Lance looked at the bloodied and disheveled Jason, shaking his head slightly before glancing at Hiram. “Get some water.”
Turning back to Jason, Lance said coldly, “Before you give me your answers, think carefully. Consider whether lying to me is worth it—and what will happen to you if I find out you’re lying.”
There was a faucet right outside the door. In the Federation, where the water was famously sweet and drinkable straight from the tap, it was hard to resist its availability.
After letting Jason drink a little water, Lance wet a handkerchief and wiped the blood off Jason’s face, making him look marginally better.
“Now, you can tell me,” Lance said, moving aside to unfold a chair and sit down. “First question: where is the money hidden?”
In truth, Lance already knew where the money was. Loren had seen everything. But Lance asked anyway, wanting to test if Jason harbored any last shred of deceit. He also wanted to reinforce the impression that he knew everything.
It wasn’t a small sum—over $4,000. But now, faced with the possibility of death or serious injury, the money seemed far less significant.
“In the Imperial District, on 17th Street—”
Before Jason could finish, Lance interrupted him. With a faint, cryptic smile, he said, “Behind the dumpster at the back of the building on 22nd Street. Do I need to continue?”
“I know everything. I just want to see if you’ll lie to me.”
Jason froze, his expression shifting to one of panic.
The building at 22nd Street was a row of apartment houses, with an alley and several dumpsters at the back.
Jason had previously rented a room there with others. While throwing out trash, he had discovered a loose brick behind one of the dumpsters. Breaking the brick partially and slotting it back created a small hidden compartment—about 10 centimeters wide, 5 centimeters tall, and 10 centimeters deep.
Unless someone specifically checked, it was almost impossible to notice. And even then, the dumpster outside provided extra concealment.
He had used the spot to hide important items, mostly money, and nothing had ever gone wrong—until now.
For Lance to call out the exact location so easily made Jason realize he must have been watched. It completely killed any thoughts of lying.
“Yes, yes! The money is there!”
Lance nodded noncommittally. “Second question: how many people know you suddenly came into money?”
Jason began sweating profusely. The salt from his sweat stung his wounds, and combined with the stifling heat, his discomfort only worsened.
He looked at Lance with pleading eyes. “I don’t know. After hiding the money, I took $50 and left. I bought a 50-cent pack of cigarettes and then…”
He struggled to recall, wincing from the pain. “…then I went to the bar. I wanted to have a drink because I was feeling anxious after what we’d just done. I needed to relax.
“At the bar, the man exchanging change, the security guard, the bartender, my three friends, and the stripper—all of them probably realized I had money. And maybe a few other customers noticed, too.”
Jason’s voice cracked. “I made a stupid mistake, Mr. Lance. I treated my friends to two rounds of drinks and rented a private stage upstairs.”
Hearing this, Elvin nearly rushed forward to punch Jason but stopped when Lance raised a hand.
“In other words,” Lance said calmly, “at least a dozen or more people might know you have money.”
Most customers at strip clubs didn’t splurge on private stages because it was far too expensive. The main floor offered free views of the dancers performing on a circular stage. They would gravitate toward areas where the most money was being tipped. 𝙍АŊȪᛒЕṩ
This system was an effective way to drive spending. If someone wanted better views or exclusive attention, they had to tip more. The more they tipped, the more focus they received, including occasional personal interactions, while others settled for side or rear views.
The presence of competitors often sparked bidding wars among intoxicated patrons eager to outdo each other. Some would escalate from tipping one dollar to two, and so on, until they had spent exorbitantly just to have the dancer’s full attention.
Jason, feeling light as a feather with money in his pocket, didn’t want to share the experience. He went straight upstairs, where the starting cost for a private stage was $10, not including tips.
Lance shook his head slightly and asked, “Third question: did you tell anyone how you got the money?”
Jason understood the gravity of this question. Fearful, he replied, “No, Mr. Lance. I swear to you, I didn’t tell anyone how I got it. I swear on my mother’s life—I haven’t said a single word!”
Seeing Jason’s twisted face, contorted by fear and pain, Lance chose to believe him for now.
He stood and exited the warehouse, followed by Elvin and Hiram.
“Loren,” Lance called, and Loren immediately approached. “Go retrieve the money. Then, go to the tailor and get your measurements taken. New clothes will be ready by the end of the month.”
Loren grinned broadly. “Got it, boss! I’m on it!”
As Morris drove off with Loren, Elvin asked, “What should we do with him?”
Hiram remained silent, standing by.
After a pause, Lance said, “Go to Mr. Coty and get some oil drums and cement.
“It’s about time we visited Angel Lake. I hear it’s quite the scenic spot.”
Elvin nodded and left in another car. Lance turned to Hiram. “I’ve decided to execute him.”
Hiram, unsurprised, nodded. “Although we’ve known each other for a while, he did something unforgivable. This is the consequence he deserves.”
Lance was pleased with Hiram’s understanding. Jason and Hiram had been part of the same circle, and while personal ties existed, Hiram respected Lance’s authority.
Lance believed in earning respect by respecting others, recalling a former acquaintance who abused his subordinates and often boasted, “They wouldn’t dare betray me.”
That man was eventually found stuffed in an abandoned well, decomposing inside a suitcase. His death was orchestrated by his subordinates, who had grown tired of his tyranny.
Turning back to Hiram, Lance asked, “What about the other one? Are your men still watching him?”
“They’re keeping close watch. If anything goes wrong, let me take care of it,” Hiram offered.
This time, Lance didn’t refuse. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. None of us wants more trouble.”
By 5:30 PM, the agency closed early. All 37 employees, without exception, were gathered—young men and women, the eldest being Mello at just 23 years old.
When Lance arrived, the group stood and greeted him. Raising his hand to quiet them, Lance walked to the front.
“I called you all here today for two reasons,” he began.
“First, we’ve been together for two months now. After enduring so much darkness, we’re finally seeing the light of dawn. I want to reward you all.
“Today, I’ve arranged for new clothes to be made—just part of our preparation for a new chapter in our lives.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go camping at Angel Lake. Ethan has already started preparing the food: 50 pounds of beef, plus steaks, lamb chops, fruits, and vegetables. I promise everyone will eat their fill!”
The announcement sparked cheers and whistles, as smiles spread across the young faces.
Elvin stomped the ground, quieting the group enough for Lance to continue.
“Second,” Lance’s tone turned somber. “Something terrible happened today.
“I need you all to understand: we are not safe.
“Our status as illegal immigrants, the loans, and the union’s growing resentment toward our agency—all of these are threats.
“Any one of these issues could strip us of everything we have and send us back to living in tunnels, starving, freezing, and being bullied. Or worse, killed.
“Today, someone tried to push us to that edge—to destroy everything we’ve built.
“I cannot and will not forgive that.
“We are a family, and I will do whatever it takes to protect you all, even if it means going to hell myself.
“And that brings me to the second reason I gathered you here today.
“Tonight, I will execute the one who tried to destroy us.”