Johnny woke up around 4 a.m., not because of a peaceful sleep but because the excruciating pain from his injuries jolted him awake.
Having recently undergone surgery, the anesthetics had worn off, leaving the raw agony of multiple fractures to assault him. His screams woke his daughter, who rushed to his bedside to comfort him.
“It’s over now,” she said soothingly. “You’re safe.”
Johnny’s scattered thoughts gradually coalesced as he blinked through the haze of pain. His pale face was covered in visible beads of sweat. “It hurts so much,” he groaned. “Get the doctor—I need them now!”
His overweight daughter hurriedly complied, bringing the doctor, who gave Johnny a quick check-up.
“The surgery was successful,” the doctor explained. “Pain is expected when you’ve got over a dozen fractured or broken bones. It’s unavoidable.”
Johnny couldn’t take it anymore. Groaning and writhing, he pleaded, “Isn’t there something for the pain? I can’t stand it—I feel like I’m dying!”
The doctor nodded. “We do have effective painkillers, but they’re not covered by your insurance.”
The message was clear: pain relief would come at a price.
Johnny, about to blurt out “Give me the shot!” caught himself. Gritting his teeth, he asked, “How much per dose?”
The doctor smiled. “There are two options. One provides longer-lasting but milder relief. It won’t eliminate severe pain—at best, it’ll take you from ‘screaming’ to ‘quietly enduring.’ It costs fifty cents per dose.”
“The other is a premium option—completely blocks the pain, but it’s short-acting, only four to six hours. Each injection costs three dollars.”
“I don’t recommend either,” the doctor added. “Pain peaks during the first 48 hours. After two days, it’ll subside to a bearable level.”
Johnny wasn’t listening anymore. “Give me the best one—now! I can’t take this anymore!”
The doctor, well-practiced in selling non-insurance treatments, instructed the nurse to bring the premium medication and administered the injection himself.
A miracle unfolded. Within two minutes, Johnny, who had been alternating between howls and groans, was silent.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore!” he exclaimed, almost disbelieving.
The doctor smiled. “That’s the value of three dollars, Mr. Johnny. Call me if you need anything before 9 a.m.”
After the doctor left, Johnny turned to his daughter. “Where’s the apprentice?”
“The police took him,” she replied.
“And what did they say?”
She hesitated, embarrassed. “I’m not sure…”
Before she could elaborate, a police officer knocked on the door. With Johnny’s permission, he entered the room.
“Mr. Johnny, we’ve solved your case,” the officer began. “Your apprentice conspired with some acquaintances to stage this crime. I wanted to inform you personally.” 𐍂ἈŊỒβЁṤ
“By sunrise, we’ll start arresting the suspects. The case isn’t complex, so we’ll be withdrawing officers from the scene. Your family can visit headquarters tomorrow for case details.”
“You should hire a lawyer,” he advised.
Johnny’s face turned pale. “Are you sure the apprentice was involved?”
The officer nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Johnny stared blankly, his mind struggling to process the betrayal. After a moment, he managed a weak “Thank you for informing me so late.”
His daughter had expected him to explode in anger but was surprised by his silence. He simply lay there, saying nothing. She sat quietly by his side, unsure of what to say.
By morning, the sun streamed through the window as Lance stretched, relishing the comfort of a wooden bedframe over cheap accommodations.
After a quick wash, he found his companions awake. The previous night, they had discussed his plans in depth.
In this era—and indeed any era—cash flow was king. But for most people, finding ways to generate wealth quickly was a lifelong struggle. For Lance, however, the solution was straightforward.
Whether starting with little or much, there were always ways to grow money. Inspired by Alberto’s booming finance company and the government’s lenient stance on small-scale private lending, Lance decided to take a similar route to secure his first big break.
But unlike Alberto, Lance planned to avoid the pitfalls. The government’s permissive attitude wouldn’t last forever; maintaining social stability was every ruling class’s goal. Small finance companies might soothe the lower classes temporarily, but their high interest rates made them unsustainable.
This was Lance’s opportunity. While others chased exorbitant profits, he aimed to attract wealth by offering slightly lower rates and building trust.
Later that morning, Lance and Elvin scouted the city for a suitable office location—not too remote, yet not in the expensive city center.
Eventually, they found a two-story roadside building between the Port District and Bay Area. Formerly an electronics shop, it had closed due to poor management. With 300 square feet across two floors and a monthly rent of just 18 dollars, it was a bargain.
For the era, this was a golden opportunity—even real estate was cheap!
Lance sent Elvin to gather their friends. Together, they scoured the secondhand market for furniture. By afternoon, their consultancy was born.
Gathered in the ground-floor lobby, Lance addressed his team.
“For now, we’re focusing on one thing: financial consulting,” he began.
“Simply put, if someone urgently needs money but has none, our job is to solve their problem.”
He divided the work into two categories:
Loans under $100—handled by the team.
Loans exceeding $100—handled by Lance personally.
“Your responsibility,” he continued, “is strictly loans below $100.”
Elvin raised a hand. “Do we have that much money?”
Lance pointed at him. “Good question, but not your concern. I’ll handle that. Let me explain how this works: I take 50% of the profits. You get 20%, and 30% goes into a shared account.”
“Additionally, I’ll pay each of you $20 monthly. The two women handling reception will earn $30. At the end of each quarter, you’ll receive a half-month’s salary as a bonus. Any questions?”
The group exchanged glances and shook their heads.
The offer was far better than their previous earnings. With meals covered by the company, even without commissions, they could save $10–15 monthly—a substantial sum.
Satisfied, Lance nodded. “Now, let me teach you how to create wealth and add value. Unlike traditional finance companies, we’ll be proactive, seeking clients rather than waiting for them to stumble in.”
That afternoon, Lance visited Alberto’s office.
Upon entering, familiar faces greeted him warmly. Despite his short tenure there, he had earned their affection.
Fordis, engrossed in a game of billiards, set down his cue to give Lance a bear hug. “Trouble?”
“No, just here to discuss business with Mr. Coty.”
Fordis’s eyes lit up. “So, your company’s operational?”
“Almost. I’m waiting on the final registration call from the Commercial Services Bureau.”
Walking together, Fordis asked, “What’s your line of work?”
“Microloans, plus bringing large clients your way.”
Fordis whistled. “That’s a great gig, but you’ll face more competition than you expect.”
“First, you’ll need money. Second, you’ll need one of these.” He mimed a gun. “In Jingang—or anywhere in the Federation—your competitors aren’t exactly law-abiding citizens.”
“I’ll need you to introduce me to a seller,” Lance replied.
“Consider it done.”
Fordis knocked on Alberto’s door.
“Come in,” came Alberto’s voice.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Fordis said, stepping aside. “Catch me later.”
Inside, Alberto wasted no time. “I’ve hit a snag these past couple of days. Maybe you can help…”