Empire of Shadows

In the morning, after preparing the formula, the fat boss left. He rarely left in the morning because it was also a peak sales period.

The streets outside were dirty and messy. According to customers who came to buy bread, the city's cleaners were on strike today—

This book is first published on the entire network by 𝕥 𝕨 𝕜 𝕒 𝕟 . 𝕔 𝕠 𝕞

This was a polite way of saying that, in reality, the street cleaning in King's Harbor City was mostly done by illegal immigrants.

They demanded very low wages; twenty-five dollars a day to sweep the streets twice.

Hiring locals would cost at least thirty-five dollars. Ten dollars might not seem like much, but if the base number was large enough, it would be a staggering amount.

There were two types of city cleaners. One type belonged to the City Management Bureau, and these people worked for the federal government.

They received salaries, social insurance, medical insurance, social security, and various benefits and treatment in accordance with government employee standards, as well as more vacation time and shorter hours.

The other type was private. For example, cleaning companies contracted street cleaning work for a certain block from the city hall at relatively low prices.

They would hire illegal immigrants to work and only give them a little money, with the remaining difference being their profit.

When the city hall found that the cost of hiring its own cleaners was much higher than contracting it out to these private companies, they would hold meetings and then contract out this part of the public service.

The purpose of saving expenses was not to better serve the society, but to put more money into their own pockets.

Now, the conflict between locals and illegal immigrants in the city was intensifying. Even if some cleaners were locals, they didn't dare to go out to work alone.

So, a forced strike occurred. Of course, this might also be another kind of political demand, telling the citizens to calm down through such means.

Just one night and one morning without cleaning, and the streets looked much dirtier. The donkey and horse manure on both sides of the road emitted a continuous stench under the high temperature.

It was best if it didn't rain today, otherwise, the rainwater would mix with the animal feces, and the whole street, the whole city, would be filled with this stench.

Today, the peak sales period ended quickly. People came early, bought their bread, and left, rarely chatting here.

Around eleven o'clock, Fordis's car, the one he drove last time, stopped outside the store.

He sat in the car, looked at Lance through the window, and honked the horn, "Kid, get in!"

Lance took off his apron, handed it to the fat boss's daughter, casually asked for a leave of absence, and got into the car.

"The boss wants to see you," Fordis started the car, trying to avoid the animal feces.

Although this stuff wouldn't damage the car, it was a hassle to clean up after the feces were squeezed into the tire treads.

But the road was full of it, unavoidable.

"About what?" Lance had a hunch in his heart, but he still asked.

Fordis shook his head, "The cigarettes are in the drawer. You'll know when you get there."

Fordis didn't speak on the way, concentrating on driving. Demonstrators could be seen everywhere on both sides of the road. In some alleys, some people could be seen ganging up on a few people.

During this time, Lance also saw the police enforcing the law. They just tied a few demonstrators who participated in the beating of black immigrants to the lampposts on the roadside and then left.

Fordis glanced at him, as if explaining to Lance, "The police station is full of these people, it can't hold any more. Besides, they can't be sent to prison, so the mayor signed the 'On-the-Spot Disposal Administrative Order' this morning."

"This kind of behavior will be directly locked on the nearby lampposts for twenty-four hours."

Lance found the cigarettes, lit one, "Is it a big deal?"

He curled his lips, "So many people from other places are pouring in here, you know how big it is."

Joining in the fun has always been a favorite pastime of the federal people outside of work, but there are also some professionals who get paid to do things. The federation doesn't lack such groups.

No matter when, where, or how large of a demonstration you want to create, as long as the money is in place, there is nothing they can't do.

Here, luxury cars also have privileges on the road. Without anyone stopping them, they entered the alley behind the finance company. This was their parking lot, and there were many luxury cars inside.

Two strong men sat on chairs by the back door, bragging while drinking coffee. They greeted Fordis and stared curiously at Lance.

"This is Howard, this is his younger brother Little Howard. Their old man had a little too much to drink when filling out the birth certificate."

The older brother, Howard, raised his hand and made a dismissive gesture, "Don't fucking mention that!"

Fordis shrugged, took Lance's arm, and entered the back door.

The back door led to a large room, like a lounge, with sofas, chairs, small round tables, as well as a dartboard, pinball table, and pool table.

