Standing in the alley next to the restaurant, Mr. Anderson handed Lance the $400, his expression a mixture of cold indifference and disgust.
By now, Anderson was convinced that these two were hired to stir up trouble.
He had no shortage of “enemies” in Jingang City. Alberto, that greedy dog, was certainly one of them. Then there was his former business partner—
Recently, the partner had noticed how well the restaurant was doing and reached out two weeks ago, hoping to repurchase the shares he’d sold to Anderson at the original price. Naturally, Anderson had refused.
It wouldn’t be surprising if that petty man, who resorted to extortion when facing difficulties, had orchestrated this.
And of course, there were rival restaurants in the area. Nobody would complain about having too much business.
They’d rather see customers waiting an hour outside their own establishment than going to a competitor’s restaurant and spending less for a full meal.
The better his business did, the more likely his competitors would resort to dirty tricks.
He needed to figure out who was behind this.
“Here’s your money. Let this matter end here…”
Lance counted the final $20 bill, stacked the cash neatly, and slipped it into his pocket. His smile, reflecting the sunlight, was unbearably dazzling. “Of course, Mr. Anderson. We’re people of our word.”
Anderson sensed there was more to that statement but couldn’t quite pin it down. After some hesitation, he finally asked, “Who sent you?”
He expected Lance to dodge the question, lie, or spew nonsense. He imagined many possibilities—except what Lance actually said.
“Two hundred, Mr. Anderson,” Lance replied casually. “For $200, I’ll tell you the truth. No haggling.”
Anderson was so furious he nearly choked. “I’ve never met someone as shameless as you in my life!”
Lance took a step back and gave a slight bow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I have other things to do this afternoon. If there’s nothing else, we’ll be leaving.”
“My poor friend still needs to see a doctor, and I’m not even sure $400 will be enough!”
Anderson’s temples throbbed as he lowered his voice, seething with anger. He thought Lance was just being greedy, trying to extort even more money.
“Listen, you little b. If you dare set foot in my restaurant again, I’ll call the police! I know powerful people who’ll make you regret ever being born!”
With that, Anderson turned and stormed off—but only made it a few steps before coming back. His hands trembling with rage, he counted out another $200 and threw it against Lance’s chest.
“Now, tell me that son of a bit*h’s name. Right now!”
Lance quickly counted the money, grinning ear to ear. “Alberto Coti, sir. I currently work for him.”
“F*ck!” Anderson roared as he stormed away.
Elvin, looking puzzled, tugged on Lance’s sleeve. “Won’t Mr. Coti be mad that we sold him out?”
“Sold him out?” Lance waggled his finger, taking $60 from the pile and handing it to Elvin. “This isn’t betrayal. If Mr. Coti wants his money back, he has to put enough pressure on Mr. Anderson.” ᚱ𝒶ΝȪВƐs
“If we didn’t tell him who was behind this, Anderson might blame someone else entirely. In the end, he needs to know exactly who’s causing him grief and where to go to fix it.”
Lance pocketed the remaining cash, then led Elvin back to the car.
The blazing sun hung overhead, scorching everything on the ground.
As soon as they opened the car door, a wave of stifling heat poured out, reminding Lance of the oven in a bakery.
He frowned, waited a moment, and finally slid into the seat.
The black leather upholstery, hot enough to burn, made him wince with discomfort. He rolled down the windows, trying to let in as much outside air as possible.
“So… where are we going next?” Elvin asked, clearly suffering from the heat as well.
Lance started the car, glancing in the rearview mirror. “To find people who want to make some money.”
The car soon returned to the culvert where they were temporarily staying. Lance had brought some food with him since they hadn’t rented a proper place yet.
The culvert, surprisingly cool with its constant draft of air around 10–15 degrees, was a stark contrast to the outside heat. Some of the thinner residents even had to wear extra layers.
No wonder so many people chose to live in culverts during the summer.
When Lance pulled up, the group of companions quickly gathered around.
“We made some money today. Mello, when it cools down a bit tonight, take everyone out to buy some clothes.” Lance handed Mello $80.
With about twenty people in the group, that came to at least $4 per person.
“That’s too much. Over by the Port, there’s a second-hand market where you can get a whole outfit for just $1!”
The Port area had several markets like this, catering to the many poor residents. Most of the clothes sold were either recycled from other regions or outright stolen.
