Empire of Shadows

In an antique shop on the street, the bandana-wearing owner hung up the phone, a subtle smile on his face, and returned to the front desk with a tattered notebook. Now, he just needed to stall for time.

He had just called the Lance family. As an antique shop specializing in dealing stolen goods, every antique shop owner had their own network of contacts within the gangs.

This business, dealing in stolen goods, wasn't something just anyone could do, even though it seemed simple.

You only needed a storefront and a little cash to start, but it wasn't that easy.

There was a case where an antique shop owner and his entire family went to meet their maker. During the day, he was dreaming of getting rich, but by night, the dream was over, all because they had accepted something they shouldn't have.

If you were in this line of work and didn't know what you could accept and what you couldn't, then chances are you wouldn't last long.

And the reason this matter spread so quickly, even reaching his ears, was related to Bolton—

Since taking Lance's money, Bolton had been promoting Mr. Lance's generosity throughout the Imperial District. In many people's eyes, Mr. Lance was a powerful gentleman willing to help the Imperials.

That was the cost of university, which ordinary families couldn't afford, but Mr. Lance could provide it without any return.

Coupled with some "positive news" recently circulating about Lance and the Lance family, and the annihilation of the Camilla gang, they had developed a blind trust in this Mr. Lance.

In fact, Imperial immigrants at this time hoped that a powerful figure would emerge from among them, so that their lives could be slightly better.

Although some people said that Mr. Lance was a native of the Federation, who had a rough childhood and was sold to a black factory to work with illegal Federal immigrants.

He was subjected to inhumane exploitation and oppression in the black factory, and it was an Imperial immigrant who helped him, so he had a special affection for Imperials.

But others said that he was actually an Imperial, who for some reason suddenly had Federal citizenship, so he was closer to Imperials.

Regardless of which story was true, one fact remained unchanged: he was willing to help Imperials.

This made everyone more willing and more able to accept this Mr. Lance from the bottom of their hearts.

As Lance's mobile propaganda front in the Imperial District, Bolton was naturally seen as Lance's man.

Otherwise, why would he be promoting Mr. Lance's good deeds everywhere, instead of promoting some other Mr. So-and-so?

After the small shop owner was sent to the hospital, his wife and some family members followed him there. His youngest son called the police and waited for them to arrive.

After the police arrived, they briefly asked what happened, took a record, and then prepared to leave.

He stopped the police officer who responded to the call and asked when there would be results. The officer told him to wait for news, and as for anything else?

No comment!

This obviously perfunctory attitude made him feel despair. He had heard before that the police in the Imperial Branch were not very diligent with cases here.

Unless it was a case that alarmed higher-ups or harmed a Federal citizen, they weren't that proactive.

In the past, he would treat this kind of thing as a topic of conversation with his family while sitting on the sofa after dinner, making them feel the injustice and cruelty of the Federation.

But when it happened to him, the despair made him feel fear, unease, anger, and helplessness!

At his worst moment, he suddenly thought of someone: Bolton.

He and Bolton used to be colleagues. Now he heard that Bolton was Mr. Lance's man, someone "capable of solving problems," so he took one hundred dollars and found Bolton.

Bolton was of course happy to see his old colleague, especially since the other party had brought a gift.

He knew about this old colleague. His family ran a small shop, and the business was doing quite well.

The living atmosphere in the Imperial District was relatively closed, and the internal market could absorb his father's goods, so even though it was just a small shop, it could definitely make money.

He could make money himself, plus his younger brother, there were already three people in the family making money, wasn't this the quintessential "Imperial District middle class"?

Bolton had three faces: one for those inferior to him, one for the middle class, and one for those he needed to look up to. He could seamlessly switch between these faces.

After the two sat down and chatted for a few words, his colleague began to proactively explain the reason for his visit.

He needed Mr. Lance's help, and everyone knew that Bolton was Mr. Lance's man.

He couldn't ask Mr. Lance himself, but he knew Bolton and hoped that Bolton could say a word for him to Mr. Lance.

This request made Bolton, who valued face, feel very pleased, but at the same time, he felt a sense of heavy burden. If he couldn't handle this matter, would there soon be rumors that he wasn't really Lance's man?

Then would those people on the street who had been smiling and greeting him these past few days return to their previous state?

He didn't like his previous life. He liked the current one, even if Lance had only given him money once!

He agreed to give it a try and then went to the bedroom. The phone was in the bedroom.

He prayed that he would get through, so that he could truly show his face, and be a truly significant "Mr. Lance's man."

With Lance's current reputation and status in the Imperial District, if he could be regarded as Lance's man, then he would be the real "Mr. Bolton."

