Chapter 50: No Worries Left Behind

Mr. Johnny, I’m the new patrol officer for this district; you can call me Clark. I’ll be responsible for patrolling and maintaining order in this neighborhood from now on.

“I just heard you’ve run into some trouble…” He glanced at Johnny in his wheelchair, then at the casts on his body, removed his hat, and sat down on a nearby chair.

“They say they’ve caught the killer, but your money’s gone. I asked the officer handling the case—you can prepare to hire a lawyer and sue them for compensation for your… various losses.” He glanced at Johnny’s arm and barely held back a laugh.

Johnny had already become a joke on this street. The case spread fast; people like him—stingy and cruel—were rare, so everyone saw it as a bloody joke.

It was a joke, but a bloody one.

He didn’t really want to face Officer Clark, but he forced himself to respond, “Thank you for coming to inform me. It’s good news, but as you can see, I can’t afford a lawyer right now.”

“By the way, I’d like to ask—will they hire a lawyer?”

After multiple amendments to the Federal Constitution, parties have the right to hire a lawyer to defend themselves or assert their rights, and the Federal Judiciary supports this.

But it clearly doesn’t help the poor, since most of them can’t afford lawyers—so today’s Federal Judiciary is merely a toy for the rich.

Ordinary people lack legal knowledge and have no advantage against professional lawyers; even when they’re victims, they often end up in prison.

Hiring a criminal lawyer in the Federation isn’t cheap—even if this case is a guaranteed win without defense, the other side will demand at least a hundred dollars, with no upper limit, and the judge’s awarded compensation to Johnny will be skimmed by at least fifteen percent, up to thirty percent, as “service fees.”

Johnny couldn’t afford a lawyer, and he hoped the other side couldn’t either—so he wouldn’t have to spend extra money, yet still get some compensation.

Officer Clark shook his head. “I don’t know much about this. It’s a Criminal Investigations case—I have no authority to interfere.”

He paused. “There’s another thing I wanted to mention, besides this.”

“Before John left…”

Before he could finish, Johnny interrupted: “I already paid. I paid six months in advance. John probably didn’t mention it to you.”

Clark’s smile vanished visibly. He stared at Johnny, his eyes cold. “That’s between you and John. He doesn’t handle this area anymore.”

“I’m different from John. Everyone knows he was greedy. So each month, you only need to pay me fifty dollars.”

“Monthly.”

It was the only option left. Before leaving, John had bled dry every merchant on this street.

When Clark arrived, he learned the situation and spent half an hour cursing John with his partner—but they still had to find a way to collect the money.

After discussing it, they decided the only viable method was to lower the amount and collect monthly—this stood a better chance of success.

John was indeed a greedy dog. His protection fees were much higher than other districts, but that came with his brutal methods.

Clark didn’t want a terrible nickname. In the end, they agreed: shops with booming business pay fifty dollars a month; average ones pay thirty.

What about those making less than thirty dollars a month in profit?

They’d force those unable to pay to leave, letting the shop go to someone capable and willing to run a business.

As a newly appointed officer, where you start collecting and whether you succeed matters crucially—it determines whether Clark and his partner can rule this street with absolute authority.

If he fails to collect from Johnny, collecting from others will become harder—they’ll resist him.

Only by breaking Johnny—the most profitable and most difficult target—will the others submit and pay.

He cursed John, the bastard who messed everything up and left them in a bind, and he cursed Johnny too.

You’re crippled, yet still blind to reality—he won’t give you a good face.

Clark took a deep breath. “Johnny, you know there are many eyes watching us.”

“Don’t make me look bad, and I won’t make things hard for you.”

“It’s just fifty dollars.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Johnny clenched his lips, silently cursing both John and Clark a hundred times over—every filthy word he knew, as if it eased his pain.

Seeing the officer’s gaze grow colder, more unyielding, Johnny grew furious, his voice turning hoarse. “I hope you’re not like John—just full of big talk.”

Officer Clark’s face broke into a smile. “You’ll see how well I maintain safety here!”

Johnny gathered every coin from his cash box—it was still a few dollars short. But Clark didn’t care; they were all loose change.

He grabbed the stack, gripping it tightly in his hand. "You still owe me five dollars—I'll count that as a gesture of concern for your injury. Hope you recover soon—I'm looking forward to eating bread you bake yourself."

“Johnny, you’re a smart man. I’m glad you didn’t make me look bad. I won’t make things hard for you either. Any problems, call the radio—they’ll find me.”

Outside the bakery, Officer Clark adjusted his belt. His partner pulled out a cotton-and-linen sack from the car window, and Clark dumped all the money into it, right in front of the shopkeepers.

The shopkeepers gathered at their doors, watching. They cursed Johnny, blaming him for not standing up to pressure, then began preparing cash. These bloodsucking bastards—they deserved to burn in hell!

In the afternoon, another bad news arrived: the court notified him of the trial date and revealed that the other side had hired a defense lawyer.

If he didn’t hire a lawyer, he’d likely lose ground in what should’ve been a guaranteed win.

Fortunately, Johnny had some savings—around seven or eight hundred dollars. He withdrew some cash, visited an ordinary law office, paid twenty dollars for a consultation, and received a satisfying answer.

The lawyer told him the case had no disputed facts: his apprentice had planned a home invasion, assault, and robbery. As the sole victim, even if the other side’s lawyer was Gold Harbor City’s top attorney,

they couldn’t turn him from victim to perpetrator. The only thing the other side could do was try to shorten the youths’ sentences and minimize fines.

The lawyer even told Johnny he might get more compensation—because from a professional legal standpoint, paying for the victim’s forgiveness was the simplest, most effective way to reduce sentencing.

In other words, Johnny might make a small fortune.

Johnny repeatedly asked if he needed a lawyer. Each time, the lawyer replied: “You have absolutely no need to waste money here—unless you want to push for more compensation. But forgive me for being blunt: that might cost you more.”

“Because there might be a second trial—or more. Your legal fees would skyrocket. You understand what I mean.”

The lawyer’s confident tone put Johnny, who had little education, completely at ease. After thanking him, Johnny left the law office.

He also felt a pang of regret for wasting twenty dollars—he never intended to hire a lawyer. The consultation was unnecessary.

The bakery’s evening business remained wildly busy. It must be said: Johnny wasn’t just a baker—he was a baker who understood people’s needs.

He always made his bread more filling and longer-lasting, which was his secret to profit.

He worked until past six, when the peak rush finally passed.

When the bakery was nearly empty and closing, he had his daughter wheel him to the display window.

Watching the street darken outside, while the distant city glowed in colorful lights, he felt a strange, unspoken thought stir within him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there—until his daughter came to wipe the table and asked him to move—when he noticed a small card on the table:

“Wanli Financial Services Consulting: Solving Your Financial Worries”