There were thieves who specialized in swiping clothes off drying lines—or even stealing them from laundromats.
Some were salvaged from dumpsters in middle-class or upscale neighborhoods.
The nicer-looking clothes were pricier and usually not affordable for Port residents. The standard offerings were $1 per outfit or 60 cents per piece.
Lance shook his head. “No, buy something decent like what I’m wearing. We’re going to be moving in higher circles soon, and we can’t look shabby.”
Mello had no more objections.
Although some in the group asked how much Lance had made this time, he merely smiled and didn’t answer. Elvin remained silent as well.
“Does anyone know people who are immigrants from the Empire and have legal status here?”
“We have something to do tomorrow, and it’s a bit risky. Anyone without proper documentation might get into trouble. I need about twenty locals or people with legal immigrant status.”
The group immediately started chattering.
Many people from the Empire had settled in the Federation, and some had even obtained legal status. They had contributed significantly to the Federation’s economic growth.
“Little Red Riding Hood’s uncle and brother are legal immigrants. I’ve heard him mention it before.”
In the Federation, the term “Little Red Riding Hood” wasn’t exactly flattering. While it appeared in animated fairy tales and movies, it had a darker connotation.
Some predators who preferred younger prey called their victims “Little Red Riding Hoods” and themselves the “Big Bad Wolves.”
This particular “Little Red Riding Hood” got his nickname because he looked almost like a girl. At sixteen, he was fair-skinned, slender, and even pretty. On the ship, he’d worn a red baseball cap, which sealed the nickname.
Unlike Lance and the other illegal immigrants hoping to settle, Little Red Riding Hood had come to join his uncle.
He’d been forced to take a smuggler’s ship because the Emperor had prohibited men from freely leaving the Empire.
Without smuggling, there was no way out.
In addition to Little Red Riding Hood, a few others provided leads.
The internal problems of the Empire had been ongoing for some time, driving waves of people to leave for the Federation. Many now lived in this area.
Lance asked for addresses and phone numbers, which he planned to follow up on.
The anti-immigrant sentiment in Jingang City hadn’t subsided yet. Although it wasn’t escalating, neither was it improving.
Many blamed city hall or the state government for inaction, but in reality, this was simply a political battle at higher levels involving Jingang City.
Once the political struggle ended, the city’s stability could return in as little as three days.
When it came time to visit Little Red Riding Hood’s family, Lance went alone. He didn’t need a crowd for this task.
Their home was in a low-income apartment block not far from the Port.
As Lance stepped out of the car, his presence drew attention. It wasn’t common to see someone driving into such a poor area, much less getting out of the car.
People stared until Lance entered the building, then turned to gossip.
The address led him to the seventh floor of an old apartment building. The elevator reeked of urine, with a puddle in one corner.
Spit and crumpled tissues littered the floor, likely to be kicked into the elevator shaft eventually.
The entire building smelled faintly of mildew and rot.
Reaching the door, Lance adjusted his clothing and knocked.
A man in his late thirties opened the door. With clean-shaven features and brown hair, he stood out from the Federation trend of bearded men. His eyes were sharp and wary.
“Who are you looking for?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Gerald.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m from the Empire. You can call me Lance. We met on the ship.”
The man scrutinized Lance again. Noticing the relatively expensive clothes Lance wore, his wariness lessened slightly.
After a pause, he opened the door. “Gerald’s at work. He won’t be back until evening. Come in and have a seat.”
Lance entered, glancing around. The space was modest
and cramped.
He set the fruit he’d brought on the table in a visible spot. He knew how to handle interactions with people at this level.
“You can call me Bolton. I’ll call you Lance, alright?”
“Want something to drink?”
Bolton checked the cabinets and apologized. “Sorry, we only have water.”
He poured a glass of tap water and set it on the table.
“You’re probably new to the Federation and might not know this yet, but the tap water here is safe to drink.”
“If you taste it carefully, you’ll notice it’s slightly sweet.”
“The Federation spent decades protecting water quality and perfecting filtration systems. They even add minerals to it.”
“I’m not saying the Empire is bad, but compared to the Federation, we still have a long way to go.”
Staring at the glass of tap water—likely lead-contaminated—Lance immediately understood what kind of person Bolton was and how to handle him.