“Uncle Bolton, I heard this apartment is owned by you and not rented. Is that true?”
Lance glanced at the glass of water on the table, showing no intention of touching it. Mr. Bolton kept waiting expectantly for him to take a sip, ready to confirm his point with something like, “See? Didn’t I tell you? The tap water here is odorless and even sweet!”
Lance needed to change the subject, and when he spoke, he chose a topic Mr. Bolton couldn’t ignore.
Bolton’s lips curled into an uncontrollable smile. The tension in his facial muscles, meant to keep a serious expression, broke down into a less formal grin. His desire for Lance to validate his claims about the tap water was forgotten.
“Gerald told you about that?”
“It seems you two really are close friends!”
He took a deep breath, his tone carrying a subtle sense of pride, as if to say, Well, since you’ve found out, I might as well admit it.
“Yes, that’s right. I own this apartment.”
“You probably don’t know what I went through when I first arrived here. But no matter what, I’ve grown alongside this city, and it has given me its greatest gifts in return.”
“I bought a home, got married—although we divorced later—secured insurance, and have a work card. I no longer worry about soldiers of the Emperor dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night, handing me a faulty rifle, and forcing me to swear loyalty to the royal family.”
“All I need to do here is work hard and earn my pay!”
He chuckled a few times before continuing, “I’m not trying to brag, Lance. This is the Federation Dream. It came into my life, and I hope it can do the same for you.”
“Work hard, endure, persevere—this society will reward you for it. If it hasn’t yet, it just means the reward will come later. No matter how late, it will come. This is the Federation!”
“Put in the effort, and you’ll reap the rewards!” he concluded with a fervent expression, like a preacher extolling the virtues of hard work to a group of farmers. It left Lance slightly nauseous.
“You truly are an incredible person!” Lance replied insincerely, throwing in a compliment that made Bolton burst into hearty laughter.
He enjoyed sharing his “success stories” and basked in the joy of boasting about his achievements. At that moment, he was thoroughly satisfied.
“You can achieve the same. Buy your own property here, build your life, and get your immigration status,” Bolton declared.
“All you need is to work steadily toward your goals!”
He paused to wipe away the white flecks of saliva accumulating at the corners of his mouth from talking too much. “By the way, I haven’t asked yet—what do you do for work, Lance?”
Bolton gave Lance a pointed look, scanning him from head to toe as if assessing his outfit, which looked rather expensive.
Lance maintained a polite smile. “I work for some locals. It’s not traditional employment. I handle difficult situations for them, and they pay me in return.” 𝙍ÃɴÔ₿Ёs
Bolton’s expression, which had been warm and expressive, suddenly grew less lively.
Most ordinary workers, who willingly subjected themselves to the exploitation of capitalists, were not fond of the kind of work Lance described. It represented instability and risk, a far cry from the secure life Bolton valued.
The atmosphere grew slightly tense, but it wasn’t entirely Bolton’s fault. Most regular people preferred to avoid any association with underworld affairs.
“That’s good,” Bolton replied perfunctorily, glancing pointedly at the clock hanging on the door to the bedroom, clearly wanting Lance to leave.
Feigning obliviousness, Lance continued, “I haven’t been here long, so I’m not too familiar with Jingang City.”
“Uncle Bolton, since you’ve lived here for so long, you must know the local community well. Could you tell me about the lives of Imperial immigrants in this area?”
Bolton hesitated, but perhaps out of consideration for Gerald’s friendship with Lance, he eventually relented.
“There are about 30,000 Imperial immigrants here with identity cards. The rest… are illegal immigrants.”
“Those of us with identity cards gather at St. Naya’s Cathedral on weekends.”
“I’ve heard of other gathering spots, but I haven’t been to them myself.”
After a moment’s thought, he added, “Since you’re close with Gerald, here’s some advice: avoid the Camille Gang.”
When Lance pressed him for details about the Camille Gang, Bolton clammed up.
He also indicated that it was getting late and he had work to do, leaving Lance with no choice but to bid him farewell.
Although Lance didn’t meet Gerald, he had gained some insight into the lives of Imperial immigrants in the area.
As for the Camille Gang, Lance wasn’t sure what they were involved in, but he already had a theory:
The deadliest wounds often come from the least expected people.
People remain wary and cautious around enemies, but when dealing with their own, they lower their guard—leaving an opening to be stabbed right in the heart.
Fortunately, the weekend was just a day away. In the meantime, Anderson could stew over whether he wanted to settle his debts.
That afternoon, Lance went to the company.
Although he had assured Elvin that selling out Mr. Coti wouldn’t be a problem, he still felt the need to inform the man.
When Lance arrived, the staff greeted him warmly.
Competent individuals are welcomed and valued everywhere, and even the receptionist painting her toenails at the front desk looked up and greeted Lance with a casual “Hi.”
Fordis wasn’t there, having gone out for work. Lance headed straight to Mr. Coti’s office, where he found him on the phone.
To avoid being rude, Lance waited at the door until he was invited in.
“Sorry, the call took longer than expected—it’s the end of the month.”
The second quarter was nearing its close, and the third quarter was approaching. This was a busy period for finance companies and banks, as they scrambled to tidy up their accounts to appease investors and shareholders.
Much of the work involved short-term loans—overnight, three-day, five-day, or weekly arrangements—offering high interest rates.
Coti had just finalized a one-week loan. He lent out $200,000, and the borrower would repay $215,000 with interest after seven days.
It seemed like a modest profit, but $15,000 for a single week was substantial.
The company was reputable, with adequate collateral, and they signed a legally binding loan agreement.
In fact, Coti almost hoped the borrower wouldn’t repay, as it would allow him to legally seize their assets through the courts.
He was in high spirits.
“Sit down. Anderson called me. You did an excellent job,” he said, offering Lance a cigarette from a pack.
“On the phone, he cursed more filthily than the dirtiest w I’ve ever met. I’m a little annoyed.”
“I’m debating whether to recover the money or to focus on venting my anger. Lance, what’s your take?”
Having secured his first job and even prompted Anderson to call him, Lance’s capabilities had already impressed Coti.
Curious, Coti wanted to hear Lance’s perspective.
Lance barely hesitated before replying, “No one in their right mind turns down money. If I were you, Mr. Coti, I’d take back what’s mine first—then make sure to vent my frustration.”
Coti clapped his hands, clearly pleased with Lance’s answer. “You’re right. I won’t say no to money…”
He pondered for a moment before asking, “What’s your follow-up plan?”
Lance didn’t hold back. “Mr. Anderson cares deeply about his restaurant, so I plan to keep targeting it.”