Chapter 119: Routine Matters and Building Bridges

When Johnny and the man beside him heard the police siren, they sighed in relief—but then a small incident occurred—

Several men in blue work uniforms deliberately blocked the police car, even surrounding it.

Even if these men were illegal immigrants, Officer Ferren dared not drive into them—murder doesn’t care about nationality.

Not even for illegal immigrants.

You can beat them, humiliate them, curse at them—but if you don’t kill them or cause serious injury, the Criminal Investigations Unit will definitely intervene.

This forced him to roll down his window and whisper to a worker standing angrily in front of his door, “One of us.”

At that moment, he truly felt Lans’s power!

These men usually avoided police entirely—yet now they were willing to block them here—and Officer Ferren realized Lans would surely become one of Jin Gang City’s major figures.

Several minutes later, the police car slowly arrived; they sent someone to escort Officer Ferren and his team out, or else they’d be stuck at the gate indefinitely.

Officer Ferren cleared his throat and walked over with his partner, pretending not to know Lans—though several people had already seen these two cops outside Lans’s office.

This made the imperial workers in blue uniforms feel Lans’s strength—he could even manipulate the police!

“What happened?” Officer Ferren asked.

Baker stepped forward voluntarily. “I beat them up.” He held up a baseball bat. “With this.”

Someone in the crowd couldn’t help laughing—no one man could possibly take on several others; this was blatant lying—but who cared?

They only felt satisfaction, amusement, greater cohesion and unity—they didn’t think it absurd or unacceptable.

Johnny had come to his senses; he held his arm, staring at Lans, his expression shifting constantly.

He could say Lans did it—or say nothing at all.

As the primary victim, the police and the court would give his testimony more weight.

But now he was afraid.

Then someone behind him suddenly pointed at Lans’s group and shouted, “They hit back too!”

Johnny stayed silent—it wasn’t him who said it.

Officer Ferren looked at Lans. “He says you hit back too.”

“Did you strike anyone, sir?”

“This is slander!” Lans emphasized.

“Whether you struck them or not, we’ll investigate thoroughly,” Officer Ferren said, sounding official. He turned to the man who accused Lans. “Your name and address, sir.”

The man looked bewildered but answered anyway: “My name is… I live at…”

As he spoke, he suddenly noticed someone beside Lans was writing down his words—he fell silent.

Officer Ferren stared at him. “What number on this street do you live at?”

He didn’t understand—why did it feel like the cop was helping this group?

But he knew this wasn’t the time to speak—he shook his head and said nothing.

“If you won’t talk, I can’t take them back for investigation.”

He still said nothing. Officer Ferren closed his notebook and turned to Johnny, clearly more badly injured. “Need me to call an ambulance?”

Johnny shook his head, gritting his teeth. “Take me to the hospital yourself.”

Ambulance transport and on-board treatment were expensive—and not covered by insurance. He didn’t want to pay.

Officer Ferren nodded, then looked at Baker. “You’ll have to come with us. Before that, I need to search you.”

Baker obediently pressed his hands against the police car. His partner quickly patted him down—found no contraband or weapons—then pulled out handcuffs.

But Officer Ferren stopped him. “I think he’s safe—no need for cuffs.” He opened the back door. “Get in…”

Under federal local law, when an officer determines a suspect is merely suspected but not dangerous, they may refrain from using restraints like handcuffs—it’s the officer’s right.

Baker thanked him and got in the back. Then Johnny—his left arm broken and severely swollen—managed to climb in, likely sustained by excess adrenaline.

Officer Ferren left his partner to finish the routine paperwork while he drove off with Baker and Johnny…

As Lans and the others left, the crowd dispersed—and what happened here spread rapidly as they went.

The dock quickly returned to silence—but its ripples had barely begun to spread.

Vaughn arrived at the dock after nine and immediately called Lans—someone had told him what happened.

As vice president of the dockworkers’ union, he saw this as a very serious matter!

It could trigger a chain of unpredictable consequences.

As a union official, Vaughn knew that with a little prompting and organization, this could easily become another protest—he had to prevent it.

Lans arrived quickly—it was his first time at the union’s office.

It stood on Dock One, a two-story building, each floor roughly eight hundred to a thousand square meters; the vice president’s office was upstairs.

