Empire of Shadows

Johnny left quickly with the cash in hand, eager to escape the situation. After he was gone, Elvin raised an eyebrow, curious. “You really lent him the money?”

Lance nodded. “He can’t pay it back.”

“I worked in his bakery for over a month. I know exactly how much he earns. Even if his daughter stopped pilfering from the cash register, after covering all expenses, he clears around $200 a month.”

Elvin looked astonished. “That much?”

“Yes, it’s a decent amount,” Lance agreed, “but consider this: that $200 includes wages for three people. If they worked elsewhere as legal Federation citizens, they could easily earn $35 a month each, provided they didn’t slack off.

“They also have to eat and drink, which cuts further into that income. Ultimately, the bakery brings in about $100 a month in real profit. Even if he skipped paying wages, he’d still fall short of repaying the loan.

“In six months, even if he saved $300 a month, he wouldn’t make the full amount.”

Elvin frowned. “So why lend him the money at all?”

Lance placed the document folder into his safe with a calm expression. “Because I want him to default. “If he could repay the loan, how would I get his storefront?”

Elvin’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “So from the start, you never intended to let him off the hook.”

Lance shook his head. “It’s not about letting him off or not. I already got my $18 back. The rest is just business.”

He paused, pulling the two contracts Johnny had signed from the desk and placing them in front of Elvin. “From now on, for loans exceeding $100, use these contracts.”

Elvin skimmed through them, but the legalese made his head spin. Lance explained, “This part covers the loan itself. This other part outlines financial consulting services. They’re separate.

“Any interest exceeding what’s permitted under the Usury Act is categorized as consulting fees. Understand?”

Elvin caught on quickly. “So if someone defaults, we can take them to court?”

“Exactly. While we do engage in some gray-market dealings, we should always operate within the law whenever possible. That way, we can earn clean money without unnecessary risks.”

That afternoon, Lance had a meeting with Vaughn, the vice-chairman of the dockworkers’ union. Elvin had arranged for them to meet at a discreet corner table in a café near the docks.

In the Federation, the term ”union” encompassed a wide variety of industry-specific worker organizations. Shipbuilders had their own union, as did steelworkers. Naturally, dockworkers had one too.

Vaughn appeared to be in his fifties but didn’t quite fit the stereotypical image of a working-class leader. He carried himself with a certain polish that hinted at his experience in the political machinery of labor advocacy.

“Mr. Lance,” Vaughn began as they settled into their seats, “your Wanli Agency has been severely disrupting operations at the docks. Many workers have complained to me, saying you’ve turned the place into chaos.”

Lance’s agency controlled thousands of work cards, connecting over 7,000 illegal immigrants to jobs at the docks. This influx naturally caused friction with native dockworkers, especially during the lingering tensions of the anti-immigration movement.

The docks couldn’t afford prolonged shutdowns despite the political unrest. Companies had already suffered significant losses during symbolic closures and needed to resume operations.

As a result, many illegal immigrants had returned to work, fueling resentment among union members who had been emboldened by the recent protests. “Our homeland is being invaded by illegal immigrants” had become a rallying cry, and the union faced mounting pressure to defend local workers’ interests.

Vaughn’s meeting with Lance was almost inevitable. What surprised him was that Lance had approached the union first.

Lance maintained a friendly smile in the face of Vaughn’s complaints. “Vaughn—”

“No need for titles,” Vaughn interrupted. “Just call me Vaughn. The whole ‘mister’ thing is for capitalists.”

Lance adjusted his tone. “Alright, Vaughn. I believe our efforts aren’t an affront to local workers.

“Think about the jobs they’re doing—scrubbing ships, cleaning sewers, scaling chimneys, underwater repairs.

“These jobs are dirty, grueling, and dangerous. Do you know how many people are willing to take on such work?”

Vaughn hesitated but nodded. “That’s true, but—”

Lance cut him off. “Exactly. The most hazardous, exhausting tasks are handled by illegal immigrants. They’re keeping Federation workers away from these risks. That’s not chaos; it’s order.

“If we send them away, who’ll do these jobs?

“Federation workers shouldn’t have to risk their lives for $20 or $30 a month. Their lives are worth more than that.”

Vaughn fell silent, mulling over Lance’s argument. The reality was that most of these undesirable jobs had no takers among local workers, leaving them to the immigrants.

Seeing Vaughn soften, Lance pressed on. “I understand there are concerns about the conduct of these workers. We’re aware of the complaints and are already addressing them. I’ll ensure better management of the immigrant labor force.

“I’m a Federation citizen too, Vaughn. My goal is to keep the docks running smoothly, not disrupt them.”

After a pause, Lance added, “I plan to make a donation.”

Vaughn, lost in thought, blinked. “A donation?”

“Yes,” Lance said. “I’ll allocate $300 from my company’s monthly earnings to assist dockworkers’ families in need—whether they’ve lost their jobs or face medical emergencies.

“We’re all workers here, part of the same community. We need to support each other.”

Vaughn perked up. “That’s a noble gesture, Lance. Very commendable.”

Lance leaned in. “And I’ll increase it to $400, though publicly we’ll say $300. I know how hard you and the union work—not just on the docks but for labor advocacy as well.

“Buy some beef, take care of yourselves. As they say, a strong body is the foundation of progress. Only with strength can we do more for the workers.”

Vaughn’s weathered face lit up. “That’s generous of you. But... could there be any legal issues with this arrangement?”

Lance widened his eyes, feigning shock. “What laws prohibit me from helping workers and their families?

“Has Federation law stripped us of the right to support one another?”

Moved by Lance’s conviction, Vaughn nodded. “You’re right. People might have misjudged you, Lance. I’ll explain things to them.”

Lance seized the opportunity to further his plan. “I also intend to provide uniforms for the immigrant laborers, to standardize their appearance and behavior on the docks.

“If you have suggestions for additional measures, I’m open to including them.

“Uniforms will make it easier to identify who’s breaking the rules and ensure accountability. It’ll also remind the workers that they’re being monitored, which should curb misconduct.”

Vaughn pondered the idea. While something about it felt off, he couldn’t pinpoint the flaw. After a moment, he nodded. “That could work—clear identification and oversight. A solid plan.”

The thought even inspired Vaughn to consider uniforming local dockworkers for a stronger, unified presence, though he doubted it would pass union approval. Still, it was worth proposing.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Lance. We should stay in touch.”

Lance smiled and slid a $400 check across the table, pressing it with two fingers.

Meeting Lance’s earnest gaze, Vaughn felt that refusing would be an affront to such genuine generosity.