Chapter 610

After Lans left, the warehouse returned to calm. Under the lights, Director Dai Er watched Agent Pang Da with a shifting expression, his look very complex. "I never thought it would be you, nor did I think it would be him."

Agent Pang Da shrugged. "Actually, I never thought so either, but it doesn't do us any harm, does it?"

"At first, I didn't think this issue through clearly. I felt that defecting to one side would make me lose something."

"But in reality, I lost nothing at all; on the contrary, I gained more than before."

"Wealth, reputation, the crackdown on crime, and everything else."

Director Dai Er raised his hand, stopping him from continuing, then smoothed his hair. "You don't need to persuade me. I've seen far more of this kind of thing than you have."

"After all, I come from Jinzhou," he said, unable to help but laugh twice.

The power-for-money deals in Jinzhou were even more frequent; capitalists always surrounded politicians just to make it convenient to convert the wealth in their hands into power at any time and place.

Or to make it convenient for those politicians to find a short-term tenant for the power in their hands.

He hadn't considered this matter before; on one hand, there was no one here with such profound strength, and on the other, the conflict between him and Lans was, in his view, very deep.

Under his direction, the Hazardous Materials Bureau had sealed off many of Lans's bars and confiscated and destroyed much of his alcohol; there was long ago no room left for peace talks between the two sides.

But he just hadn't expected that everything had long been marked with a price; he had simply been excluded from this transaction.

He walked to the edge of the table and picked up the briefcase.

Possessing one hundred thousand dollars and having the full authority to use one hundred thousand dollars to do anything are two different things.

"Do you need me to give you a ride?" Agent Pang Da followed in front of Director Dai Er.

Director Dai Er took sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on, glancing sideways at Agent Pang Da. "I drove here myself, and besides..." he reached out and blocked Agent Pang Da, "I am the director!"

He went straight out the door, put the briefcase into his trunk, and then drove away.

Agent Pang Da stood at the entrance and smoked a cigarette before leaving with his subordinates.

This was just a very, very small matter for this city.

Someone holding the position of Director of the Hazardous Materials Bureau was doing so to realize their ideal of returning to Jinzhou.

But there were also some people whose ideals were not so grand; they just wanted not to be discriminated against or humiliated.

A little later, Alberto contacted Lans; he wanted to talk to Lans, and Lans told him to come to his office.

Lans's office was decorated very luxuriously; anyone coming here for the first time would feel that this place did not look like a place used by a gang leader to discuss crime.

It looked more like the office of those big capitalists, with the scent of money permeating everywhere.

"Drink something?" Lans walked to the side of the bar. "Whiskey?"

"Coffee?"

"Black tea?"

"Or iced lemonade?"

"Whiskey." Alberto rubbed his cheeks, watching Lans walk over carrying a tray.

Inside were an ice bucket, a bottle of fine Golden Lion whiskey, and two glasses.

Lans put ice cubes into each glass and then picked up the bottle of whiskey, which had somewhat different packaging. "Taste our new product."

The color of the liquor was very clear, not cloudy, and had no impurities.

It was poured into the glass, fully contacting the ice cubes, and finally settled at the bottom of the glass.

He handed one glass to Alberto, who picked it up and sniffed it, a look of surprise appearing on his face.

He looked at Lans, and Lans signaled for him to taste it first.

He took a small sip and immediately had a chemical reaction; he looked at the liquor in the glass again. "Incredible, how did you do it?"

"This liquor is like it's been cast with magic!"

Lans turned the bottle over at this moment, letting the label face him. Alberto only then noticed that this bottle of liquor had a "Five Year" label, and it was raised a section higher than the entire label, visible at a glance.

The gold-stamped "5" gave people a very noble feeling. Alberto put down the bottle and took another sip; there were indeed more changes.

"How did you do it?"

He knew that Lans was producing his own liquor, and even the Pasleto family's liquor was now purchased directly from Lans.

Lans saved on storage and transportation costs here, and coupled with their relationship with Lans, the price was even cheaper than smuggling from Xiang Yalan.

It was precisely because they were all using Lans's liquor that Alberto knew their liquor had not undergone aging.

This kind of liquor... for users of ordinary alcoholic beverages, there was no big difference.

It tasted very "hard," both in aroma and style.

If drinking too much liquor causes a feeling of dizziness, then the dizziness produced by this unaged liquor was like someone taking a baseball bat and hitting you on the head.

And for those that had been aged, the force would not be so intense; although it would also produce the same dizziness, that dizziness came very softly and was not annoying.

Flavor, aroma, style—these were all different.

Good liquor, liquor that wants to be sold at a higher price, must undergo aging.

Currently, what ordinary bars use to distinguish between medium, low, and high grades is mainly alcohol content; you spend more money, get a taste of liquor that is easier to accept, and have more alcohol.

