Chapter 170

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News of Lance’s return spread quickly throughout the Empire District. He was now a super big shot in the Empire District, and soon, people started showing up at his door. It was Bolton.

He had recently recruited a group of people who, instead of wearing Lance’s uniform attire, roamed the streets in plain clothes. When they noticed something unusual, they could call Lance or notify Bolton.

This approach effectively curbed street crime. Some criminals, without even knowing what had happened, were severely beaten and then dumped at the police station entrance.

The entire neighborhood had become very quiet and peaceful, much better than before. Many people were genuinely grateful to Lance, after all, only Lance had truly done something, instead of just trying to extort or exploit them.

However, not everyone was jubilant or felt excited and happy. Some were quite worried, for example… the business owners in the neighborhood. Protection fees were unavoidable, and the Lance family had never said they wouldn’t collect them.

Now, their concern was how much the Lance family would collect each month, whether it would be too much, and how often they would collect it. The Empire District police department already collected a considerable amount. If the Lance family collected even more, they might… not be able to bear it.

Bolton had been making quite a name for himself on the streets recently. Now, everyone knew he was a member of the Lance family. Although he didn’t wear their uniform, Mr. Lance gave him money every month, and he distributed this money to those who roamed the streets all day. So, some people proactively sought out Bolton.

Around nine in the morning, Bolton emerged from the elevator. He had purchased an outfit similar to Lance’s with his own money, but without the armband.

That thing looked like just a red silk band, but he knew it also represented an identity, a symbol. Until Lance agreed, he couldn’t do that. However, his current life already satisfied him greatly; he managed to save over a hundred dollars each month.

In fact, he could save more, but he knew this was the limit of what he could get. He couldn’t blindly get more, or there might be trouble. Although he was a very worldly and petty person, he also had some sense of propriety.

He had already resigned from his previous job. In fact, it made no difference whether he resigned or not; he was already on the verge of unemployment during the anti-Imperial period. Many companies he had worked for before were supporters of the Socialist Party.

These people were not only conservative but also very hostile towards outsiders. Sometimes they would stand in groups of two or three in the pantry or at the pantry door, holding coffee and chatting, full of laughter.

But when Bolton walked past, they would immediately stop smiling and disperse. This blatant, undisguised workplace bullying and isolation were not uncommon in the Federation. After the anti-Imperial movement erupted, the company found an excuse, pointed out a small mistake, and sent him home to “think things over,” and he hadn’t been called back to work since. But fortunately, he had a new job.

The duty manager on the first floor of the apartment building immediately stood up when he saw him emerge from the elevator. He lightly touched the brim of his hat. “Mr. Bolton!” A very polite attitude; this was exactly what Bolton wanted. “Good morning, Kaufman. I hope Rob and Nancy haven’t given you any trouble these past few days.”

“How could they?” The manager named Kaufman smiled warmly. “I helped them clear some trash these past two days…” Nancy was a very lazy girl, especially after Gerald came to their home, she handed all the work to Gerald.

Now that Gerald was gone, she herself was somewhat unwilling to work, so often she would pile garbage at the door instead of taking it out herself to dispose of. The manager would check the hallway every time he changed shifts, and when he saw garbage outside their door, he would casually throw it away. Do you think this was his job? No, he just wanted to curry favor with Bolton, because Bolton’s stock was doing well now.

Bolton also tipped his hat. “I truly worry about the future of those two children. In any case, thank you for your help, Kaufman.” He said, walking to the mailbox, opening it, and taking out a newspaper and a few letters.

He walked out while looking at the letters. He cut through the alley and crossed two streets to a spot slightly west of the Imperial District center, where there was a nice bread and coffee shop, offering both bread and coffee.

As soon as he entered, many people would greet him. After taking off his coat, he sat in a window seat, which everyone had saved for him. The owner brought him breakfast and coffee. After he said thank you and paid, some people continuously came over to tell him something and then left.

He liked this job. Although he… hadn’t become super rich or incredibly powerful because of it, some people already needed to rely on him to live, and he loved this feeling. Also, the way others looked at him, with respect—this too, he liked.

As he was looking at today’s newspaper, as a rising… social elite, he naturally needed to understand more about what was happening in the world. He had subscribed to every newspaper available for order in Golden Port, including those for soliciting prostitution, just in case they might be useful someday.

While contemplating the actions of the important figures in the newspaper regarding certain policies, several business owners from nearby shops approached.

“Mr. Bolton…”

Bolton put down his newspaper, picked up his coffee, and took a small sip. The owner of the neighboring bread and coffee shop immediately came over with a coffee pot and refilled his cup. Others had to pay for refills, half price, but Bolton’s refills were free. It seemed like a difference of only a few cents, but in people’s eyes, this was the difference in class, the meaning of privilege!