Vaughn opened the door after a knock and let him in.

“What the hell happened?” Vaughn complained the moment he sat down. “I was eating breakfast when they called me half a dozen times—said someone was causing trouble on the dock, dockworkers got hurt. If this isn’t handled well, it’ll be a mess.”

Lans briefly recounted the events. Vaughn listened and winced.

He knew dockworkers often bullied illegal immigrants—even though they called themselves the Dockworkers’ Union, they didn’t care much for these immigrants either.

So when incidents like this happened, their usual choice was to ignore them.

In the past, illegal immigrants—especially imperial ones—were scattered, unorganized, and too afraid to speak up.

Because there were no powerful figures among legal imperial immigrants, no dangerous players.

The Kamill Gang had some reputation—but they were even crueler to their own countrymen than to federals!

Plus, local workers paid union dues; illegal immigrants didn’t. That alone told the union where to stand.

So the union’s stance had always been to ignore everything unless it became a major scandal.

But now things were clearly different—Lans had appeared, and he’d acted personally.

Lans watched Vaughn’s furrowed brow. “What are you worried about?”

Vaughn stared at Lans for a moment. “I’m worried Johnny might cause trouble.”

Lans looked relaxed. “I guarantee no one will cause you trouble.”

Vaughn still wasn’t reassured. “But the image is bad—it could be exploited. You know, anti-immigrant sentiment hasn’t faded long ago.”

“Vaughn, we can’t keep ignoring these problems forever. Today’s just a small incident…” He paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“It’s just a small thing—someone got hurt, but dock operations weren’t disrupted, no one died.”

“But will it always stay this small?”

“When tensions build to a breaking point and rules can no longer contain them, they’ll explode—and everyone will get hurt!”

“We can’t keep doing nothing anymore!”

Vaughn’s brow tightened further. “But what can we do? Do you have a plan?”

“I plan to make them pay union dues. That gives the union more authority to intervene—you’re better than I am at controlling and resolving dock issues, and you’ll have a legitimate reason to act.”

Vaughn froze. “Do they have money?”

Lans’s answer still surprised him. “They don’t—but I do.”

Vaughn was speechless. “So many workers—each month’s dues add up to two thousand. You’re sure you’ll pay for them?”

Actually, it wasn’t all Lans’s money—his agency took fees from both sides: the cardholder and the worker renting the card—each paid him one dollar per job, so he earned four dollars per card.

The card owner got thirty-two dollars monthly; illegal immigrants earned at least fifteen dollars per job.

It didn’t seem like much—but it was stable. If someone held two jobs, that was thirty dollars—close to a federal worker’s income!

These illegal immigrants didn’t lack hard workers—just job opportunities.

Taking part of the profit from them and returning it through other means—Lans believed this was entirely possible.

He wasn’t short on money—he needed a good reputation and status among imperial immigrants.

This was clearly a cheap way to buy a big reputation—he wouldn’t let it slip.

Vaughn was uncertain. “But… they’re illegal immigrants. We’ve never accepted dues from them.”

“Everything has a first time. And I think this could become a federal precedent.”

“They’re workers first, their status second. If they’re workers, why shouldn’t they pay union dues?”

“Every part of the federation faces similar problems. If you solve this first, you give other unions a model to follow—you might become famous.”

Vaughn was tempted. For him, life boiled down to two things: money and reputation.

Of course, his desire for them wasn’t crude—he was more subtle.

At his age, he saw through everything. Ideals meant nothing compared to survival—otherwise he wouldn’t have accepted Lans’s kindness and taken the twenty-dollar nutrition fee.

Nor would he have kept the three hundred dollars separate instead of depositing it into the union account.

“I need to discuss this with President Scott. No one’s ever done this before.”

Lans pressed harder. “Precisely because no one has, our being first matters!”

“If someone else already did it, the fame and profit would belong to them—what’s left for us?”

“Vaughn, I treat you as a friend—that’s why I say this. People won’t remember who crossed the bridge every day—but they’ll always remember who built it!”

Vaughn was moved. If President Scott stepped up, and he pushed hard here, he could become president of the dockworkers’ union.

Jin Gang City was the federation’s economic engine—many eyes were on it. Even as a dock union president, he’d gain real standing in federal politics.

