Chapter 923: If We Can't Agree, We Can Still

A private talk means discussing something without anyone else knowing.

No one in Jincheng City knows what this rotating vice-chairman looks like, but everyone recognizes him by name.

He didn’t want to sit with Lans under the spotlight—it would be too formal, and their “identity” and “position” would be locked in immediately.

Under the spotlight, there is no ambiguity: he is the vice-chairman of the Labor Union, representing the interests of the Labor Union and the industry guilds.

Lans represents his own interests—and possibly some interests within the Federal political sphere—on the matter of dismantling the Labor Union.

This kind of conversation is not free: they can only speak words that align with their identity and position; everything else is forbidden.

So the vice-chairman wanted to meet privately, so neither side would meet as fixed roles or identities, allowing them to discuss more.

Lans did not refuse; he agreed.

This linked his current affairs—such as the people and events beginning to take shape—to this vice-chairman.

Powerful people are like this: even if they’ve just arrived, within an hour or two, they can restore order to chaos.

In the afternoon, Lans arrived at a private club; the vice-chairman had already arrived and was waiting for him.

No one knew they would meet here.

When Lans entered the room, the vice-chairman, who had been reading a newspaper, stood up, smiled warmly, and walked toward Lans, extending his hand.

Though he was in his own room, his attitude and stance were not those of a host—he placed himself in the position of a guest, so he walked toward Lans and extended his hand.

Not standing still, waiting for Lans to come to him.

Lans extended his hand and shook it. “You know who I am—Lans, Lans White.”

The vice-chairman nodded with a smile. “Before I came, I read your file several times, Mr. Lans.”

“I place great importance on this conversation between us!”

“Walter Carril, currently the rotating vice-chairman. You can call me Walter—my friends all do.”

“You can call me Lans.”

“Pleasure to meet you!”

After brief pleasantries, the two sat down on the sofa. Private clubs like this were common in the Federation.

Or rather, under the Federation government’s deep corruption, people needed countless such venues to conduct money-power transactions—hence their prevalence.

From a lowly police officer to the Federal President, everyone needed private space; private clubs emerged to meet that need.

“Mr. Lans, you’re much younger than I imagined. May I boldly ask—how old are you this year?”

Lans smiled and replied, “Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five—a fine age. I miss my twenty-five. I’m even ashamed I only went on dates back then!” Walter was clearly skilled at setting the mood.

He flattered Lans bluntly and directly, with no subtlety.

Lans smiled. “Everyone has their mission. Yours is to be happy. Mine is to stand tall.”

This answer surprised the vice-chairman, but he reacted quickly. “Do you know what my mission is right now?”

Lans nodded. “To persuade me.”

Walter pointed at him. “Bingo!”

“To be honest, I don’t really like this job. But I’m the rotating chairman—I have to do what they need me to do.”

“Mr. Lans, can we find a point acceptable to both sides—a solution we can both be satisfied with?”

Lans shook his head. “I’m not saying I disagree with your ideas—I’m saying it’s nearly impossible.”

“Rejecting the guild is my fundamental requirement. That’s our biggest disagreement. Unless you accept my demand, we’ll always be at odds on this issue.”

“And look—if you had accepted it, things wouldn’t have escalated to this point.”

Walter sighed. “Yes, reaching consensus is difficult.”

He paused. “But I still want to try to persuade you.”

Lans gestured for him to continue and pulled out a cigarette.

Cigarettes and nicotine helped him focus better on Walter at this moment—it was a strange thing.

Nicotine doesn’t actually have this effect, yet people become focused because of cigarettes and nicotine.

“You can easily separate workers registered with the guild from those who aren’t.”

“For example, set up another company—a labor agency identical to yours, but one that exclusively registers guild members.”

“If factories only need non-guild workers, fine—send those non-guild workers over.”

“If factories have no clear preference, you can mix the workers you send.”

“This is no different from what you’re doing now, and it won’t provoke resentment or opposition from the workers.”

“Because they’re not from the same company—they won’t meet, won’t influence each other.”

“Clients simply gain a new option, and our disagreement ends.”

“The guild and the Labor Union won’t interfere in your work or operations—we respect your ideas and choices.”

“Guild workers have many advantages: most have spent years in this industry, and many are skilled laborers.”