But he also hoped that the call wouldn't go through, because he really wasn't that familiar with Lance. He wasn't sure if his friend's request would be accepted.

In such a contradictory mood, he looked through the half-covered door at his former colleague in the living room, who was full of expectation, even with a hint of pleading, and dialed the office's number.

The call went through.

"This is Wanli Office, how can we help you?" the sweet voice of the girl at the front desk made people feel lightheaded. But at this time, his attention was not on this.

"I'm Bolton, I want to talk to Mr. Lance, he should remember me."

"Oh, and I'm Gerald's uncle."

The receptionist didn't know what kind of person he was, but she knew that Gerald and Lance had a good relationship. The girl quickly found Lance and explained the situation, and Lance told her to transfer the call.

"This is Lance, what's the matter?"

"I'm Bolton..." Bolton breathed a heavy sigh of relief, "Mr. Lance, it's like this."

"I have a friend, he used to be my colleague, we worked together..."

Lance directly interrupted him, "Get to the point, our time is precious!"

"Sorry, I just wanted to say that we have a good relationship."

"His father opened a shop in the Imperial District, but it was robbed at noon today, and he's still in the hospital being rescued."

"Five young people shot this poor old man..."

Hearing this, Lance roughly knew what was going on. Such things were common in this era, but he also realized that this was a good opportunity.

"Call a taxi and come to the office in the Triangle District, it's at... Street... number, you can find it, there are many people at the door, we'll talk when we meet."

After saying that, Lance hung up the phone, but Bolton was obviously very happy!

He hung up the phone, coughed, and then pushed open the door of the bedroom. In the expectant, even pleading, gaze of his colleague, he said the answer he wanted, "Mr. Lance asked me to take you to see him. After meeting, you can tell him about the misfortune that happened to you."

"Great, Bolton, you are my best friend!"

Twenty minutes later, they arrived in the Triangle District.

Bolton usually wouldn't come to the Triangle District, the situation here was a bit complicated.

This area was located between the Port District, the Bay District, and the Prussia District. He couldn't afford to offend anyone here, so he rarely came.

Fortunately, the taxi driver knew this place and even thought they were here to rent out work permits, and told them a lot about the Wanli Office on the way.

This office was gradually becoming more famous in Jinguang City, and more Federal citizens who didn't want to work but still wanted to get money were starting to contact it.

Although some other offices had also begun to emerge and learn from Lance's model, they were ultimately just latecomers.

Not to mention the lack of first-mover advantage, it was also difficult for them to match Lance's profit distribution.

Because Lance and his team had many work permits, they could earn a lot of money by taking two dollars from each job.

But for those offices that were not large enough, with only one or two hundred work permits in hand, if they only took two dollars from each job, then their limit would be three or four hundred a month.

If an office only had two or three people, they could barely manage, with each person getting seventy or eighty dollars after expenses.

But if there were more than three people, there would be obvious losses, so they had to find ways to squeeze more profits from both sides.

The stronger their profit motive, the more they pushed these people to Lance's side. Moreover, Lance and his team also issued free work clothes, which led to even non-Federal illegal immigrants being willing to work for Lance.

Before long, some people realized that it would become an undeniable force!

The two who got out of the taxi outside the office were stunned by the crowd gathered at the door. Some were there to find work, some were there to rent out work permits, and some were there to see if there were any other opportunities.

With considerable effort, the two squeezed into the office. Bolton adjusted his appearance, indicating he had just spoken with Mr. Lance on the phone.

The receptionist immediately led him and his friend to Lance's office.

The door opened, and Lance sat in the chair behind his desk. The two walked in somewhat restrained. Lance didn't stand, merely gesturing for them to sit.

Once the door closed, he asked, "I heard from Bolton that you're in trouble?"

"Before I ask anything else, what's your name?"

"Nick, Mr. Lance."

"Alright, Nick, tell me about your trouble."

Nick recounted the events he'd encountered with a sorrowful heart. Bolton tried to interject once, but Lance stopped him.

After Nick finished speaking, Lance had a general understanding of the whole situation. "So, what do you want from me, Nick?"

"If you don't have the money, I can lend it to you so the hospital can do its best to save your father. I can even help you contact excellent surgeons."

Nick gritted his teeth and stood up. "Mr. Lance, we have the money to treat my father. What I want now is for those who may have killed my father to pay the price!"

"A blood price!"

"Please, give me justice!"

Lance looked at the middle-aged man who was bowing, his gaze sweeping over Bolton's face before returning to Nick. "If what you say is true, then I will give you justice."

