Chapter 722: Felt Trouble 6667

For the current rulers of the Federation, using gangs to restrain gangs is one of the simplest and most effective methods—key is, it works well.

Unfortunately, Charlie and Bandy turned the internal stability of Jincheng City into chaos, leaving them in an extremely passive position.

If the police force were still under their control, they could easily eliminate Lans—whether by investigating his criminal enterprises or directly confronting him, either would make Lans vanish quickly from Jincheng City.

Or if the Five Great Families had not yet encountered any problems, any one of them could have easily dealt with Lans.

These people are fucking useless!

But neither Mr. Hoff nor Mr. Charles realized one problem.

Why, after so many years of internal "stability" in Jincheng City, did it suddenly collapse in these past few years?

Was the system insufficiently refined?

No, this city's institutional framework had been in place for two or three decades, consistently stable and efficient—it wasn't the system's fault.

Was it that the people implementing it lacked ability?

No, whether Charlie, Hunter, or the heads of the Five Great Families, all were among the best choices for their positions in this era.

Neither the rules nor the personnel were at fault—then what exactly caused everything to collapse?

No one noticed it; they wouldn't think about it, wouldn't seek it out—after all, to these masters, these were just countless insignificant "small matters."

Only when these small matters piled up into a major crisis did they try to find the root cause and fix it—but it was already too late.

The problem, in fact, lay in the era itself.

If Lans had a decent job and his boss didn't withhold his wages.

If Ethan didn't face massive extortion over minor issues.

If…

Lans, plus too many "ifs," ultimately toppled everything.

People don't see the ants beside the first domino that fell—they only see the fallen domino and the final collapse of the imperial skyscraper!

The one who proposed this idea was Mr. Hoff, and he was also the one who contacted Joshua; here, only he and Joshua knew each other.

Others might know him too, but they wouldn't take the initiative to handle this, because the Holy Bell Party's reputation was truly terrible.

Since the agreed-upon solution had been settled, everyone's tension had eased a bit, when the butler suddenly announced someone had come to visit.

Mr. Charles had the butler bring the visitor in—the unfortunate merchant held his hat in hand, shoulders slightly hunched, as if curling his body inward.

Although he lived in the Bay Area, living there didn't mean he was at the core of the Bay Area's interests.

Just as not everyone living in New Jincheng is a senator—some might just be homeless.

"What's the matter?" Mr. Charles glanced at the unfortunate merchant—he'd seen the man several times but could never remember his name.

He never intended to remember this man's name, whether in the past or now.

He didn't need to remember the name of such a minor figure—just as a person doesn't care what the name of a ditch along their commute is.

To them, they were all collectively called "dogs."

The unfortunate merchant nodded. "Customs says my goods have some risk alerts and must be inspected before clearance."

Mr. Charles and the other gentlemen in the room looked down at him with condescending eyes, making him feel intense shame and discomfort.

His voice grew quieter; he now held his hat with both hands instead of one.

The hat covering his chest gave him a sense of security—he didn't even know why, but he did it instinctively.

Mr. Charles frowned slightly. "What's the problem?"

He himself engaged in import-export trade and knew goods had to pass customs inspection before being loaded onto ships for export.

This was to prevent possible criminal activity, and recently, due to tense international conditions, the Federation government had imposed trade sanctions on member states of the Dentra Military Alliance.

Export sales of large quantities of military equipment materials had been halted entirely to these member states, so inspections had become stricter.

The unfortunate merchant swallowed hard. "But my goods are only cold-weather cotton coats and heating items—they've detained my shipment, saying it'll take at least two weeks before I'm inspected."

Mr. Charles grew impatient. "Then what exactly is the issue?"

He didn't wait for the merchant to speak, adding, "You'd better get to the point, gentlemen."

"Our time is extremely valuable—I hope you understand that!"

He emphasized, "Get to the point!"