Over the years, many had jumped straight from union leadership into politics—like a certain state governor, once the head of the largest local union.

With strong public support, he easily won high approval when he ran for governor.

Never mind what happened after—he was already governor. Maybe someday senator—or even federal president!

His long-dead dreams surged back. He clenched his lips. “I’ll try to talk to President Scott.”

“And you’re right—it benefits us both.”

"The union has received more dues, allowing us to better assist workers in need and to carry out our work more effectively."

"At the same time, we can also better help vulnerable groups, after all, they are workers too!"

What about Johnny and his friends?

Vaughn no longer cared much, but he still had to say what needed saying: "After I discuss this with Scott, I’ll give you word immediately. But you must clean up this morning’s incident— I don’t want it to escalate."

Lans nodded, then stood and took his leave.

When he left the union office, a number of people in blue work uniforms were already gathered by his car.

They immediately stepped forward as they saw Lans approaching—Jamie was among them.

The morning’s events filled him with an inner sense of relief; seeing Johnny knocked to the ground, he longed to be Lans, but he knew he could never be that man.

Yet that didn’t stop him from reaching his climax!

"Lans, I don’t know what to say—no one has ever cared for us the way you have."

"Even my father at home never did this—I truly don’t know how to express my gratitude to you!"

He was overwhelmed, having endured too much injustice and mistreatment; finally, Lans had torn through these shadows like sunlight, moving him to the brink of tears!

Others stood beside him, thanking Lans for everything he had done for them.

"We came from the Empire; none of us know if we’ll ever return. Here, besides looking out for each other, no one else will truly help us."

"Now that I have some power, I must fulfill my duty and use my ability to help you resolve your troubles—this is what I should do."

Jamie’s friend looked worried: "Didn’t they give you trouble?"—“they” meant the union, since they had gathered here fearing Lans might be harassed.

Lans shook his head. "Chairman Vaughn is easy to get along with—we talked a lot... Oh! By the way!"

He raised his voice slightly. "I just spoke with Chairman Vaughn about paying your union dues— you won’t have to pay a cent. The office will cover it."

"That way, if any conflicts arise between you and local workers, the union won’t side with them—even if they don’t actively help you!"

"I’m not saying this to earn your gratitude—I only want you to know that you are no longer alone in the Federation."

"But remember: even if our working conditions change, we must remain vigilant and stay united."

"I believe that one day, what we do will become the catalyst for changing our very environment!"

He clapped Jamie on the shoulder. "Go back to work—don’t give the capitalists any reason to hassle you."

"If you get fired for skipping work, I won’t help you—it’s your own fault!"

The atmosphere was light. Lans bid each of them farewell, then departed the dock under their watchful eyes.

The news quickly spread among immigrant workers: Lans would pay their union dues, and they would become members of the dockworkers’ union, entitled to its protection and benefits!

If any capitalist mistreated them, the union would stand up for them!

This thrilled some of them—they had never experienced such a relaxed work and living environment.

Those who had been here for years even felt it was unreal!

Suddenly, a powerful figure was standing up for them; suddenly, they could join the union and gain membership—everything was improving, and they longed to weep, to release all their years of grievance through tears!

Chairman Scott arrived in the afternoon. He knew what had happened at the dock, but since the situation hadn’t escalated, he wasn’t overly concerned.

After Vaughn told him the details, he quickly turned his attention to the issue of illegal immigrants paying union dues.

As for Johnny and the like—he considered them trivial matters. If Johnny wasn’t smart enough, he wouldn’t mind helping him become smarter.

This was clearly paving the way for him to reach higher union institutions. Whoever sabotaged it would be his mortal enemy!

After Vaughn finished relaying Lans’s views and adding his own, he proposed meeting Lans in person.

"Set up a meeting with him— as soon as possible. He’s a young man with real ideas. I’m certain the central union will love him."

"If I get promoted, Vaughn, I’ll nominate you to take my place."

Hearing this direct promise, Vaughn clenched his fists—wasn’t this exactly what he wanted?

"I’ll call Lans right now..." Minutes later, he smiled. "He’s busy tonight—I’ve scheduled it for tomorrow morning."

Though Chairman Scott was eager to meet Lans, he respected his busy schedule. "No problem. You’ve done well, Vaughn."

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