Chapter 90

Johnny left with the money soon—he didn’t want to stay here any longer. After he was gone, Aierwen curiously asked, “You really lent him the money?”

Lans nodded. “He can’t pay it back.”

“I worked in his bakery for over a month—I know exactly how much he earns each month.”

“Even if his daughter didn’t steal from his cash box, after all expenses, he still has about two hundred dollars left each month.”

Aierwen couldn’t help exclaiming, “That much?!”

Lans agreed. “Yes, it’s a lot—but you must understand, those two hundred include wages for three people. If they worked outside, as federals, they could easily earn thirty-five dollars each month without slacking.”

“They still need to eat and drink.”

“So his bakery actually brings him only a hundred dollars in net income each month.”

“Even if he didn’t pay anyone else, he still couldn’t repay the loan. Six months—even if he saved three hundred dollars each month—he still couldn’t pay it back.”

Aierwen didn’t understand. “Then why lend him money?”

Lans casually placed the file folder into the safe. “I want him to be unable to pay.”

“If he could pay, how would I get his storefront?”

After hearing this, Aierwen felt as if he’d undergone a spiritual awakening. “So from the start, you never intended to let him off.”

Lans shook his head. “There’s no letting off or not letting off—I already got back eighteen dollars. The rest is business.”

He paused, pulled out two contracts signed with Johnny, and placed them on the table. “For any loan over a hundred dollars, use these two contracts.”

Aierwen stared for a while, his head aching. Lans explained: “This section is the loan agreement; this part is financial consulting. They’re not the same thing.”

“All interest above the Usury Law is added to the consulting fee. Understood?”

Aierwen ’s mind was sharp, and the matter wasn’t complicated—he understood immediately.

“That way, if someone doesn’t repay, we sue them directly.”

“Even though we do illegal business, when we can legally earn money, we do it legally.”

In the afternoon, Lans had an appointment with union members. Aierwen arranged it for him: Vaughn, vice-chairman of the Dockworkers’ Union.

In the Federation, “union” is a general term; actual unions are “industry-specific,” formed by workers in particular trades—for example, shipbuilders have a Shipbuilders’ Union.

Steelworkers have a Steelworkers’ Union; naturally, dockloaders have a Dockworkers’ Union.

Vaughn looked about fifty, but didn’t seem like a typical working-class vice-chairman.

They met at a café outside the docks, in a secluded corner.

“Mr. Lans, your Wanli Office has severely disrupted our dock operations. Many workers have complained to me—you’ve turned the whole dock into chaos!”

With thousands of worker cards in hand, seven or eight thousand illegal immigrants found jobs through Lans at the docks—this inevitably caused massive disruption.

Though the anti-immigration backlash hadn’t fully subsided, the docks couldn’t halt operations waiting for it to pass.

Some companies had already suffered huge losses from merely pausing for a few days—they couldn’t afford to stop longer.

So large numbers of illegal immigrants returned to the docks, sparking furious complaints from workers who’d been brainwashed by the anti-immigration movement.

“Our homeland is being invaded by illegal immigrants” became their slogan. The union received many complaints; as a labor organization that shouted “Workers’ Solidarity,” it had to stand up for legal workers’ interests.

Meeting with Lans became inevitable.

But before they sought him out, Lans came to them first.

Facing Vaughn’s complaints, Lans kept smiling. “Mr. Vaughn…”

“No ‘Mr.’—call me Vaughn. Adding titles or honorifics is what capitalists do.”

Though he didn’t look like a working-class man, he still kept the working class’s sharp instincts.

Lans changed his address. “Vaughn, I believe what we’re doing isn’t an offense to traditional local workers.”

“You know what jobs they do.”

“Ship cleaners, sewer pumpers, chimney sweepers, underwater labor…”

“Do you know how filthy, exhausting, and dangerous these jobs are?”

Vaughn had to nod. “True—but…”

Lans cut him off. “But now, all the dangerous, grueling work is done by… illegal immigrants.”

“They take on every task no one else wants, keeping our federal workers away from danger. This isn’t invasion or chaos!”

“Getting them to leave is easy—but can you find enough people to do these jobs?”

“Risking their lives for twenty or thirty dollars a month—I believe federal workers’ lives shouldn’t be worth so little!”

Vaughn fell silent. The core reason illegal immigrants found work was precisely because no one else wanted these jobs.

Whether summer or winter, they scrubbed damp decks or ship sides with cloth that could salt itself in minutes—working all day for barely a dollar.

Many ship cleaners earned less than thirty dollars a month.

Many got sunburned until their skin peeled, or froze stiff—but someone had to do it. Federals refused, so illegal immigrants were the only option.

Seeing Vaughn’s attitude shift, Lans proposed his idea: “I understand some workers think these immigrants are chaotic or have bad habits—but you mentioned it, and now we’ve noticed it too. I’ll strengthen management of these workers.”

“I’m a federal too—I stand with federal workers. Everything I do is just to keep the docks running smoothly.”

Lans licked his lips, sipped coffee. “I plan to donate some money.”

Vaughn, lost in thought, didn’t react at first. “What?”

“From my company’s profits, I’ll set aside three hundred dollars monthly to help workers’ families in need—those temporarily unemployed, sick, or injured with no money for treatment.”

“We’re all workers—all at the bottom of society. We should unite!”

Vaughn snapped back. “Yes, yes—workers must unite to fight capitalist exploitation and oppression!”

He thought a moment. “Your idea is good, Lans. And you’re not entirely wrong. I’ll explain it to them.”

“As for your donation…”

Lans took over. “I don’t know all the dockworkers—I can’t tell who truly needs help and who doesn’t.”

“So I’ll just donate the money. How it’s used—you decide.”

Three hundred dollars a month sounded small—but it was far from insignificant.

Lans went further: “I’ll say I’m donating three hundred, but I’ll actually give four hundred. You work hard too.”

“Not just laboring, but handling union affairs—I’m moved by your noble spirit.”

“So this money… you can buy beef or something else. One saying I find true: the body is capital. Only when we’re strong can we do more for workers!”

Vaughn’s wrinkles seemed to smooth out. “Sounds good?” But he hesitated. “Wouldn’t this cause problems?”

Lans widened his eyes. “What problems?”

“Is there any law banning me from donating to the union to help families and workers in need?”

“Has the Federation’s judiciary stripped us of the right to help each other?”

Vaughn was deeply moved. “You’re right, Lans. People may misunderstand you—I’ll clarify it for them.”

“Also, you mentioned standardization?”

“Yes!” Lans said, voice dry from talking. He sipped coffee and offered Vaughn a cigarette. “I plan to give these illegal laborers uniform uniforms and regulate their behavior on the docks.”

“Tell me your ideas too—anything reasonable, I’ll include.”

“First, it’ll make clear who’s causing disruption, helping people better monitor illegal immigrants’ work.”

“Second, it’s a form of pressure and supervision—making them aware their every action is watched, so they’ll think twice before acting.”

Vaughn felt something was off, but couldn’t say what. After careful thought, he decided it was indeed a good idea.

Who was illegal, who wasn’t—clear at a glance.

And it was a warning too.

A brilliant plan!

Vaughn even imagined—if dockworkers themselves wore uniforms, they’d look even more powerful!

He’d discuss this with the dock union leadership later. It probably wouldn’t be approved—but he should at least try.

“Talking with you gave me many new ideas, Lans. You’re an interesting man. We should stay in touch.”

Lans placed a four-hundred-dollar check on the table, pinning it with his index and middle fingers, and pushed it over.

Meeting Lans’s sincere gaze, Vaughn felt refusing would betray Lans’s genuine heart.