They realized something was wrong as soon as they arrived at the Imperial Night nightclub.
By the time they reached Imperial Night, the gunshots had already stopped. It was said that the only car had also suddenly left about twenty minutes earlier.
The people inside Imperial Night didn’t dare to venture out. The four bodies on the steps were still warning them that this was no joke; people really would die!
Whose life isn’t a life?
Everyone had parents, possibly wives and children. They joined the Camille Gang, or worked here, simply to earn money!
There were no higher ideals, and even if there were, they had nothing to do with what was happening now!
Coupled with the fact that the phone at the manor wasn’t answered, this ultimately led to the current situation.
The two trusted subordinates, who had just gotten out of the car, immediately ordered the cars to turn around and return to the manor.
The drivers didn’t dare to delay, pressing the accelerator to the floor. Fortunately, there were no cars on the road at night, and no police guarding the traffic lights.
They had been deceived. No one was actually storming the Imperial Night nightclub. Lance’s purpose in doing this was to draw out all the manpower guarding the manor!
The two cursed Lance’s shamelessness and deceitfulness, while anxiously looking around, hoping that this would alleviate some of their anxiety.
However, the two weren’t overly worried, because the safe room was truly safe.
Heller’s entire family had been killed by enemies in gang battles, so he was very concerned about his own safety. Not only did his manor have a safe room, but the Imperial Night nightclub also had one.
They had seen that safe room and tried to damage it.
Regardless of whether they used hot weapons or anything else, it was very difficult to destroy it.
Heller was not joking about his safety. He even joked that to get him out of the safe room, short of him coming out voluntarily, even the Federation army couldn’t do it!
As long as Heller didn’t foolishly come out, they didn’t need to worry at all that Lance and his people could harm Heller.
And what they needed to do was to get back before Lance left.
Though they didn’t know if they would make it in time.
The attitude and thoughts of these two were actually the same as Heller’s: they couldn’t always be on the defensive; they had to find a way to take the initiative.
During this time, they had been on guard against Lance’s attacks and realized that this was Lance’s conspiracy.
But knowing it’s a conspiracy is useless.
Either stay in the old nest, waiting for Lance to actively come to their door.
Or, find a way to lure Lance out, set up an ambush in advance, and eliminate him and his people once he enters.
Many people, while observing the unfolding situation, wondered what they would do if they were Heller.
Only to find that they seemed unable to do any better than Heller.
Although they had been tricked into coming out this time, for these two, they felt it might not be a bad opportunity!
“Go, head back immediately!” one of them shouted. The men by the car immediately returned to their vehicles. A dozen cars quickly turned around and headed towards the manor.
Eighty-odd people, all armed with submachine guns, how could they lose?
The quiet road was very quiet; no one spoke. Some people were prepared for the battle that might erupt next, while others were filled with tension.
Four of their high-ranking cadres had already died at the hands of Lance’s group. No one knew how many more they could kill, whether it would end here, or continue.
When the cars had driven two-thirds of the way, the first car suddenly lost control and crashed into the roadside bushes.
Although the second, third, and fourth cars had noticed, they successively lost control as well.
“It’s caltrops,” someone got out to check and picked up a spike from the ground.
Looking at the caltrops in their hands, the two seemed to have lost all hope of making it back in time.
They had to abandon the four cars with burst tires and drive ahead in the remaining vehicles.
As for the others, they proceeded on foot.
When the convoy arrived at the manor, they saw the scene from before.
The front tire of a truck was already stuck in the fountain pool. The two large gates, locked with iron chains, were between it and the fountain. The entire manor was quiet, no gunshots, no other sounds.
There were no cars here; it seemed they had already left. One of the two trusted subordinates stamped his foot in anger. “They left too quickly!”
The other shook his head. “We came back too late. Nearly an hour. If they found they couldn’t get into the safe room, they would definitely loot and leave. Who would still be here now?”
“But we also need to be careful…”
They cautiously held their weapons, covering each other as they walked towards the house. By now, they could already hear strange “slapping” sounds.
Trusted Subordinate A frowned, “Did you hear something?”
Trusted Subordinate B, standing in the crowd, looked around. “I heard it, but I didn’t see anything…”
The main gate of the manor building faced due south, and they entered from the east, so they could only see the side of the building.
They didn’t know what was making these sounds, but they all believed the sounds were coming from the house.
Initially, these sounds made them a bit nervous, but hearing only sounds and no movement soon made them relax their guard.
Until, they could see the main entrance of the building.
About twenty of their men were hanging from ropes suspended from the rooftop against the wall. The sea breeze on this December night was strong, blowing these people back and forth, crashing and scraping against the outer wall.
When someone was thrown high by the sea breeze and then quickly lost the support of the wind, they would hit the wall with a loud “thump.”