Of course, in the process of manufacturing and storage itself, there is actually an aging process, but the time is not too long; the first batch of liquor from the farm has already faced the market, and they have been stored for at most three months.

Three months isn't even enough to kill the "fire" in all the liquor, but these... clearly no longer had that fire.

"Chemical secrets." Lans didn't explain specifically; in reality, they added some thickeners, then added aging essence, and he went to buy a large number of oak barrels used by other distilleries for aging.

In the past, many distilleries with aging had many oak barrels; Lans had bought many of these oak barrels now.

They would be crushed by a crusher and then participate in the short-term aging process in the form of spices.

These oak barrels themselves had a special aging aroma produced after long-term soaking; now that they were crushed and mixed into the new liquor, they would release the originally stored flavor.

Coupled with some chemical help, it only took two or three months for such a whiskey that tasted like it had been aged for at least three to five years to be produced.

Such a bottle of liquor, placed on the market to sell for three or four hundred dollars, no one would have any objections.

In a bar, its price would be even more expensive; a two-ounce glass could sell for at least forty dollars, a proper artifact for harvesting wealth.

It sounds like the price is unreasonably high, but this is the Federation, and everything becomes reasonable again.

A worker's monthly wage is forty dollars (it rose a little), but it's only enough for those rich people to have one glass of liquor in a bar.

Is it unreasonable?

It's very reasonable!

When the average wage is only three dollars or five dollars, there are already super-rich people here with a net worth of one billion.

Those with a net worth of over one hundred million appear in clusters.

People always use "magical" to describe those incredible worlds, and the Federation is magical.

Magical Federation.

Alberto put down the glass in his hand. "I don't quite understand, but it seems very amazing."

In his heart, he had actually realized that Lans would earn more money because of this liquor.

If the previous liquor, which carried fire and had a strong smell of alcohol rushing to the face the moment the cap was opened, was to deal with those in the lower-middle class who were full of longing for alcohol...

Then this liquor was used to harvest those in the upper-middle class who were dependent on alcohol.

The taste is not bad, and coupled with some special flavors, it's hard for it not to sell at a high price.

"I... have been considering a problem recently."

Lans took out a cigarette, gave him one, and lit one for himself.

After exhaling a puff of smoke, Alberto continued, "Dover has gained some support in Sumuli; he is becoming important, and I am a bit worried."

"If I let him continue to grow, he will eventually pose a threat to us that I cannot imagine, so I have to deal with him."

Dover, as a direct member of the Pasleto family—of course, they all think so, but in reality, he can only be considered a peripheral member.

But because of his relationship with Paul, he also had his own villa on the estate, so many people thought he was a core member.

Such a person returned to Sumuli Island and expressed his respects to the Four Great Families; no matter how he returned, the Four Great Families needed to do something for what he had done.

He received strong support from the family that accepted him there; the news Alberto received from his hometown was that he already had over a hundred people under him.

They hoped to set up a typical example, letting the overseas Sumuli people who were suffering from cultural shock "return to their ancestors."

Decades ago, to avoid resource competition, they drove these people out of Sumuli Island and even let the local government issue various policies favorable to immigration.

But now they urgently hoped to get the recognition of those Sumuli people who had left, accepting the view that they were the "old ancestors."

So as long as they could support one, they would not be stingy with wealth and power to give help.

"Dover and us are different after all; Paul didn't go back to anger them, and they intend to let Dover replace us."

Lans's expression became slightly more serious. "Can I help?"

Alberto said "Thank you." "No, you can't help; this is our internal problem."

"I must solve him before he completely develops."

Lans understood. "This is very dangerous."

Alberto shook his head. "Nothing is safe; those experts said that even crossing the street has a probability of being hit into the sky by a drunkard, and eating has the possibility of choking yourself to death, so for me, it is fifty-fifty."

"A tragedy happening to me, or I smoothly pass through everything!"

He had already firmed up his idea; no matter how Lans persuaded him, he wouldn't budge. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Alberto picked up the glass again and took a sip; he leaned back on the sofa, holding the glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "Help me take good care of Francisco."

Lans agreed. "As long as he doesn't leave Jincheng, I guarantee his safety and that of the Pasleto family."

"I believe you!" Alberto smiled. "That is all I came to find you for."

Lans still wanted to make a final effort. "Actually, you can arrange for reliable gunmen to do this; there is no need to go back yourself."

Alberto shook his head. "You don't understand; leaving this kind of thing to others, I'm not at ease."

"I'm not saying I must solve him with my own hands, but this process must be under my control."

"Once this opportunity is missed, it will be difficult for us to have a second chance to act, and next it will be our turn to suffer their retaliation."

