Empire of Shadows

Actually, they had already sensed something was wrong when they arrived at the Empire Nightclub.

Before they reached the Empire Nightclub, the gunfire had already stopped. It was said that about twenty minutes earlier, the only car had suddenly left.

The people inside the Empire Nightclub didn't dare to venture out. The four corpses on the steps were a warning that this was not a joke, people really would die!

Whose life isn't valuable?

Everyone has parents, and possibly a wife and children. They joined the Camilla gang, or worked here, to make money!

There were no loftier ideals, and even if there were, they had nothing to do with what was happening now!

Plus, the phone at the manor couldn't get through, which ultimately led to this situation.

The two trusted aides who had just gotten out of the car immediately ordered the driver to turn around and return to the manor at once.

The drivers didn't dare to delay, slamming the accelerator to the floor. Fortunately, there weren't many cars on the road at night, and no police officers guarding the traffic lights.

They had been tricked. No one was actually attacking the Empire Nightclub. Lance's purpose in doing this was to lure out all the manpower guarding the manor!

The two men cursed Lance's shamelessness and baseness while anxiously looking around, perhaps hoping this would alleviate some of their anxiety.

However, the two men weren't too worried, because the safe room was truly very safe.

Heller's entire family had been killed by rivals in gang fights, so he was very concerned about his own safety. Not only did his manor have a safe room, but the Empire Nightclub also had one.

They had seen that safe room and even tried to destroy it.

Whether using firearms or anything else, it was very difficult to damage it.

Heller didn't joke about his own safety. He even jokingly said that if you wanted to get him out of the safe room, unless he came out on his own initiative, even the federal army wouldn't be able to do it!

As long as Heller didn't do something stupid and run out himself, they wouldn't need to worry at all about Lance and his people being able to harm Heller.

And what they had to do was get back before Lance left.

Although they didn't know if they would make it in time.

The two men's attitude and thoughts were actually the same as Heller's. They couldn't always passively defend; they had to find a way to take the initiative.

They had been wary of Lance's attacks for some time and realized that this was Lance's conspiracy.

But knowing that all of this was a conspiracy was useless.

Either they stayed in their lair, waiting for Lance to come to their door.

Or they found a way to lure Lance out, set up an ambush, and eliminate him and his men when he entered.

Many people observed the development of the situation while thinking about what they would do if they were Heller.

But they found that they didn't seem to be able to do any better than Heller.

Although they had been tricked this time, for these two men, they felt that this might not be a bad opportunity!

"Go, return immediately!" one of them shouted, and the men beside the cars immediately got back in. More than a dozen cars quickly turned around and headed towards the manor.

Eighty-odd men, all with submachine guns, how could they lose?

The road was quiet and dull. No one spoke. Some people were prepared for the battle that might break out next, while others were filled with nervous emotions.

Four of their senior executives had already died at the hands of Lance and his men. No one knew how many more they would kill, whether it would end here or continue.

When the cars had traveled two-thirds of the way, the first car suddenly lost control and crashed into the roadside bushes.

Although the second, third, and fourth cars had noticed, they also lost control one after another.

"It's a caltrop," someone said after getting out of the car and picking up a nail from the ground.

Looking at the caltrop in their hands, the two men seemed to have given up hope of getting back in time.

They had to abandon the four cars that had blown tires and drive the other cars ahead.

As for the others, they ran on foot.

When the convoy arrived at the manor, they saw the scene from before.

The front tire of a truck was stuck in the fountain pool, and the two iron-chained gates were between it and the fountain. The entire manor was quiet, with no gunfire or other sounds.

There were no cars here, they seemed to have already left. One of the two trusted aides stomped his foot in hatred, "They left too fast!"

The other shook his head, "We came back too late. Almost an hour. If they found they couldn't get into the safe room, they would definitely loot the place and leave. Who would stay until now?"

"But we have to be careful…"

They cautiously held their weapons, covering each other as they walked towards the house. At this time, they could already hear strange "pa pa" sounds.

Aide A frowned, "Did you hear any sounds?"

Aide B, standing in the crowd, looked around, "I heard it, but I didn't see anything…"

The manor's main gate faced due south, and they were coming in from the east, so they could only see the side of the building.

They didn't know what was making those sounds, but they all thought the sounds were coming from the house.

At first, the sound made them a little nervous, but hearing the sound without seeing any movement soon made them lower their guard.

Until they could see the gate of the building.

Twenty or so of their men were hanging on the wall from the roof, tied with ropes. The sea breeze in December was very strong, and these people were blown back and forth against the outer wall, rubbing against it.

When someone was thrown high by the sea breeze and then lost the support of the wind in a short time, they would heavily slam against the wall with a "pa" sound.

