Empire of Shadows

Chapter 81: The Tailor, the Union, and Three Questions

"Mr. Lance, your physique is remarkable. I assure you the clothes I tailor will look splendid!"  

An elderly tailor from the Empire was taking Lance's measurements. With more money at hand this time, Lance had decided to order two sets of outfits for everyone.  

The weather was cooling down, and the recent rains brought a sharp sense of autumn's chill that lingered for a day after each downpour. Additionally, unified attire would foster "corporate culture"—a strategy well-proven by capitalists, who demonstrated that indoctrination didn’t always require lectures.  

The old tailor was also from the Empire. His neighbor had immigrated to the Federation earlier, boasting of earning over a hundred dollars a month. When returning to the Empire, the neighbor exaggeratedly claimed, "In the Federation, you can find money just by lowering your head!"  

He painted the Federation as a land overflowing with opportunity and wealth, where even fools could achieve the Federation Dream as long as they were willing to work.  

Some believed him, others doubted. The old tailor belonged to the former group. Having known his neighbor for over 30 years, he trusted the man wouldn’t lie to him.  

Despite his family's objections and the deteriorating situation in the Empire, he sold everything and moved to the Federation with his family.  

What greeted him was far from the golden land described. He even struggled to find food. The neighbor who claimed to earn over a hundred dollars a month? He worked as a dishwasher at a restaurant, earning 22 dollars a month with a free lunch. Take it or leave it.  

Now estranged from the Empire, the tailor lived with his daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren in a dilapidated house.  

The only saving grace was his tailoring skills, which allowed him to eke out a living by making clothes at very low prices. This earned him a small but steady clientele.  

Initially, Elvin had suggested hiring a local tailor, but Lance refused.  

Federation tailors had a tendency to incorporate their unique laziness and casualness into their designs, resulting in baggy, unkempt-looking clothing. Imperial tailors, on the other hand, excelled at crafting sharp, fitted attire that conveyed a sleek and polished image.  

"I heard you used to tailor for nobles in the Empire?" Lance asked as the tailor, wearing bifocals, stood on a small stool to measure his shoulder width.  

The old tailor paused briefly before smiling. "Yes, a minor noble. How did you hear about that?"  

"I’ve heard a little here and there. I’m curious—why haven’t you opened your own shop?"  

"Even though Federation citizens look down on us, they admire anything associated with nobility. If you marketed yourself as having tailored for the Imperial nobility, the Federation’s elite would flock to you."  

Supported by his son-in-law as he stepped down from the stool, the tailor jotted down Lance's measurements and said, "You need money to do anything. I’ve been here for a while, and life here is terrible.  

“Thanks to you and your friends, we can eat this month, but next month we’ll be struggling again. I can’t even afford to leave the Imperial District, let alone advertise my history of serving nobles."  

Lance nodded slightly. "If your work is truly good, I’m willing to sponsor you."  

The old tailor froze, hope flickering in his cloudy eyes. "Are you serious? You’ll fund me to open a tailor shop?"

"In the city center," Lance confirmed, putting his coat back on. "Of course, the condition is that you do an excellent job on our clothes. This isn’t a small sum, after all."  

The tailor and his son-in-law were overcome with gratitude, tearfully thanking Lance for his generosity.  

Back in the Empire, they had been middle-class. But here, they couldn’t even find enough food, let alone the wealth they’d imagined.  

For a no-name tailor in the Federation, there was little demand for bespoke clothing. The poor bought cheap secondhand clothes, which, though ill-fitting, were affordable. The tailor’s monthly earnings barely reached ten dollars, and recent tensions between natives and illegal immigrants had left his son-in-law jobless.  

Lance’s business was a lifeline, in every sense. And now, the possibility of opening a tailor shop filled them with hope.  

The old tailor’s eyes reddened. "You are a kind and noble man, Mr. Lance. May the Lord bless you!"  

"I hope the Lord doesn’t overexert himself on my account," Lance joked, seeing their bewildered expressions. He chuckled, shook the tailor’s hand, and added, "Thirty-seven people—two suits and two coats each, all with sharp collars. Do your best, and we’ll have many opportunities to collaborate in the future."  

He gestured at the eager crowd behind him, signaling them to queue up in an orderly manner.  

For both Federation citizens and Imperial immigrants, new clothes were a source of excitement.  

Since the tailor only had his son-in-law to assist, the measurements took some time. But being invited by Lance to the company meant they didn’t need to worry about their pace.  

Lance and Elvin moved aside and sat down. Elvin broke the silence. "I’ve heard something troubling."  

Lance glanced at him. "What is it?"  

"The union isn’t happy with our large-scale use of leased work cards. They think we’re disrupting the labor market."  

In the Federation, unions weren’t something to be trifled with. Workers often registered with unions for protection against exploitation and unfair treatment.  

At this time, unions were powerful, ethical, and united—far from the arrogant and corrupt institutions they would later become.  

The slogan "Workers Unite!" originated here in the Federation.  

If the union believed Lance’s actions disrupted the labor market, it could be a major blow to the thriving agency business.  

After a moment of thought, Lance asked, "How many work cards do we have now?"  

The agency’s manager, Shawn, hurried over. "Mr. Lance, as of today, we’ve registered over 3,000 work cards—3,132, to be exact."  

Shawn, a studious young man from the Empire, wore round, narrow-rimmed glasses. Back in the Empire, he had been admitted to university but couldn’t afford to attend, so he returned to his hometown to teach.  

When war broke out, his family sent him to the Federation to avoid conscription.  

He wasn’t cut out for violence, having spent his life immersed in books. Lance had temporarily assigned him to manage the agency, with plans for his future.  

"That’s a big number!" Lance acknowledged Shawn’s efforts before turning to Elvin. "Find out who’s complaining and arrange a meeting for me. I’ll handle it."  

Then, looking at Shawn, Lance said, "Our growth will be rapid. We need a reliable lawyer. I plan to send you to college to study law."  

Shawn was stunned but elated. Lawyers were respected and influential in both the Federation and the Empire.  

"Mr. Lance, I don’t know how to thank you! I’ll become a great lawyer!"  

Lance clapped him on the shoulder. "Don’t neglect your current work until I find a replacement."  

At that moment, Hiram knocked on the back door. Lance stood up, nodded to Shawn, and left with Elvin.  

In the small courtyard, a car was parked in the center. Loren leaned against it, smoking, while the warehouse door stood ajar.  

Lance entered the dimly lit warehouse, his eyes adjusting. Inside, Jason hung suspended, his face bloodied. Several teeth were missing, courtesy of Hiram’s relentless punches.  

Seeing Lance, Jason began to plead, "Mr. Lance, I was wrong! I’ll give you all the money and disappear from Jingang City forever!"  

Lance lit a cigarette, with Hiram striking a match to assist him. Elvin, holding his own matchbox, froze, then chuckled and playfully punched Hiram’s shoulder.  

Scratching his brow, Lance said, "You still don’t understand your mistake, Jason. Your regret stems only from being caught—not from what you did wrong.  

"If you truly knew your error, you wouldn’t be saying meaningless things to me now."  

"Now, three questions:  

"First, where’s the rest of the money hidden?  

"Second, how many people know you suddenly came into money?  

"Third, did you tell anyone how you earned it?"  

"Answer these, and then we’ll consider your problem."  

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