“Jincheng’s new industrial zone will see many new enterprises—they need ordinary workers, but also skilled laborers with experience and expertise.”

“If we create excessive opposition, it will make things hard for both sides—and for the factories too!”

“Actually, there’s potential for cooperation here.”

“We control high-end labor; you control vast quantities of low-level labor. We have no competition—we can complement each other’s resources.”

He leaned forward and pulled out a cigarette himself. “Mr. Lans, we’ve always closely monitored these illegal immigrants, refugees, these black workers.”

“But due to legal issues, we couldn’t address them—you’ve filled this gap in the Federation.”

“We’re excellent complements, as I said.”

“Like light and shadow—only together do they make up the world!”

“This won’t harm you—it’ll increase your influence, as more people register with you and their backgrounds become more complex.”

“We won’t harm each other’s interests, yet we resolve the current disagreement. What do you think?”

After a moment’s thought, Lans said, “In practice, this is still me making concessions, Mr. Walter.”

Walter added, “Mr. Lans, are you interested in politics?”

Lans frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Walter explained, “We’re about to form the Workers’ Party—a powerful faction with twenty million worker brothers.”

“We don’t care about anyone’s origin or background—anyone willing can join.”

“Mr. Lans, we can offer you a party position—a respectable one, like… a committee member of the Licanai State Workers’ Party.”

“This would make handling affairs in your work and life easier—even if you later want to run for mayor or governor, we can help!”

“We never withhold friendship or enthusiasm—you’ll see!”

Lans studied him longer. This offer was unexpected.

Earlier, Senator Cleveland had asked him the same question: whether he wanted to enter politics.

He knew clearly: in his lifetime, he had a 99% chance of never becoming a Federal official.

The core issue remained: people could accept him as a “front-page figure”—frequently appearing in headlines and public events—but not as a politician.

Because he was a gang leader—and not a native of the Federation.

Even if he cleaned up his affairs, people could still dig them up.

The substitution method wouldn’t work at the top level.

The Federation’s top officials—senators, the President, the Vice President, governors—they were all “accounted for.”

Who their ancestors were, what contributions they made during the nation’s founding—they could all be traced.

Even if they ignored his gang ties and his false identity, the fact that the White family’s ancestors were merely freemen or farmers meant he could never go far.

At best, he might become a mayor—that was his political ceiling.

Even marrying into a political family wouldn’t help.

Because that circle, that tier, had an “entrance ticket”—and the ticket was their surname, their bloodline.

That saying was right: if you didn’t have something at birth, you likely never would.

Especially in politics.

If you lack the right to enter that circle, no amount of post-birth effort will get you in.

Maybe things will improve in fifty years, a hundred years—but now, in this era, everything is predetermined.

If someone else were here, Walter’s words might have swayed them.

But Lans was different—he was rational, calm.

Under Walter’s expectant gaze, he shook his head. “I’m sorry—I don’t find this convincing.”

Walter paused, then added, “With our support and your local influence, running for governor isn’t a joke.”

“You have great influence here—you’re very likely to become governor.”

Lans chuckled. He knew Walter was right: if he truly ran, he might actually become governor.

But before he could take office, the Federal government would pass laws restricting him—or the Federal Investigation Bureau would immediately launch an investigation into his crimes.

Just as he framed others, the Bureau wouldn’t even need to investigate—they could simply frame him. After all, the power to interpret everything rested with the Federal government.

The more he pursued elections, the closer he came to prison—or the electric chair.

“Mr. Walter, if your persuasion ends here, then I can only say I’m sorry—I don’t find this an irresistible offer.”

Seeing Walter still wanted to speak, Lans shook his head. “You know—the problem isn’t with us, not with you or me.”

These words stunned Walter for a moment, then he laughed. “Brilliant observation. Precisely accurate!”

“The problem has never been with us.”

He understood what Lans meant—he knew that for a gang to grow strong enough to control a state, and to be invading Denuozhou, Lans had someone behind him.

He had reviewed some materials indicating that Lans had closer ties with Senator Cleveland, and also collaborated with the Defense Department and the military.

This makes it easy to know which side he belongs to.

The military and the Defense Department have no need to support a gang; if they want to control a place, they simply build a military base there.