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Gentlemen?”

Several shop owners stood before him, not sitting down. One of them, who seemed to represent them, stepped forward. “Mr. Bolton, the Lance family has stabilized the territory left by the Camille gang. Shouldn’t we discuss the protection fees?”

“Honestly, Mr. Lance has made this place very safe, and we’re actually very willing to give them money, but… we’d like a little more information.”

Listening to the other party, Bolton vaguely understood that they feared the Lance family would demand too much. But this was indeed a problem. He thought for a moment. “I’ll ask Mr. Lance. Please wait.” There was no phone here. His belongings were all on the table; no one would take them. There was a public phone booth right outside the coffee shop.

Originally, others wanted to follow him, but when he opened the coffee shop door, he looked back, and these people immediately stayed put. They knew he didn’t want them to eavesdrop on his conversation with Mr. Lance.

He walked proudly, even somewhat gallantly, into the phone booth, elegantly putting a cigarette in his mouth. The moment he turned, the composure on his face transformed into ingratiating flattery. He held the phone with both hands, avoiding others’ gazes. The call was answered quickly.

“Mr. Lance, it’s me, Bolton.”

“Is something wrong?”

Lance had just threatened Sam, and before he could do anything, the phone rang. He wasn’t afraid of Sam reporting him to the mayor at all. Firstly, Mr. Pasoretto could cover for him. Secondly, as long as the value he demonstrated was higher than Sam’s and the girls’ value, the mayor would definitely choose him.

Politicians in the Federation were as realistic as capitalists: as long as you had value and could bring them value, you were good friends. But if you had no value and couldn’t bring them benefits, then they could turn their backs on you in a second, pointing to the door and telling you that you needed an appointment to talk to them! Politics and capital had no warmth.

He had to settle some things at the dock as soon as possible, so that even if the mayor was somewhat displeased, he would make a choice after weighing his options. But before he could do anything, Bolton called. He was also curious if Bolton had discovered anything.

“It’s like this, Mr. Lance. The shop owners on the street are very grateful for everything you’ve done recently. Stable street security and community relations are what each of us yearns for.”

“At the same time, they have some questions about upcoming business… uh, protection fees. For example, how much we’ll collect, when, and how.” He used “we” to strengthen his connection with the Lance family. Lance did not deny this. If you want people to work for you, besides money, you can also give them a sense of identity, a sense of honor.

He pondered for a moment. “Go spread the word. Have each street elect two to three representatives. Come to the nightclub this afternoon, and we’ll have a good discussion.”

This wording surprised Bolton, because Lance used the word “discuss.” Clearly, he didn’t intend to follow others’ examples by simply setting a price he deemed appropriate, regardless of its fairness, and then start collecting. Bolton also realized that perhaps he would set a new trend, or even a new direction!

“Of course, Mr. Lance, I’ll do it right away.”

“This afternoon, around four o’clock, at the Imperial Night nightclub, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I understand. I won’t disturb you anymore. Goodbye!”

The moment Bolton hung up the phone and turned around, his slightly stooped body straightened again. He pushed open the phone booth door with a cigarette in his mouth, looked left and right, then stepped towards the bread and coffee shop. He thought doing this was cool, and he simply did it, for no other reason.

After entering the bakery, he reiterated Lance’s message. “This news needs to be spread by all of you, preferably as quickly as possible. I will also have people disseminate these messages.” The business owners finally breathed a sigh of relief after hearing this.

They all expressed their gratitude to Bolton, then quickly left. Not long after, Bolton made several more calls, and soon some people began to approach small vendors, house by house, in the neighborhoods currently controlled by the Lance family, discussing the matter.

“Mr. Lance hopes that your street can elect some representatives to come to Imperial Night at four o’clock this afternoon to discuss the matter of protection fees…”

The news spread quickly. This was also the first time in history that some people were worried, concerned that Lance might have some trick up his sleeve, a cleverly disguised scheme. Regardless, they were ultimately not “white” (innocent), and even if they were, it was impossible for them not to ask for their money.

But some people also felt that this might not be a bad thing. At least so far, they hadn’t heard of anyone being harmed by the Lance family. On the contrary, there were many stories of them actively compensating when they accidentally injured passersby or damaged items in roadside shops. This also led some people to believe that it should be a good thing.

Today was a workday, and fortunately, there weren’t many pedestrians on the streets. After discussing among themselves, everyone nominated candidates they believed could represent them.

Of course, there were also some who came to watch the show, or who didn’t wish to be represented, totaling about a hundred people or more. This number of over a hundred people was not many for the Imperial Night nightclub; the main hall could accommodate them all.

