Chapter 105: Do It Now

Mr. Chobav was going to do something about the toilet, and Lans had a premonition about it.

If he truly had the guts to flip the table and walk away, he wouldn’t have been extorted for hundreds of thousands and still done nothing.

He always wanted to avoid being dragged into these affairs, slip into the upper class, then consider reclaiming what he’d lost along the way.

But he ignored one thing: the Federation’s upper class was always for Federation citizens, never for outsiders or immigrants.

No matter how grandly they spoke, just look at how few first- or second-generation immigrants sit in the Senate.

Think again: how many immigrants have become President of the Federation? That’s all you need to understand.

They loudly chant about equality, yet enforce inequality.

It’s like fishing—you don’t bait the water, how do you lure the fish?

Once the fish come, you, the angler, aren’t planning to befriend them—you only want to feed them so you can reel them in.

The Federation’s upper class is no different.

The more Mr. Chobav craved dignity, the less he’d have it—but that had nothing to do with Lans.

He’d already offered the optimal solutions: violent upheaval or quiet upheaval—but Mr. Chobav chose to lie down and dream of “someday.” Let him.

You can never wake a man pretending to sleep, even if you stab him until he bleeds.

Holding dozens of thousands in debt claims, some easier to collect, others harder, he’d sort them first, then collect them in order, putting the money into his own pocket.

While reviewing these documents, Ethan suddenly burst in, shoving open the office door.

He appeared to be glancing sideways at him, as if asking, “Why didn’t you knock?”

“Elvin was beaten at the dock. They say he’s unconscious.”

He was closest to Elvin; his eyes were red—not from tears, but from rage. He wanted to kill right now.

Lans paused, then rose and walked to the safe, opened it, placed the documents inside, and pulled out the pistol within.

“Gather the team. Let’s go see…”

Some heard Elvin was beaten and wanted to come; Lans picked a few. They drove four cars and arrived at the dock in about ten minutes.

Elvin had woken up, but looked terrible—curled on the roadside, face twisted in pain.

His companions saw the cars and were startled, but soon recognized Lans and his group in the fading sunset light—and sighed in relief.

“Where does it hurt?” Lans walked over, checked him: his jaw was swollen, his face had a wound—likely a penetrating injury.

He clutched his stomach, making Lans’s expression grow grim.

“My stomach…”

Lans looked at Ethan. “Carry him to the car. We’re going to the hospital.” Then he scanned the crowd. “Anyone who knows what happened—come with us.”

Some, afraid of trouble, stepped back. Others, unafraid, stepped forward.

Lans pointed at one. “You. Come with us.”

The man smiled slightly, then realized this wasn’t the time—he forced a solemn nod and got in the car.

There was a hospital nearby, but not a famous one. Medical conglomerates knew dockworkers had no money—nothing to squeeze.

In Jincheng City, the best medical resources were concentrated in the Bay Area—full of villas, full of the rich, who alone were willing to spend endless gold on their health.

At the hospital, Ethan carried Elvin straight to emergency. The ER doctor examined him carefully, his expression darkening.

“Who’s responsible here?”

A crowd gathered around him, making the doctor nervous. “Send someone who can make decisions.”

Lans made the others step back, stood beside the doctor, and handed him twenty dollars. “What’s my friend’s condition?”

The doctor hesitated. Lans shoved the money directly into his chest pocket. Only then did the doctor react. “There’s good news and a…”

The twenty dollars put him in a good mood—he almost wanted to play the classic good-news/bad-news game—but seeing Lans’s murderous gaze, he dropped it.

“Your friend’s intestines may have a problem.”

He’d planned to say, “He’s still alive after ten minutes—that means the internal injury isn’t severe.” But seeing their expressions, he chose honesty.

“So he needs surgery?” Lans asked.

The doctor nodded. “We can do it here, but it’s expensive. Does your friend have social insurance?”

Lans shook his head. Elvin was still an undocumented—how could he have insurance?