Soldiers are far more useful than these gangs, so Lans is not someone’s agent within the military or the Defense Department.

That leaves only one possibility: he is Senator Cleveland’s man.

Congress and the Labor Union have always been at odds; the Labor Union, leveraging its influence over the working class, has consistently sought to seize power, so there is a natural division and conflict between them.

Lans made his position so clear this time precisely to tell Mr. Walter: if you want to persuade Lans, you must first persuade Congress.

After laughing for a moment, Mr. Walter stopped. “Alright, in any case, I’ve done my best!”

“Then let’s see what each of us is capable of.”

Lans nodded. “I look forward to your performance, Mr. Walter.”

Mr. Walter felt a pang of regret, but it quickly turned into determination. “We’ll meet again.”

Lans agreed with this view. “Yes, we will definitely meet again.”

He stood up, and Mr. Walter rose as well. “Then… shall we end here for today?”

“Mm, see you later.”

The two shook hands once more, bidding each other farewell in a light and cheerful atmosphere, after which Lans stepped out first.

Watching Lans’s retreating figure, Mr. Walter returned to the room, sat on the sofa, and took a sip from his glass.

He didn’t want to clash directly with Lans either; after all, this was Lans’s territory, and given the current circumstances, they dared not expand the strike.

This put them at a Xiantian disadvantage.

The only option now is to cooperate with someone from the Free Party or the Lianbang Party, find a way to bring these issues to the surface, rather than trying to resolve them here in secret.

At the police station, a refugee attacker was brought into the reception room by officers.

“Behave yourself—I’m watching you outside!” After making the refugee attacker sit down, the officer left.

According to the constitution and local laws, police must ensure that suspects receive complete and independent judicial services.

The refugee attacker looked confused at the well-dressed lawyer sitting across the table; he didn’t remember Karl saying he’d hire a lawyer, and as for his family?

Even if they pooled all their wealth, they couldn’t scrape together five dollars.

These lawyers clearly cost a fortune—his family couldn’t afford one, and there was no need to hire one.

So his eyes were filled with confusion.

After the door closed, the lawyer wore a professional smile. “You needn’t doubt my identity—I am a lawyer.”

“A kind benefactor paid for your legal fees, which is why I’m here.”

“Do you know what you’re about to face?”

He spoke rapidly, giving the refugee attacker no time to react.

After a moment of stunned silence, the latter answered instinctively, “I’m not sure—I’ll probably be deported back home?”

The lawyer nodded. “Yes. What else did the people organizing you tell you?”

The refugee attacker immediately grew alert. “No one organized us. I was furious they tried to destroy my stable job and income.”

“If I lose this job, my family and I won’t have enough to eat—we’ll starve, or freeze to death in winter.”

“I hate them, so when I saw others act, I acted too.”

The lawyer laughed. “The first two men said exactly the same thing—you all use the same script, yet claim no one organized you?”

Seeing the refugee attacker preparing to repeat these claims again, the lawyer raised a hand to interrupt him. “Listen to me first.”

“Can you read?”

The refugee attacker nodded. “A little—not everything.”

The lawyer abandoned the idea of handing him documents and read aloud instead: “This incident resulted in approximately eleven deaths among protesting civilians, over two hundred serious injuries, and more than five hundred minor injuries.”

“In the past twenty years, this has been one of the rare conflicts with such severe consequences.”

“Do you understand what this means?”

The refugee attacker shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. That’s your business, not mine.”

The lawyer’s expression turned sympathetic. “It means you—and all of you—may have to pay for these deaths.”

“Someone may be sent to the electric chair; others, like you, will very likely end up in prison.”

“Five years, ten years, or more—I’m not certain, but five is the minimum.”

“Do you think prison is the end?”

“No, it won’t end there.”

“When you’re released, immigration will put you on a ship and send you back to Slad.”

“And the Slad government will send people to meet you!”

“I don’t know what promises they made you—maybe some money?”

“Or legal status? Or legal employment?”

“But I’m certain whatever they offered you isn’t worth five years in prison and deportation.”

“If you’re here for money, or to gain Lianbang citizenship, they aren’t your only partners.”

“We are too!”

(End of Chapter)