The unfortunate merchant nodded quickly, no longer daring to speak vaguely—he stated his concern outright: "Customs may be harassing factory operators like us. If this shipment can't leave, I'll face massive claims. If nothing else works, I… I'll have to appeal to Mayor Williams."

Mr. Charles finally understood what he meant, his furrowed brow tightening—he realized this was indeed a problem.

Claims… the Federation's capitalists had become quite adept at this game.

Claims favorable to you must be inflated as high as possible; claims unfavorable to you should simply not exist.

But international trade is still a game among capitalists—opponents will inevitably demand massive claims too.

If this was truly orchestrated by Mayor Williams, he had to admit: this punch landed hard!

"Wait a moment—I'll make a call." Mr. Charles went into another room, but the atmosphere in this room didn't ease.

The unfortunate merchant stood by the wall—every gentleman here towered over him; he dared not breathe too loudly, fearing he'd offend them.

After seven or eight minutes, Mr. Charles returned from the other room, glanced at the merchant, and said, "There does seem to be an issue—leave your contact details. I'll reach out later."

The unfortunate merchant wanted to say something, but ultimately just nodded in agreement.

He left his contact information and departed immediately.

No error in one word, one sentence, one detail!

After he left, Mr. Charles said, "They've detained several batches of outbound containers—all from customs brokers based in the old industrial zone."

The former mayor, to better serve Jincheng City's commerce, had taken corporate-related duties from the Social Services Bureau and created a dedicated Commercial Services Bureau—the very government department where Patricia worked.

This department held all registered enterprise information in Jincheng City, naturally including factory data from the old industrial zone.

So technically, customs could block these customs brokers' containers without issue—perfectly targeted.

Once the door closed again, someone couldn't help asking, "Is he telling the truth?"

Mr. Charles nodded. "Very likely."

The Federation's customs agency falls under the Federation's Ministry of Commerce, but the U. S. State Department also holds some authority over it. Officially, it's a federally vertically managed department, yet it requires cooperation from local government, so local authorities retain some influence over it.

In other words, Mayor Williams could indeed influence customs decisions.

"Does anyone know the local customs chief?" Mr. Charles looked around, focusing especially on those with political ties—like Mr. Hoff.

Unfortunately, even Mr. Hoff and the others remained silent—they had little to no contact with customs.

After all, customs officials are appointed by the General Customs Bureau and the Ministry of Commerce, not by local government; even those with ties to the local Social Party or Free Party, like Mr. Hoff, couldn't interfere with these appointments.

There was no overlapping interest, no exchange of favors, and since none of them engaged in import-export trade, they had no personal connections either.

Seeing their silence, Mr. Charles closed his eyes.

"I'll arrange a meeting with him later—see if we can find a solution."

"If we can resolve it, that's the best outcome."

"But if we can't…" he shook his head, "then gentlemen, we must prepare for what comes next!"

More factory owners will abandon us and bow to Mayor Williams.

As fewer and fewer people resist the city hall's tyranny, those who remain will dwindle—eventually, our resistance will become meaningless!

City hall could issue a rigid regulation: no smoke from chimneys in the old industrial zone, no large industrial machinery, no noise above a certain decibel level.

They have countless ways to shut these factories down, and the land they seize is enough to support an entire district's development—their persistence becomes irrelevant.

"This is a critical moment—I hope each of us contributes a little more for our shared interests!"

He paused. "Alright, that's all for today—I still need to meet with the customs chief, so…"

He glanced at Mr. Hoff. "Contact Joshua as soon as possible—finalize this."

"I want to see news of Lans's assassination in the papers within a week."

Then he turned to the others, assigned their tasks, and the meeting ended.

He stood by the window, lit a cigarette, and watched them leave his house, walking out through the damenkou.

For some reason, he had a bad feeling.

Like a gambler in a casino who's seen nothing but big wins for so long—won't this time be a small?

It won't be!

This one's still big!

(End of Chapter)