The dark brown wall was already red and dark. The lights that were originally used to illuminate the outer wall of the house were now illuminating them.

"Ew!" someone couldn't help but vomit in disgust. This sound seemed to be contagious, and soon more people began to feel nauseous and sick.

The two aides' expressions were as black as the bottom of a pot. Aide A, with a dark face, pointed to a few subordinates who didn't have a vomiting reaction and said, "You few, go to the roof and take them down."

Several subordinates nodded and ran into the house first. The carpet in the hall had been completely soaked with blood. Stepping on it gave a slow sinking, sticky feeling.

And every step could be heard with a "plop" sound, giving them an indescribable strangeness in their minds.

A creepy feeling began to linger around them. The manor that they had once envied and envied was now so quiet that they felt scared!

Enduring the psychological discomfort, they rushed to the roof, pulled out their daggers, and began to cut the ropes.

On the other side, when the two trusted aides came to the study, they already had some ominous premonitions in their hearts.

But until the last moment, they would never believe that Heller would die, especially with a safe room!

When they saw Heller, who was cosplaying as a fish, through the observation hole on the safe door, they were speechless for a moment.

He was floating back and forth in the water, his face as pale as the two aides outside.

But before they could react, fierce gunfire erupted in the manor. The two men pulled out their pistols and only poked half their bodies out of the study before bullets forced them back.

Lance hadn't left!

Of course Lance hadn't left!

If he left, where would he find these people?

So he simply hid the cars, making it look like they had already left. These people just barged in, without much defense at all!

All of them were scattered, and Lance used local advantages to constantly annex the separated gang members. Although the battle was fierce, it didn't last too long.

Everything outside had completely disintegrated these people's will to resist. Plus, Heller and the two trusted aides hadn't appeared, and soon someone collapsed and ran away.

If they hadn't run, perhaps the battle would have continued for some time, but their running only made the battle end sooner.

When the two trusted aides heard the gunfire outside gradually subside, they looked at each other and realized that everything was over.

"We surrender…" they took the initiative to throw their guns into the corridor and then walked out of the study with their hands raised.

But what greeted them was not forgiveness, but bullets!

Several people walked up to them, raised the submachine guns in their hands, and poured the last bullets from the magazines into them.

Looking at their still not completely dead appearance, Lance lit a cigarette, "Forgiving you is God's business, and I will only eliminate you!"

He stepped over the two corpses that were about to become corpses, came to the study, picked up the phone, and dialed Mr. Paslei Tuo's number.

The phone rang about four times before it was answered, "The gentleman is already resting. If there is anything unimportant, I can help you convey it…"

It was the butler's voice. Lance sat on Heller's chair, the same as the one in the Empire Nightclub office, which could completely envelop his body, "I am Lance. The Camilla gang has become a thing of the past. I hope to get Mr. Paslei Tuo's help."

The butler was stunned when he heard this, "Heller…"

Lance looked at Heller, who was still cosplaying as a goldfish, "He is diving next to me."

However, it seemed that the butler didn't have any sense of humor and didn't seem to understand Lance's words.

"He has been diving for half an hour."

This time he understood, and the butler seemed to understand this cold joke, laughed twice, "Please don't hang up…"

The butler put down the phone. In fact, Mr. Paslei Tuo was not resting. He had just returned from socializing and was enjoying a massage service.

Here, we have the most skilled young women from Sumuli Island. Of course, not in *that* kind of skill, but in massage. They will completely relax Mr. Pasreito's body, allowing him to drift off into dreamland more easily.

The butler had walked halfway when the effect of the bad joke seemed to hit him, and he couldn't help but chuckle a few more times.

At this moment, he was lying on the sofa bed, so comfortable he was almost asleep. The butler's footsteps and laughter made him turn his head and look towards the door.

"Sir, Mr. Lance is on the phone."

"He took care of Heller and his men. Camilla is done helping. He hopes to get your assistance."

Mr. Pasreito was somewhat surprised. "Just now?"

He raised his hand, signaling the two young women to leave, not forgetting to say thank you.

Then, wiping himself with a bath towel, he stood up. "Tell him to wait a moment, I'll get dressed and come over..."

"By the way, what were you laughing at just now?" He looked at the butler with a searching expression.

Five minutes later, Lance heard some sounds in the receiver. "Very funny joke, Lance!"

Clearly, the butler had also told Mr. Pasreito the bad joke. Compared to the butler's lack of humor, Mr. Pasreito, who was clearly more skilled in socializing, had a wealth of comedic talent.

"I hope Heller didn't forget his diving gear…" he said, pausing. "What are your thoughts?"

"The Imperial District needs someone to manage it. I am the best person for that. I have legal identification from the Federation, and I have very deep friendships with the Imperials."

