The mayor of Jingang City still had two years left in office, and he intended to use this time to secure as many political resources as possible.
Jingang City, one of the engines of the Federation’s economic growth, garnered widespread attention. As long as this attention remained, the mayor’s accomplishments would continue to be revisited.
Much like the mayors who expanded the city’s first and second docks, their contributions were still celebrated today. Even if some of them had passed away, their children continued to enjoy the political benefits of their legacy.
The current mayor wanted the same. However, expanding the docks, while beneficial for economic growth, wouldn’t necessarily yield him any political advantages.
In politics, it was always better to be the first or second to accomplish something. Nobody remembered the third or fourth.
Thus, the mayor planned to focus on urban expansion. Jingang City’s permanent population was currently around 1.1 million, but population data in the Federation was often inaccurate and infrequently updated.
His goal was to increase the population to 1.5 million within two years. This would require expanding the urban area while creating new jobs for the incoming residents.
Supporters of the mayor were already heavily invested in urban expansion plans. Funds from contributors like Mr. Jobav were being funneled into infrastructure development.
Though these contributions were relatively small, the mayor had plans to squeeze more out of the “Imperial banker.”
While mulling over city expansion strategies, the mayor’s phone rang—it was Jobav.
The mayor only referred to him as “the Imperial” when he wasn’t around, never as “Banker Jobav.”
“What can I do for our esteemed banker?” the mayor answered warmly, his tone oozing politeness despite his unchanged expression.
“I’d like to meet with you,” Jobav requested.
The mayor glanced at his schedule. “I can see you at 3:30 this afternoon. You’ll have ten minutes.” He hung up without waiting for a response.
At 3:00 PM, Jobav arrived at City Hall and waited outside the mayor’s office.
By 3:30, he was allowed in. The mayor was by the window, smoking a cigarette.
Smiling broadly, the mayor walked over and clasped Jobav’s arm. “Some things can really be handled over the phone, you know,” he said, though his tone hinted at irritation.
Nobody knew what was going through Jobav’s mind, but his emotions must have been complex. Despite his significant financial contributions, he was still treated as an outsider.
Sitting stiffly on the sofa, Jobav noticed the absence of even a customary cup of coffee. Ten minutes wasn’t long enough for a drink, after all.
“This is the situation…” Jobav explained how he had been swindled—Arthur’s pledge of alcohol as collateral had vanished.
The mayor gave him a curious look. “Why didn’t you speak up at the time?”
Back then, Jobav had inspected the warehouse with Arthur and confirmed the alcohol was genuine before signing the contract and disbursing the loan.
But on the day the alcohol was delivered, a sudden downpour created a short window of opportunity—just 30 or 40 minutes—for the entire stock to disappear.
At the time, Jobav wasn’t aligned with the mayor’s faction and feared this might be a setup by Arthur. So, he hesitated, choosing a passive response.
That hesitation cost him.
From the mayor’s perspective, this was the behavior of someone afraid of being extorted. If Jobav had taken a stand, perhaps even reporting the incident to the authorities, he might have avoided becoming an easy target.
“Now, what do you want to do?” the mayor asked.
Jobav clenched his fists, his frustration evident. “I… I want you to mediate so I can clear this up with them.”
The mayor thought for a moment. “Mediating isn’t difficult, but you won’t get your money back.”
“You’ve already given them a $250,000 loan, correct?”
Jobav nodded grimly.
The mayor continued, “This stock of alcohol is worth $450,000 to $500,000 now. If you cover the difference, we can treat it as you purchasing the stock. I’ll help settle things, and that’ll be the end of it.”
Jobav’s eyes widened in disbelief. “But I—”
“No buts, Jobav. You have a signed contract. Even if you take this to court, you won’t win.”
“And don’t think a few words from me will make them give up $200,000 in profits. If I had that kind of influence, I’d be the Federation President by now.”
“Think it over,” the mayor said, glancing at his watch. “I have another meeting shortly, so…”
Dismissed, Jobav stood up in a daze, mechanically muttering his goodbyes as he left the office.
The mayor felt no sympathy for Jobav’s plight. Over the years, countless foreign magnates had entered the Federation, only to lose everything.
Even wealthier and more influential individuals had been driven out. For a minor banker like Jobav, being extorted was just part of the game.
Still, the mayor decided he would call Congressman Williams to remind him to keep his son Arthur in check. Scaring off foreign investors wasn’t in the city’s best interest.
From the mayor’s perspective, his handling of the situation was perfectly reasonable.
Demanding Arthur return the money while ignoring the missing alcohol would have been absurd. And even if intervention became necessary, the mayor would only step in at the critical moment, appearing as a savior—not through a mere phone call or casual meeting.
Returning to his villa, Jobav slumped onto the sofa, overwhelmed with despair.
In recent years, he had finally accumulated some wealth and sought to enter the Federation’s upper echelons.
But now, his vast fortune was rapidly dwindling. Worse, he remained an outsider, stuck on the fringes of high society.
If the money had bought him a place at the table, it might have been worth it. But losing everything while still being treated as a nobody? It made no sense to him.
Wasn’t the Federation supposed to be a land of fairness and justice? Why did his experiences feel so unfair?
His assistant stood nearby, worried about his state. Normally, even when facing extortion, Jobav would display resilience. But today, he seemed utterly defeated, like an impoverished old man, staring blankly ahead with disheveled hair.
By 7:00 PM, Jobav finally snapped out of his stupor.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Seven eleven,” his assistant replied nervously. “Should I prepare some food for you?”
Jobav shook his head. “No, I can’t eat.”
Turning to the assistant, he asked, “In your opinion, who could solve this problem for me? Someone who could minimize my losses?”
“Preferably someone from the Empire—I’ve completely lost faith in the Federation. They invite me to sit at their table not to share the feast but to make it easier to serve me up as the meal.”
The assistant wracked his brain. Many successful Imperial expats lived in Jingang City, but few could match Jobav’s wealth or influence.
Then, suddenly, a name came to him.
Seeing the change in his assistant’s expression, Jobav asked softly, “Who is it?”
When Lance received word that Mr. Jobav wanted to meet him, he was intrigued.
The last time they crossed paths, at St. Naya’s Cathedral, Jobav had only greeted him in passing, with no intention of conversation.
Why the sudden interest now?
Lance couldn’t figure it out but agreed to meet.
The meeting was set for the afternoon, as Lance had a busy morning. He needed to visit his company and meet with Mr. White, who had asked Officer Brayden to arrange the meeting.
Lance still relied on Mr. White to maintain his identity as a legal Federation citizen—a status that had brought him immense convenience.
Those in power always checked whether someone was a Federation citizen before discussing cooperation. Lance wasn’t about to risk losing this privilege.
The next morning, Lance handed the whistleblower list to Elvin before heading to Mr. White’s house.
When he arrived, Mr. White was in the yard, pulling weeds.
He seemed confused as Lance’s car pulled up, but when he saw who it was, confusion turned to shock—followed quickly by delight.