People started arriving gradually around three o’clock, and Lance finally arrived fashionably late at five past four. He walked directly onto the stage, looked at the people sitting below, and had Bolton bring a chair up. He then sat on the stage.

“Actually, even if you hadn’t come, I was planning to have Bolton contact you…” Hearing Lance call his name, Bolton immediately stood up, turned to face the “representatives,” and bowed slightly. Some people didn’t know him, but now they did. From Lance’s perspective, this type of honest scoundrel was actually more useful than a hypocrite.

He raised his hand to motion for Bolton to sit down. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to get to know each other later.”

“I’ve also looked into it before. The protection fees in the Empire District range from ten to sixty dollars. In the busiest business areas, the fees are generally above forty dollars.”

“More remote shops generally pay around ten dollars.” These representatives nodded.

They didn’t really want to pay either. Most shops’ monthly income now essentially covered their own and their family’s wages, with a little extra surplus. Like Johnny’s situation, besides his and his daughter’s wages, he could still have over a hundred dollars left each month.

It seemed like a lot, but if he had to pay salaries to Lance and his apprentices, even if he only paid thirty dollars per person, he would only end up with forty dollars more in income.

This is also why exploitation will always be prioritized during the budding stage of capitalism, because the profits from exploitation sometimes exceed operating profits. The more people are exploited, the higher the income. Although not all shop owners are Johnnies, the current situation is exactly like this.

The reason they could tolerate lower incomes was that running their own business meant they didn’t have to tolerate the condescending attitude of Federal bosses, nor would they be bullied, nor would they be exploited as human resources.

Moreover, their income was ultimately higher than working for someone else. As long as the fees weren’t too outrageous, they could actually continue. These people were somewhat nervous now, because what Lance was about to say concerned their future household incomes.

Lance deliberated for a moment. Although his voice was not loud, it landed in everyone’s hearts like thunder—

“I do not intend to collect protection fees from the district.”

Gasp! Almost everyone stood up, looking at Lance in disbelief. One of them, an old man who must have been sixty or seventy, his hands trembling slightly, exclaimed, “Mr. Lance… you’re not joking with us, are you?!”

Although he was several times Lance’s age, he used honorifics toward Lance. He was too excited, too surprised.

One must know that the Empire District had at least two or three thousand shops. About sixty or seventy percent of them were now under Lance’s control.

Even if it was sixty percent, that’s twelve hundred shops. If each household averaged twenty dollars, that would be twenty-four thousand dollars. This was not a small sum; it was an astonishing figure. How could he… bear to give it up?

But in reality, this calculation wasn’t quite right. Not all businesses would pay this fee. There were always some troublemakers or those who genuinely couldn’t afford it. If you demanded it, they would refuse. If you didn’t manage them, they would reopen later. And for those who might or might not genuinely be unable to pay, you couldn’t really do anything to them if they didn’t pay.

The truly lucrative sources of fees were the commercially concentrated neighborhoods. These neighborhoods were generally collected by “higher-level gangs,” while other less profitable areas were collected by neighborhood families.

But Lance intended to change this previous state. He didn’t plan to collect protection fees anymore. On one hand, even if this money amounted to thirty thousand dollars a month, after paying salaries and the “protection fees” he had to pay, there wouldn’t be much left.

Getting a bad reputation among Imperials for this small amount of money was not a good thing. Heller and his family’s biggest mistake was that after they overthrew the gangs that had previously oppressed Imperials in the Empire District, they did not raise the banner of Imperials, but instead became a new great mountain.

It’s not to say that a great mountain is necessarily bad. If this great mountain can shield from wind and rain, and also produce abundant resources, becoming a backer for the people.

You wouldn’t even need to ask; they would eagerly find ways to hand over the money. But if you only sought to continuously extract and exploit from them, then eventually, they would only try to overturn this great mountain. Lance did not want to be a short-sighted mountain; he wanted to be a larger mountain, a mountain of support in people’s hearts!

This was the most wonderful era, because everything was barbaric!

Everyone seemed to hold their breath at this moment, looking at Lance, wanting to see if he was truly joking with them. And then, Lance affirmed his statement again.

“I have no intention of joking with you; this is my decision.”

“I will not collect any form of protection fees from any business within the Empire District…”

People’s faces broke into disbelieving smiles and laughter. If they could earn dozens of dollars more each month, or even just over ten dollars, it would be a good thing for some business owners.

This was also a considerable amount of income. Lance raised his hand to quiet them down. “Besides this, I also have something else I want to talk to you about. I plan to establish the Imperial Chamber of Commerce…”

(End of this chapter)