"I will manage this place very stably, and I will find ways to provide more jobs for the people here, as well as for the Federation people."

"In addition, I will take control of the eight thousand-plus votes at the dock as soon as possible…"

If the previous words had just made Mr. Pasreito feel indifferent, then the last sentence piqued his interest somewhat.

Being a manager doesn't actually require much personal ability. Management work isn't a technical job. You don't need to know the difference between one thread and two threads by touching them.

Nor do you need to be able to make stitches so fine that they are flawless.

You just need to tell people what you can do and what you can't, and make them understand the consequences of breaking the rules!

These low-level managers in the Federation emerge endlessly, not because the Federation produces managers, but because there is no barrier to entry for managers.

But there is for rulers.

Sometimes, even the highest rulers must abide by certain rules. Everyone is very clear about the consequences of them not complying.

As long as people still abide by these rules, then the game elements they create for these rules become especially important.

Like taxes, like the unemployment rate, like the speed of economic development, like… votes!

Many people call "votes" the "foundation of rule." The direct election system for low-level rulers forces them to please all the voters. Whoever can influence the voters' attitudes can decide who is whose daddy at the bottom, which is also the most powerful level.

"Eight thousand votes are a lot for other cities, but for here, it still lacks a bit of significance."

Lance continued, "There are also 120,000 people in the Imperial District. I can't guarantee that everyone has a vote, but there are at least about 20,000 legal votes."

This was something Lance had learned while hiding during this period, reading some things that were helpful to him, one of which mentioned the issue of suffrage.

After the end of the civil war, in order to solve the problem of cotton-picking experts and the increasing number of immigrant citizenship issues, the Federation promoted a new amendment, namely the Suffrage Act.

This law stipulated that male cotton-picking experts and male immigrants were eligible to have the right to vote, but it also stipulated that they "must be people who are helpful to society."

So, how to confirm that a cotton-picking expert or immigrant male is helpful to society?

In fact, the federal government and capitalists had long understood this point —

In the beginning, before this amendment, they stipulated that the landlord class was the master of the Federation, but as times changed, it was impossible for everyone to be a big landlord or a big farmer.

This required flexibility.

How to be flexible?

Either you pay taxes, let people know that you are at least middle class, or even a capitalist, and you have the right to vote innately, or you make a large amount of consumption.

This consumption doesn't mean that if someone buys one donut, and you buy two, it proves that you can consume more than others, and you should be given the right to vote.

You have to buy a house!

Now, when immigrants or cotton-picking experts participate in serious political activities and claim their rights, they will ask if you came by car, and then they will ask which community your house is in.

Not "the house you rent" or "where you live now," but "the house you bought, in what community."

If you can buy a house, or you pay a large amount of taxes, you are a person who contributes to society, everyone else is not!

So, the content of the new amendment is very simple: you must be a federal citizen born in the Federation, and you must own your own real estate or have long-term tax payment certificates, and you must be a mature male over the age of twenty-one to be eligible to vote.

That is, the right to vote.

In fact, not to mention cotton picking and immigration, many native citizens do not meet the requirements.

Thousands of dollars for a house seems very cheap, but who the hell can use twenty years of savings to buy a house just for the right to vote?

Many native federal citizens are renting houses, and these people are also not eligible to vote.

As the recent equal rights movement is being promoted, it is said that Congress has begun to discuss whether to give women the most basic political respect, that is, to allow "women who are helpful to society" to obtain votes.

However, it is thought that most women will not be able to obtain votes, because most of them do not have their own real estate.

But the dock is not as bad as Mr. Pasreito said. The Imperial District can only produce one or two thousand votes, and a dock can produce at least eight thousand votes. You can imagine the value here.

Moreover, workers have power!

Mr. Pasreito in the receiver was thinking all the time. After a while, "You have to be able to do this before I can speak for you."

"And I want to ask, what can you do for me if I help you?"

Lance took a deep breath of smoke and slowly exhaled it. Mr. Pasreito on the other end of the phone line could not see Lance at this moment, who looked quite elated.

"I can help you launder money more cleanly at a lower cost, more votes, and greater social influence."

After listening, Mr. Pasreito remained noncommittal. "Are you going to join my family?"

"No, I serve you!"

One is a master-servant relationship, the other is a subordinate relationship. Mr. Pasreito was not in a hurry to refuse or be unhappy, but carefully considered the feasibility of this matter.

To be honest, the conditions Lance proposed were still very attractive.

In addition, with Alberto and his relationship, Mr. Pasreito finally made a decision. "Okay, but you also have to hand over money on time like other families or gangs!"

Lance stood up suddenly. "No problem, Mr. Pasreito!"

"Mr.?"

"Boss!"