The deep brown wall had already turned reddish and dark. The lights meant to illuminate the exterior of the house now illuminated them.
“Ugh!” Someone couldn’t help but vomit in disgust. This sound seemed contagious, and soon more people began to feel nauseous and sick.
The expressions of the two trusted subordinates were as dark as the bottom of a pot. Trusted Subordinate A, with a grim face, pointed at a few subordinates who weren’t vomiting and said, “You guys, go to the roof and get them down.”
A few subordinates nodded and ran into the house first. The carpet in the main hall was completely soaked with blood, and stepping on it gave a slowly sinking, sticky, moist feeling.
And with each step, they heard a “squish,” which gave them an indescribable psychological unease.
A chilling sensation began to envelop them. The manor, which they had once envied and coveted, was now so quiet that it made them feel afraid!
Suppressing their psychological discomfort, they rushed to the rooftop, pulled out their daggers, and began cutting the ropes.
On the other side, when the two trusted subordinates strode into the study, they already had some ominous premonitions in their hearts.
But until the very last moment, they would never believe that Heller would die, not with a safe room!
When they looked through the observation hole on the safe room door and saw Heller, who was “cosplaying a fish,” they were speechless for a moment.
He was just floating back and forth in the water, his face as pale as the two trusted subordinates outside.
But before they could react, intense gunfire erupted within the manor. The two drew their pistols and had just peered halfway out of the study when bullets forced them back.
Lance hadn’t left!
Of course, Lance hadn’t left!
If he left, where would he find these people later?
So he simply hid the cars and made it look like they had left. These people just walked in, with hardly any precautions!
All of them were scattered, while Lance’s side used their local advantage to continuously pick off the separated gang members. Although the battle was fierce, it didn’t last long.
Everything outside had completely shattered these people’s will to resist. Plus, Heller and his two trusted subordinates hadn’t appeared, so soon some people broke down and ran away.
If they hadn’t run, perhaps the battle would have continued for a while, but their running only made the battle end sooner.
As the two trusted subordinates listened to the gunfire outside gradually dying down, they exchanged glances, realizing that everything was over.
“We surrender…” They voluntarily threw their guns onto the hallway floor, then walked out of the study with their hands raised.
But what greeted them was not forgiveness, but bullets!
Several people walked up to them, raised their submachine guns, and emptied the last bullets from their magazines into them.
Looking at their still not entirely lifeless bodies, Lance lit a cigarette. “Forgiving you is God’s business, and I, I will only eliminate you!”
He stepped over the two bodies that were about to become corpses, entered the study, picked up the phone, and dialed Mr. Pasoretto’s number.
The phone rang about four times before it was answered. “The Mister is already resting. If it’s not important, I can relay the message for you…”
It was the butler’s voice. Lance sat in Heller’s chair, which, like the one in the Imperial Night office, could completely envelop his body. “I’m Lance. The Camille Gang is a thing of the past. I hope to receive Mr. Pasoretto’s help.”
The butler paused, hearing this. “Heller…”
Lance looked at Heller, who was still “cosplaying a goldfish.” “He’s scuba diving next to me.”
However, it seemed the butler had no sense of humor and didn’t quite understand Lance’s words.
“He’s been diving for half an hour.”
Now the butler understood. He seemed to grasp the dark humor and chuckled twice. “Please don’t hang up…”
The butler put the phone down. In fact, Mr. Pasoretto was not resting; he had just returned from a social engagement and was enjoying a massage.
Here, there were the most skilled young women from Summuri Island, not skilled in that kind of way, but in massage techniques. They would completely relax Mr. Pasoretto’s body, allowing him to fall asleep more easily.
The butler walked halfway, and it seemed the dark humor finally hit him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle a few more times.
At this moment, Mr. Pasoretto was lying on the sofa bed, so comfortable he was almost falling asleep. The butler’s footsteps and laughter made him turn his head and look towards the door.
“Sir, it’s Mr. Lance on the phone.”
“He’s dealt with Heller and his men. The Camille Gang is finished. He hopes to receive your help.”
Mr. Pasoretto was somewhat surprised. “Just now?”
He raised his hand, signaling the two young women they could leave, not forgetting to say thank you.
Then, wiping himself with a bath towel, he stood up. “Tell him to wait a moment. I’ll get dressed and be right there…”
“By the way, what were you laughing at just now?” He looked at the butler with an inquisitive expression.
Five minutes later, there was some sound in Lance’s receiver. “That was a good joke, Lance!”
It was clear that the butler had also told the dark joke to Mr. Pasoretto. Compared to the butler’s lack of humor, Mr. Pasoretto, who was clearly more adept at social engagements, had a rich sense of humor.
“I hope Heller didn’t forget his diving gear…” He paused, then continued, “What are your thoughts?”