Many people sat here. Perhaps because everyone usually stayed here, the floor creaked when stepped on.

They greeted Fordis, and the latter responded to them, but more curious gazes lingered on Lance.

Many people were afraid of these people, but before their "switch" was triggered, they weren't scary at all, and even very easy to get along with. This was Lance's experience.

He also learned from Fordis and greeted the others with a smile, while taking Fordis's cigarette and offering it around.

"Is this a newcomer to the company?" An old guy really liked Lance and couldn't help but ask.

First impressions were very important. Lance was likable, young, handsome, clean, and his smile and attitude were impeccable. There was no reason not to like him.

Fordis took back the cigarette that Lance was about to finish, "The boss wants to see him."

The others didn't speak at this time, they could only wish him good luck.

Entering the finance company from the side door, the beautiful receptionist was putting on makeup in front of the mirror. She glanced over here when she heard the sound, and Fordis explained again, "The boss wants to see him."

Only then did she turn her head and continue busy applying putty to her face.

Walking to the end, turning left, Fordis opened the door to the office, but he didn't go in, "Good luck, Lance."

He also liked Lance quite a bit, but now he could only wish him good luck.

The boss was watching the news. In the news, the police chief repeatedly warned the public not to commit crimes easily and showed the results of their work that day on the screen.

How many people were arrested, how many crimes were stopped, but there was no mention of when the city would stabilize.

"Do you watch the news?" He raised his hand towards Lance without turning his head, signaling him to sit down, "What do you want to drink? Go to the bar. I'll finish watching this news. I remember you smoke, the cigarettes are in the cigarette case."

Lance took a cigarette, lit it, and leaned against the side of the table, also watching the news.

At the end of the news, the chief stated that he would do his best to restore order to King's Harbor City as soon as possible. What surprised Lance was that he actually saw the policeman who collected protection fees from the fat boss standing behind the chief.

"What does this guy do?" Lance pointed to that person.

The boss was a little surprised, but he still explained, "His name is John. Don't think this name is ordinary. Here, he has a nickname, called 'Vulture'."

"Now he's transferred to the branch office as an assistant director. Anyway, he's not a good person."

Who collects black money and who doesn't is not a secret to people in this circle.

But it was strangely amusing for a loan shark to say that a policeman who collects black money is not a good person.

After the news ended, the boss turned around and motioned for Lance to sit down, "I forgot to introduce myself last time. I'm Alberto Corti. You can call me Alberto, or Mr. Corti."

Lance nodded, indicating that he knew.

Alberto touched his lips, "I've been watching the news these days. There was a large-scale conflict in the port yesterday. I heard that your people are no longer allowed to work in the port?"

"Temporarily!" Lance explained.

The creditor certainly had more power to demand that he explain all the problems, and he also needed to give this Mr. Corti a little guarantee.

He laughed twice, without explaining why he was laughing, then sighed, "Now these outsiders have made a mess of the city, and we don't have enough manpower."

"You gave me a promise before that if needed, you would come to work for me. Is that promise still valid?"

Lance felt a little surprised, but not very surprised, "Of course, Mr. Corti, my promise is valid at any time."

"It's just… you know, the situation outside is a bit complicated now, and we may not be very good at doing certain things."

Alberto raised his hand to stop Lance from continuing, "I'm not stupid, I know what kind of work to arrange for you."

"I have two debts here. These two guys are planning to run away, so can you get the money they owe me back?"

"If you can handle these two cases, then the money you owe me will be written off."

Lance didn't agree immediately, "How much money do they owe you?"

Alberto took out two loan contracts from the drawer and threw them on the table.

When Lance picked them up, he found that these were very formal contracts, so it seemed that they had also consulted legal counsel.

One was a loan of one thousand dollars, and now the principal and interest together were three thousand five hundred dollars.

The other was a loan of two thousand dollars, and now it was five thousand dollars.

He whistled. There was no more profitable business direction than high-interest loans!

"Before I decide whether or not to do this, Mr. Corti, do they have the money to pay you what they owe?"

Alberto spread his hands. "Of course, they do. If you can't squeeze the money out of them, bring them to me. It'll still count as a completed job for you."

"So now, what's your answer?"