Being carried onto an ambulance at the start? But this is America!

Li Ping met Germain's gaze and calmly said, "A customer, a customer who's here to buy a car."

Germain didn't say anything, and looked at him for a few more seconds.

Then he turned and walked towards the garage: "It can't be less than eight thousand, otherwise there's no point in talking."

The roller shutter motor made a dull sound as the garage door slowly rose.

Light streamed in, illuminating the 1996 Cadillac Fleetwood, extended bulletproof version.

The car is over six meters long, entirely black, and the paint is in excellent condition, still gleaming with a deep luster in the dimly lit garage.

The chrome-plated bumper is as thick as a shield, and the car windows are more than twice as thick as those of ordinary cars.

Two American flags stood on either side of the front of the car, vaguely telling the story of how it once carried a powerful figure along Washington’s tree-lined avenues.

But its overall condition far exceeded Li Ping's expectations; it looked very impressive.

Germain stood beside the car, his rough hands resting on the hood as if on the shoulder of an old comrade.

His voice was low and deep. He didn't look at Li Ping, but only at the car, "V8 engine, bulletproof glass, chassis armor, self-sealing fuel tank..."

Li Ping walked around the car once.

He didn't know how to repair cars, but he knew about cards. The card player said, "This car can be fixed."

Upon hearing the price of eight thousand, Gray felt he had lost face in front of Li Ping, as he had previously heard that the maximum price quoted was seven thousand.

He didn't come and quoted 7,000, but when he came he quoted 8,000. Does this old black man have some misunderstanding about the status of property managers?

Gray tapped his fingers on the car door, his voice rising: "Eight thousand? Germain, are you crazy?"

He listed them off one by one, "This old antique from the 1990s, the engine sounds like late-stage emphysema, rattling and clattering. I could tell it was a sign of impending engine failure as soon as I heard it."

Bulletproof glass? The bulletproof glass fogs up so badly it's like a sauna! The air conditioning is intermittent, the windows are jammed, and you're telling me it costs eight thousand?

With each word Gray spoke, Germain's shoulder twitched.

After a pause, Gray added a sharp remark: "Two thousand, that's the most I can get, and that's only because you live in Albu."

Germain's dark face nearly flushed with anger: "Grey, you—"

This car is a testament to his life's glory. If he weren't short of money, why would he sell it? He wanted to curse, but he didn't dare to utter a sound.

Otherwise, the property management would cause trouble again. He knew the owners' committee wanted to kick him, a black man, out of the community.

"Although this car is old, it is the senator's personal car and has less than 80,000 miles on it."

Germain said very seriously, "The whole car has original paint, and the bulletproof glass meets Level 3 protection standards. Tell me, where can I buy this for two thousand dollars?"

Gray wasn't buying it at all: "Listen to me, Germain, a perfectly good one would cost tens of thousands, but nowadays even ten or twenty thousand might not be enough to fix it. Do you have that kind of money?"

"No way? Then it's just a pile of unsellable scrap metal, sitting in the garage and needing to be kept there. What's the point?"

The property management company's confrontation with the homeowners to this extent is utterly outrageous.

Li Ping watched quietly from the side without saying a word; he vaguely understood the ins and outs of the place.

A Black man living in an upscale white neighborhood, despite having once driven for a congressman, is a somewhat unsociable member of the community.

The homeowners' committee really wants to turn Albu into an all-white community.

For the Black residents, the frequency of lawn mowing was strictly monitored, the angle of trash can placement was precise to the degree, and various fines were issued. Old Germain was angry but there was nothing he could do.

In fact, ordinary property owners in the United States certainly wouldn't dare to confront homeowners.

However, the Albu community was developed by ING, and there are ING members on the owners' committee and the property management company is also under ING. They are key to maintaining the rising house prices.

That's why Gray, who works at ING, dares to be so arrogant; he has received hints from above and is being ostracized both openly and covertly.

With Gray's help, the two sides bargained for a while, with Germain making concessions one after another.

Finally, he said helplessly, "Fine, for Gray's sake, 4500 it is."

"Deal." Li Ping nodded.