“The Imperial District needs management, and I am the best person for that. I have legal Federation identity documents, and I have very deep friendships with Imperial people.”
“I will govern this place very stably, and I will find ways to provide more jobs for the people here, and for Federation people.”
“In addition, I will quickly secure over eight thousand votes on the docks…”
If the previous words only made Mr. Pasoretto feel indifferent, then the last sentence sparked some interest.
Being a manager doesn’t actually require much personal ability. Management is not a skilled trade; you don’t need to know the difference between one thread and two threads by touch.
Nor do you need to make sure the stitches are so fine that no flaws can be found.
You just need to tell people what they can do, and what they can’t, and make them understand the consequences of breaking the rules!
The Federation’s lower-level managers are endless, not because the Federation produces many managers, but because there are no barriers to entry for managers.
But rulers do.
Sometimes, some regulations must be obeyed even by the highest rulers. Everyone knows the consequences if they don’t comply.
As long as people still adhere to these rules, then the game factors they establish for these rules become exceptionally important.
Like taxes, like unemployment rates, like economic growth rates, like… votes!
Many people refer to “votes” as the “foundation of rule.” The direct election system for lower-level rulers means they must please all voters. Whoever can sway the voters’ attitudes can determine who is truly in charge at the lower, most powerful level.
“Eight thousand votes is a lot for other cities, but for here, it’s still lacking a bit of meaning.”
Lance continued, “And the Imperial District has a population of 120,000. I can’t guarantee that everyone has a vote, but there are at least about twenty thousand legitimate votes.”
This was something Lance had learned when he was hiding during this period, reading things that were helpful to him, which included the issue of voting rights.
After the end of the civil war, to resolve the issue of efficient cotton pickers and the growing number of immigrant citizens, the Federation passed a new amendment, the Voting Rights Act.
This act stipulated that male cotton pickers and male immigrants were eligible to vote, but also stipulated that they “must be people who are helpful to society.”
So how does one confirm that a male cotton picker or immigrant male is helpful to society?
In fact, the Federation government and capitalists understood this very early on—
In the beginning, before this amendment, they stipulated that the landowning class were the masters of the Federation, but with changing times, it became unlikely for everyone to be large landowners or large farmers.
This required flexibility.
How to be flexible?
Either you pay taxes, letting people know that you are at least middle-class, or even a capitalist, inherently possessing voting rights, or engage in large-scale consumption.
This consumption doesn’t mean if someone buys one donut and you buy two, it proves you can consume more than others and therefore deserve voting rights.
You have to buy a house!
When immigrants or efficient cotton pickers now participate in serious political activities and assert their rights, they will ask if you drove here, and then they will ask which community your house is in.
Not “the house you rent” or “where you live now,” but “the house you bought, in what community.”
If you can buy a house, or if you pay substantial taxes, you are a person who contributes to society. Everyone else is not!
So the content of the new amendment was very simple: only male adults, twenty-one years or older, who were Federation-born citizens and owned their own property or had long-term tax payment certificates, could obtain voting rights.
That is, the right to vote.
In fact, this rule, let alone for cotton pickers and immigrants, many native citizens couldn’t even meet the requirements.
A house costing a few thousand dollars seems cheap, but who the hell would spend twenty years of savings to buy a house just for voting rights?
Many native Federation citizens live in rented houses, and these people also do not have voting rights.
With the recent advancement of the equal rights movement, it is rumored that Congress has begun discussing whether to grant women the most basic political respect, which means allowing “women who are helpful to society” to vote.
However, it is likely that most women will not obtain voting rights, as most of them do not own their own property.
But the docks were not as bad as Mr. Pasoretto suggested. While the Imperial District could only produce ten or twenty thousand votes, a single dock could produce at least eight thousand votes, which clearly indicates its value.
Moreover, workers have power!
Mr. Pasoretto on the phone line was deep in thought. After a while, “I can only speak for you if you can achieve this.”
“And I want to ask, what can you do for me if I help you?”
Lance took a deep drag from his cigarette, slowly exhaling. Mr. Pasoretto on the other end of the phone couldn’t see Lance’s rather triumphant expression through the phone line.
“I can help you launder money more cleanly at a lower cost, bring more votes, and gain greater social influence.”
Mr. Pasoretto listened and then noncommittally said, “Are you going to join my family?”
“No, I will serve you!”
One was a master-servant relationship, the other a subordinate relationship. Mr. Pasoretto did not immediately refuse or show displeasure, but seriously considered the feasibility of the matter.
The conditions Lance proposed were, frankly, very appealing.
Coupled with Alberto’s connection to him, Mr. Pasoretto finally made a decision. “Alright, but you’ll also have to pay regularly, like other families or gangs!”
Lance immediately stood up. “No problem, Mr. Pasoretto!”
“Mister?”
“Boss!”