"There will be gunmen of all colors crossing the ocean to come here, and then shooting at us; as long as he doesn't die for one day, there will always be gunmen coming..."

"And we have no way to return to Sumuli Island to launch a war, nor will there be so many people supporting us."

From this perspective, this is indeed a problem concerning survival and the future, and also a problem that must be solved.

"Alright, I won't say anything; I wish you success."

Alberto raised his glass and clinked it with Lans. "If I have any accident..."

He hesitated for a moment. "Let Francisco temporarily give up everything now, lie low, and wait for a new opportunity."

"I have already talked to him; during this time, I will need to trouble you to take care of him."

Lans clinked glasses with him. "Leave it to me."

He finished the liquor in the glass in one gulp; clearly, this liquor was ice-cold, but he exhaled a breath of hot, burning air. "Refreshing!"

Immediately after, he took a puff of his cigarette, wanting to use nicotine to suppress the ravages of the alcohol; he blinked. "Bring me two bottles when you come back later; I like this taste."

Ten minutes later, two young men carried two cases of liquor and put them into Alberto's trunk.

Fodisi sat in the driver's seat looking at Lans, with an innocent look on his face.

Lans stood by the door of the driver's seat, somewhat helpless. "I tried to persuade him, but it was of no use."

Fodisi sighed; in reality, they had also had some arguments internally because of this matter.

Others on Alberto's side thought he had done enough already, and there was no reason or necessity to return to Sumuli Island to assassinate Christopher.

There was absolutely no need!

That was an internal problem of the Pasleto family and had no direct relationship with them, these people with different surnames.

But Alberto thought he needed to shoulder this part of the responsibility, because if it weren't for Paul, he might still be a farmer in the countryside of Sumuli Island now.

Instead of living in a luxury villa in the magical Federation, enjoying at least ten or twenty years of the best life.

This was the last thing he did for Paul; as long as Dover was solved, what he owed Paul would be completely paid off, and they could go live their own lives.

This operation was very dangerous; some people didn't want to go, so they had an argument with Alberto.

Eventually, their group also split.

Some people had already left; they were unwilling to accompany Alberto to his death.

But there were also some who stayed; these people had also received Alberto's help and assistance, and they also wanted to repay his kindness.

But no matter what, this was always sad.

Those good friends who were like family left in anger...

Lans patted his arm. "Are you going too?"

Fodisi nodded.

At this moment, Alberto, who had finished tidying up the trunk, walked over. "What are you talking about?"

Lans shook his head. "Everything about the weather."

Alberto laughed twice; he didn't expose him. He walked to Lans's side and hugged him. "See you later."

Lans patted his back hard. "Waiting for your good news."

After watching Alberto leave, Lans was somewhat melancholy, but this melancholy did not last for a very long time.

The entire family was still climbing rapidly, upward; he could sigh, lament, but he would not stop here.

At the same time, he also had a realization: with this departure, there was a high probability that Alberto would not be able to come back.

Sumuli Island was controlled by the Four Great Families; that was the territory they had inherited.

As long as they were willing, no one could leave that island.

If everything was as he said, Dover became a typical example and a benchmark set up by the Four Great Families, then his death would completely anger the Four Great Families.

Alberto would definitely be trapped on that island.

But this was his determination—a great yet foolish person.

Soon his attention was placed on the mayoral election; although this was just going through the motions, no one knew if there would be another spoiler.

Congressman Williams's schedule was very full; every day he was either meeting with worker representatives here or holding public speeches over there.

The Liberal Party and the Socialist Party arranged a total of three mayoral candidates; the other two were just running to make up the numbers, used to prove that the Federation's election system was fair and just and that there was no political monopoly.

Some people say that the people of so-and-so are the best people; Lans firmly did not believe it, because the people of the Federation are the best people.

Even if their government tells them that the pile of smelly stuff on the ground is not poop, but soybean paste, they will still dip their fingers in it, stuff it into their mouths, and shout, "The soybean paste tastes very authentic."

The entire city brought about some changes because of the election—good ones, bad ones.

On the morning of the Saturday of the fourth week of August, Congressman Williams called Lans. "There is something I need your help with."

"What is it?" Lans was reading the newspaper; the newspaper talked about the Budget Committee approving a series of new budget expenditures, expenditures to deal with a possible upcoming war.

This caused the entire federal industrial index to gain a significant increase, which was already not easy, and almost most stocks were rising along with it.

People were always happily exchanging opinions, talking about how many billions of funds were going to enter society through what channels, as if this money could make everyone earn some!

"Those refugees, they gathered at the place where I am going to give a speech this afternoon."

Lans smiled and said, "Is it to listen to your truth?"

Congressman Williams laughed. "I hope so."

Then his meaning was "no."