Germain took the car keys out of his pocket, held them in his palm for a few seconds with reluctance, and then handed them over.

Li Ping took the key, played with it, and said with a smile, "Thanks, Mr. Germain."

Li Ping successfully bought the car from Germain for $4500.

This was actually $500 cheaper than the price suggested by the card, which really surprised him. He thanked Gray again.

Li Ping and Jieman went to the DMV. It cost 4,500, and with the transfer fee and taxes, the total came to a little over 5,000.

After driving away in his own car, Li Ping saw in the rearview mirror that Germain was still standing there, his hands in his pockets, gazing into the distance.

He slammed on the gas and sped away.

This car is really old.

With a body length of over six meters and a V8 engine, the car is quite noisy inside.

The bulletproof glass is ridiculously thick, but it fogs up, and Gray wasn't wrong about it.

The air conditioning isn't cooling, the windows easily get stuck when rolled up halfway, and the steering wheel shakes like a massage gun when idling.

But the advantage is that it drives very smoothly on the road, so nobody is afraid of it.

At 60 or 70 miles per hour, the [Path Bloodline] in Li Ping's mind suddenly unfolded.

The three-dimensional sensing field with a radius of more than 200 meters is like a 360-degree panoramic image, projecting road conditions, vehicle distances, pedestrian trajectories, and blind spots at intersections into the consciousness.

He could even sense the BMW driver's intention to change lanes behind him on the right; he had already anticipated it before the other driver even turned the steering wheel.

He could drive this car steadily even if he used his feet.

More importantly, it's also very stylish.

Although it's been around for a while, the all-black, extended Cadillac, with its six-meter body towering over the road, has chrome bumpers that gleam silver in the sunlight.

Although the small national flags on both sides of the front of the car have faded slightly, they still stand upright in the wind.

I stopped at the traffic light, and a guy in a Dodge in the next lane rolled down his window:

"Hey buddy, is the senator on a tour?"

Li Ping ignored him and rolled up the car window that was stuck halfway.

Eighth Street.

Fletcher was strolling around the street corner with two of his henchmen when he saw the black boat approaching from afar, and his dreadlocks nearly stood on end.

"Holy shit!"

As he got closer, he realized it was Li Ping driving. He rushed over and leaned against the car window.

"Boss? Where did you get this car? The last time I saw one was in The Matrix."

Two of his underlings also surrounded him, their eyes wide like saucers.

"Boss, this car is so cool!"

"I thought it was some councilor coming to inspect our poor neighborhood!"

"Boss, can I sit in the back for just one minute?"

Looking at the group of yelling guys, Li Ping rolled down the car window halfway: "Perfect, everyone get in the car, come with me to recruit someone."

Fletcher immediately opened the car door, sank into the back leather seat, and let out a satisfied sigh, as if he were being sucked into a sofa.

"Boss, I swear, I've never ridden in such a comfortable car in my life, the leather smell..."

Li Ping was too lazy to pay attention to their antics. Although the car was well-maintained, it wasn't that exaggerated.

Third block.

Miles leaned against a graffiti wall, screwdriver in hand, making a last-ditch effort to salvage a broken radio.

His son, Miles Jr., seven or eight years old, with a face full of freckles, was holding a tattered car repair manual and peering at it.

Li Ping said, "I heard he's very good at repairing cars, so I'd like to ask him to help me fix this car."

"I think I know him. Miles, a pretty arrogant mechanic. He used to work at a repair shop on Seventh Street for a while," Fletcher said uncertainly.

"That's right, it was Miles. He was a good mechanic, which led to the repair shop replacing parts less frequently during that period, resulting in poor profits. Plus, he was arrogant and even clashed with customers. He was fired by his boss after just over a month!"

One of my underlings used to hang out in the Seventh District and knew the specific reason.

Li Ping immediately understood what had happened: good skills don't necessarily guarantee making money.

Just like how much it costs to patch a tire, it's a different story when you replace the entire tire.

Car repair skills are just so-so; the key to making money is knowing how to trick customers into spending money on replacement parts and how to rip people off.