear most is encountering a mindless drug addict who, without asking a single question or giving me a chance to explain, will pull out a gun, kill me, and then rob me...

Roger sighed, opened the door and went inside. Before he could close the door, a black Chevrolet Suburban suddenly braked to a stop in front of the door.

The screeching of brakes drew barks from dogs and the attention of countless neighbors. Roger stood guard at the door, looking utterly helpless.

Nancy, dressed in a black leather jacket and pants, got out of the car and strode into the yard.

"What are you looking at?"

Roger shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Can you please not be so conspicuous? This is a peaceful and quiet community. You're going to scare the neighbors!"

"Peaceful? Tranquil? Are you sure? Did you know those guys who were trying to rob you? Besides, what are you afraid of? Don't the neighbors know me?" Nancy didn't take it seriously at all and pushed her brother aside to enter the house.

"What are you doing here?" Ignoring his sister's inexplicable anger, Roger released the hunting dog Bart from its cage, prepared food for it, and started cooking.

"I had nowhere else to go, so I came to chat with you." Nancy lay down on the sofa, her beautiful figure on full display.

"Let's talk, what do you want to talk about?"

Nancy hesitated for a moment, pondered for a long time, and then said, "I think Miles is hiding something from me."