Empire of Shadows

Chapter 71: Investments and Unpaid Wages

Gunfights erupting at night in Jingang City are common, but an intense shootout in broad daylight is rare.

Though brief, this occurred in the port district, one of the three most active areas in the city.

Within an hour, almost half of Jingang City knew that the Brotherhood had engaged in a firefight with someone outside their office in broad daylight. Jimmy was shot but managed to leave. The gunman who injured him died in an alley.

In a room, Mr. Jobav sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin, looking deeply troubled—like someone suffering from constipation.

He had already heard the news and knew it was the handiwork of the hitman he sent his assistant to hire.

The result was far from satisfactory.

The assistant was on a call to confirm the details, and after a long time, he hung up, looking a bit awkward.

Mr. Jobav straightened his back. “I really hoped I wouldn’t have to hear about things like this—it increases my risks—but I still want to know: what kind of useless trash did you find?”

The assistant, familiar with Mr. Jobav after years of cooperation, could hear the suppressed fury in his tone.

He had thought hiring a hitman to take out a gang enforcer was a routine task, nearly foolproof.

It wasn’t like they were asked to assassinate the Federation President. Even presidential assassinations aren’t always successful.

But this was just a small-time figure, and the mission inexplicably failed. When Mr. Jobav heard, “They were shooting at each other from across a busy street,” his mind buzzed.

“I need an explanation.”

The assistant opened his mouth, wanting to admit they had indeed hired someone unreliable, but struggled to explain the role his nephew played.

Eventually, he sighed. “This is on me.”

Mr. Jobav shot him a sideways glance. “This isn’t about whose fault it is. It’s about whether we’ll be exposed.”

The assistant pursed his lips and carefully explained, “Mr. Jobav, I can guarantee we didn’t disclose where the money came from.”

“And… if necessary, I can have him step forward and take responsibility…”

The assistant winced. If his nephew came forward to admit he was the one responsible, the Brotherhood’s retaliation would be swift and brutal. His nephew couldn’t withstand such vengeance and would likely be ritually executed.

Ritual executions are horrific. Victims endure inhumane torture before their eventual death.

Nearly every gang has its own methods of ritual execution, often called “honor killings.” These gruesome acts serve to show both their members and outsiders how terrifying they are.

Mr. Jobav raised his hand. “Your nephew is an Imperial. Jimmy just took thirty thousand from me. If you think pinning this on him will end things, you’re naive.”

He left some thoughts unspoken. The assistant likely knew that pinning this on an Imperial would implicate Mr. Jobav himself.

While they were still discussing their next steps, the phone rang suddenly.

The sound startled Mr. Jobav, whose nerves were on edge, causing him to shudder slightly.

It took several seconds before he composed himself. “Answer it.”

The assistant, also startled, collected himself and picked up the phone. Jimmy’s voice came through, addressing Mr. Jobav with exaggerated familiarity.

“Tell old Joe this isn’t over. He didn’t just hurt me—he hurt the entire Brotherhood. He’d better find someone willing to back him up before we come for revenge!”

“Big Polly is furious, and I promise, he’s going to die horribly!”

“And not just him!”

The call ended abruptly, not giving them a chance to respond.

After listening, Mr. Jobav fell silent for a long time. Then he slowly stood up and walked to the window. Looking out at the golden-lit Jingang City, his previously conflicted expression hardened with resolve.

“Contact the mayor for me. Tell him I’d like to discuss investment opportunities.”

The assistant turned to make the call, his mood equally grim.

In Jingang City, the mayor was known for being young, charismatic, and competent. While the city’s development hadn’t started under him, he had made notable progress in recent years, earning widespread support.

His achievements here provided a solid foundation for further political advancement. Rumor had it that influential figures in Congress supported him, and there was a strong chance he’d enter the Balman State Assembly soon, taking on a significant role.

This would grant him entry into the upper echelons of Federation politics.

Both he and Mr. Jobav shared a desire to avoid any stains on their reputations. But as a politician, the mayor also needed funding and support.

At a past investment gala, he had approached Mr. Jobav, hoping to secure funding for several projects. However, after some investigation, Mr. Jobav found these infrastructure projects had high initial costs and long payback periods.

Though profits were possible, inflation and extended timelines raised doubts about actual gains. Moreover, the minimum investment required was twenty thousand, a significant sum.

Privately, Mr. Jobav had offered political donations instead, but the mayor had declined, despite assurances that the arrangements would be airtight—even the Federation Savings Bank and Tax Bureau wouldn’t uncover them.

After that, their interactions waned due to their differing priorities.

But now, Mr. Jobav needed a powerful ally to deter the gangs and protect his interests. The mayor, once disregarded, was now one of his few options.

The call connected quickly, and the mayor eagerly accepted Mr. Jobav’s invitation. They scheduled a meeting two days later.

After his assistant left, Mr. Jobav was filled with frustration and helplessness—more of the latter.

Over the years, he had witnessed the ugly side of the Federation and resented his own Imperial identity.

If possible, he longed to become a true Federation citizen more than anyone else.

But that was currently out of reach. Until then, he had to maintain the image of “Imperial pride.”

Exploitation and harm weren’t limited to the lower class. Mr. Jobav faced them too, albeit from more formidable and untouchable forces.

Meanwhile, Elvin brought a small-statured man to Lance’s office.

“This is Hiram, my cousin’s classmate.”

“And this is our boss, Mr. Lance.”

Hiram, around 170 cm tall, was average for the time. He appeared slightly underweight, likely just over 100 pounds, wearing a somewhat dirty shirt and high-waisted blue denim overalls.

His long hair often fell into his eyes, prompting frequent head shakes to clear his vision. His appearance was honest and simple—bordering on foolish.

“Mr. Lance,” he greeted respectfully, bowing slightly to show deference.

Lance glanced at Elvin, who gestured for Hiram to explain his situation.

“Well, Mr. Lance,” Hiram began, glancing at Elvin. “We’ve all heard that you’re the most successful and capable among us young people.”

“We’ve encountered an injustice recently. The place I work refused to pay our wages, claiming we’re illegal immigrants.”

“I thought and thought, and figured only you could help us. So I asked Elvin, and here we are.”

Lance repeated, “We?”

Hiram nodded. “Yes, there are eight of us—Imperial illegal immigrants.”

“Did you rent work cards?” Lance asked.

Hiram shook his head. “No.”

Lance immediately understood.

Renting work cards was a way to comply with regulations. However, ignoring the law entirely—employers hiring and workers accepting illegal arrangements—was a different story.

If the employer chose to ignore the rules, illegal immigrants had little recourse. Reporting to the police wouldn’t significantly harm the employer, who would likely face only a fine.

For the immigrants, violating Federation laws could result in deportation or imprisonment before deportation.

As a result, most victims remained silent, unwilling to risk jail or deportation over unpaid wages.

This created an environment where unscrupulous employers could act with impunity.

“What do you want me to do?” Lance asked.

“I could contact your boss to help you get your wages, then report him after you leave. Or I could beat him up.”

Hiram smiled earnestly. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Lance: I work in the warehouse, and I know it’s recently been stocked full of liquor…”

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