“How much?”

The doctor pursed his lips. “If our own doctor performs it, about a thousand to twelve hundred. If you want a famous doctor from the Bay Area, it’ll be around four thousand five hundred.”

Those behind Lans gasped. Even a thousand-dollar surgery stunned them speechless.

And a famous doctor costing four thousand five hundred? That meant the doctor’s fee alone was three thousand five hundred?

Actually, he wasn’t truly famous—just moderately known, skilled, and willing to take extra jobs.

Real celebrity surgeons didn’t need this money and never took outside work.

Considering the horrifying surgical standards of this era, Lans told him to book the so-called famous doctor.

Then he ordered Ethan to return to the office and fetch five thousand dollars.

The doctor nearly laughed out loud!

Though the big cut went to the outside doctor, he’d still earn hundreds more than doing it himself.

“No problem, sir. I’ll arrange it immediately.”

He didn’t ask if he was an illegal immigrant—only that money was coming.

Now, finally, Lans had time. He turned to the young man who’d followed them, still stunned. “What’s your name?”

“Alan, Mr. Lans.”

“Good, Alan. Tell me what happened.”

The young man recounted the events. When someone heard Hammer had punched Elvin and then kicked him, they slammed a fist into the hospital wall!

The loud thud drew everyone’s gaze—but they quickly looked away under the weight of threatening stares.

“Good kid. You can go now.” Lans pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slipped it into his pocket. But the guy didn’t leave.

“You have something else?” Lans asked, growing impatient.

Alan swallowed. “Mr. Lans, I want to join your family.”

Lans paused, then laughed, gripping Alan’s nape and squeezing. “You’re already family. Go sleep. Come to the office tomorrow morning.”

Alan’s eyes lit up with joy. “Mr. Lans…”

“Call me Lans.”

“Lans, can I stay? I can help—anything!”

Lans didn’t dampen his enthusiasm. He let him stay.

Soon, a doctor arrived with two nurses. From this angle, four thousand five hundred… still expensive.

But Lans had recently gained a large income—he could afford it.

The doctor quickly assessed the case and reached the same conclusion as the local doctor.

“If it were a ruptured spleen or other organ, he wouldn’t have made it here. Likely his intestines twisted.”

“Is the operating room ready?” After receiving confirmation and pocketing the money, the doctor shook Lans’s hand. “I’ll do my best.”

Then he entered the operating room.

The surgery lasted about forty minutes. When the doctor emerged, he smiled—everyone exhaled in relief.

He removed his mask. “His intestines twisted several times from external force. I opened his abdomen, untangled them, and put them back. He’ll wake soon.”

“No special care needed. I’ve given the instructions to the local doctors—they’ll follow them.”

“He’ll be able to walk or do simple things soon, but full recovery may take two or three months.”

Lans smiled, shook the doctor’s hand again. “Thank you. Can I have your business card?”

“If you need me, I can contact you directly.”

The doctor hesitated, studied Lans and his men, then handed over a card. “For medical issues, call me. But don’t bring me trouble.”

Lans gripped his hand firmly. “I swear it.”

Two hours later, Elvin woke from anesthesia. He looked at Lans and the furious Ethan, and smiled. “Sorry. I messed up this time.”

Lans shook his head. “Rest. Tell me his name.”

“Hammer!”

The crowd dispersed, leaving Alan and another man to care for him. At the hospital entrance, Lans lit a cigarette. “I know the smart move is to wait at the dock tomorrow morning—he won’t escape. That’s rational.”

“But from my personal emotion, my gut—I don’t want to wait until tomorrow for this revenge.”

The twenty-some men stood silent, watching him.

Lans met each of their eyes, holding their gaze, his cigarette hand gesturing lightly. “Rouse our people. Find out where he lives, where he is now. I want to see him before dawn.”

“Spend what you must. I don’t care who you disturb or how much you spend. I only care about seeing him.”

“Now, go do it.”