Nick's face lit up with surprise. He thought of something. "I have nothing to repay you with. I do have some money..."

Lance stopped him. "I'm helping you not because I covet your money or anything else you have, but because society owes you justice, Nick."

"What you can't get from it, I'll give you."

"Go back and wait for news. I believe it won't take too long."

"Also, Bolton, you stay behind."

Bolton briefly instructed Nick, likely suggesting they return together so he could save some money.

Nick also wanted to thank Bolton, as he wouldn't have been able to meet the somewhat legendary Mr. Lance, let alone ask him for justice, without Bolton's help.

So, he planned to treat Bolton as a way to express his gratitude.

"Mr. Lance!" As soon as Nick left, he stood up proactively. His information network was quite good.

He had even heard that Heller had drowned in his study.

This unrealistic death made him even more convinced that Lance was a capable man, one even the police were willing to lie for!

Therefore, he wouldn't feel superior just because he was older.

Bolton's values might be questionable, but his attitude was always correct. Towards those he couldn't afford to offend and tried desperately to curry favor with, he always acted like a lackey.

"You've been doing well outside recently."

He once again stopped Bolton from expressing his gratitude. "Gerald mentioned some of the things you've been doing, but he doesn't seem to harbor any obvious animosity. Besides... you've provided him with a convenience, giving him a legitimate identity."

"If he doesn't pursue the past, neither will I."

"Now, I'm giving you an opportunity to work for me. I need to quickly stabilize the security situation in the Imperial District, and I need to recruit some peripheral members."

"The salary won't be too high, but it won't be dangerous either. Your job is just to walk around the streets all day, or find a place to sit, drink tea, drink coffee, and read the newspaper."

"And also, keep an eye on the pedestrians on the street and provide us with information."

"It's a very leisurely job. I think you should be able to handle it."

Lance opened the drawer and took out fifty twenty-dollar bills, stacked them together, and tied them with a rubber band.

"Twenty dollars per person per month. There's a thousand here. You can recruit fifty people, including yourself."

"However, I won't care whether you can recruit fifty people or only one, as long as you don't affect my requirements for you, understand my meaning?"

Bolton glanced at the cash on the table, his breathing a little erratic, his heart beating a little faster. He had never seen so much money together in his life!

It was only the size of a palm, but it gave him the feeling that he would never earn that much in his life.

He didn't reach for it. Sometimes he was very clear-headed. "Of course, I understand your meaning, Mr. Lance. You want us to be your eyes..."

This is why the antique shop owner knew after Lance started looking for the 'five spice robbers' and even found the real identity of one of them!

He had already heard that the Lance family was paying attention to these matters.

In order to avoid becoming cannon fodder by accident, he proactively called the number the other party had left behind.

Next, what he had to do was wait for the Lance family to come.

The young robber watched the old man with the turban count the money for half a day and still get it wrong. If he wasn't worried that the weapon in the other's hand would go off, he would have snatched it and counted it himself.

"Can you fucking hurry up?" He also became a little anxious. He didn't know why, but the longer he stayed here, the more uneasy he felt.

Maybe something had happened, or maybe the old man with the turban on the corner of the street had seen something. He suddenly put a wad of money on the table. "This is all yours."

The sudden and rapid movement caught the young robber off guard. At the same time, the screech of brakes came from outside the door.

He subconsciously glanced back. He could see two cars rushing towards them, obviously looking for them.

If he still didn't know what was happening, then his brain must have been eaten by aliens!

He turned his head sharply, cursed "Fuck," but saw that the other party had already picked up his deer rifle and told him to "get out of my shop."

He could only take the money, glared at the turbaned boss, and rushed out of the antique shop.

I'll settle the score with you later.

Three cars surrounded them from three streets. The four young men at the door had already realized something was wrong and immediately fled in all directions.

One of the cars had Hiram in the passenger seat. He also brought two rookies. He pointed to one of the people running frantically and said to Laun, "Run him over."

"Are you kidding me?" Laun confirmed again.

Hiram flicked his hair. "Or I can just shoot him now..."

Laun slammed the accelerator, stepping on it all the way!

Hiram could definitely do something like shooting in broad daylight, and he didn't want to make Lance angry!

The car swerved and crashed into the running guy!

Even though the speed of cars wasn't very fast at this time, it wasn't an era where humans could compete with the speed of cars with their legs.

The front of the car, coming from behind, directly hit the man, knocking him away!

He spun in the air, and after a moment that might have been long or short, he fell heavily to the ground.

Hiram opened the car door, pulled up his pants, strode over, and kicked him in the stomach. "Keep running, you fucker!"