Chapter 931: Storm, Guilt, and Accusation

Mrs. Debbie’s words struck home—these people couldn’t find jobs and were burdened with massive debts.

At the mention of it, everyone’s mood sank.

“It’s all the Labor Union’s fault!”—when she uttered this sentence, which everyone had already suspected, they suddenly felt as if they’d found a… purpose?!

Before this, they had considered it, but the Labor Union was too vast, and it had sent staff to handle the aftermath.

They resolved some issues—except the most important one: the money.

This made them reluctant to pressure the Labor Union, leaving them with no choice but to bear these “injuries” alone.

Now, Mrs. Debbie had directly blamed the Labor Union, and everyone’s emotions flared.

“You’re right, Mrs. Debbie—if the Labor Union hadn’t planned and demanded we join this strike and protest, we wouldn’t have been injured, lost our jobs, or taken on crushing loans!”

One worker shouted his complaint, and soon others joined in; before long, they reached unanimous agreement—it was all the Labor Union’s fault!

This was Lans’s “interview task” for Mrs. Debbie: she had to pose as a former Labor Union official and lead these injured workers to directly confront the Labor Union.

If at this moment a worker—or someone loosely connected to the incident—blamed the Labor Union for the disastrous outcome,

it would likely not spark a storm; the Labor Union handled such issues as swiftly as the Federal Government silenced people—ridiculously fast.

But if a former mid-level Labor Union official, accompanied by a large group of people whose lives and livelihoods had collapsed due to this failed strike, stepped forward to accuse the Labor Union, someone would inevitably pay attention.

This task was not easy.

Because once she decided, she would be facing the largest political group in the Federation—the Labor Union, claiming two million worker brothers united!

This pressure weighed heavily on Mrs. Debbie too.

Yet she chose to go ahead—her husband was one major reason; she would make herself appear stronger, prove that man had done something stupid!

She looked at the people, their emotions now primed, and spoke: “We must speak the truth—this money shouldn’t be our burden; it should be paid by the Labor Union, the union that hired you.”

“They ordered you to strike—you obeyed, but you got injured. Shouldn’t they cover your medical costs?”

“They always call us brothers and sisters, yet they deceive us, treating us as pawns.”

“I can’t take it anymore—I’m going to expose the truth to the media and the public. What about you?”

She looked at them: “I’ll hire professional lawyers to sue for us—but only for ‘us.’”

The word “us” was emphasized clearly: to join her in seeking justice, you had to stand with her.

“I’m in.” Immediately, someone raised their hand to become part of “us”—he owed the hospital over seventeen hundred, due to the complexity of the surgery and the difficulty of recovery.

He drained savings from several families and mortgaged his house just to pay this bill.

Now he couldn’t find any work—if he couldn’t repay at least the interest on his loan within a year, the finance company would seize his property and take his house!

Everyone here was like Ogg—years of effort, wiped out in an instant because they joined one strike and ended up in the hospital.

Before, they had no outlet for their rage—but now they did.

Soon, six people chose to join. But Mrs. Debbie shook her head: “We’re not enough. We need more people standing with us—we must expand our momentum.”

“This isn’t our responsibility to bear. Factories hired us to work; when we got injured, they paid our medical bills—that’s workplace injury.”

“Now the Labor Union and the union hired us to strike; we got injured—that’s also workplace injury. The union and the Labor Union must pay our medical bills.”

“But we’re too few. Reach out to more people—unite every force we can!”

Mrs. Debbie’s voice grew increasingly passionate: “The working class unites! Brothers, we can unite to fight capitalists—and we can unite to fight all injustice!”

“I’ll arrange lawyers to help you register and collect evidence. Now, your job is to find others who were injured and willing to stand up like you—we’re suing the Labor Union and the union!”

“We won’t pay for others’ mistakes. It’s unfair!”

After speaking these words, Mrs. Debbie felt power surge through her body!

She could punch a bull to death right now!

The six people, infected by her emotion, quickly left her villa—they would seek out brothers and sisters facing the same fate, unite everyone, and fight all injustice, just as Mrs. Debbie said.

Lans quickly arranged a legal team to support Mrs. Debbie. The lawyers hadn’t found any legal clause supporting the claim that protest organizers must be held responsible for injuries—but neither had they found any clause or precedent forbidding it.

Law has one characteristic: lag.

Simply put, a law is updated only after a specific event occurs.

For example, primitive societies had no definition of murder—only when someone within a tribe killed another did murder emerge as a crime with explanations and punishments.

Like now: the Federation’s laws explicitly mention no legal liability between protest organizers and participants. So this case isn’t necessarily lost—it has strong chances of winning, and could even push amendments to protest-related legislation!

Of course, the final outcome still depends on wealth and connections; to push the Justice Department to legislate or issue judicial interpretations, you must have ties within the Justice Department.

Those who believe Federals rise solely by merit and ability clearly don’t know: the Federation’s major law firms all have insiders in the Justice Department—high-ranking ones.

Otherwise, how do they help billionaires win cases that are clearly lost?

By legal expertise?

In legal expertise, they’re not necessarily the strongest—but their connections? Absolutely top-tier.

Legal victories are always decided outside the courtroom!

This case involved the Labor Union, so the Justice Department didn’t need Lans to personally smooth things over—Senator Cleveland would arrange for it to be handled.

All he needed to do was pay.

This case would have wide-reaching effects—it might require testimony from people injured in past protests and demonstrations, demanding extensive investigations.

The lead lawyer told Lans this case could last one to two years.

Because they were up against the Labor Union, which wouldn’t give up easily.

Lans didn’t mind much—not even one or two years; three or five would do. He didn’t have to personally oversee it anyway.

In mid-May, the case of refugees attacking protesters opened in the Jincheng City Court.

The Labor Union initially wanted to move the trial to a mobile court, but the mobile court said this was a local case.

Only after a local court’s ruling, if one party disagreed, could a mobile court hear it.

On trial day, the courtroom was packed; everyone wanted to know the outcome, though most already had a clear prediction.

Lans also came to watch; as a Jincheng native, he had a natural appetite for spectacle.

Interestingly, Karl sat right in front of him, surrounded by Lans family members.

What intrigued Lans was that he spotted Director Derek (Director of the Jincheng Branch of the Lianbangdiaocha Bureau); they nodded to each other and exchanged greetings.

Seeing Director Derek’s smiling face, Lans knew the man wasn’t up to anything good—he was here to gather evidence.

The Lianbangdiaocha Bureau… Lans had inquired; they’d updated personnel in many major cities across the nation—Jincheng wasn’t unique or rare.

It looked like a coordinated plan—but Lans always felt Derek was targeting him.

He had this intuition, and the very name “Lianbangdiaocha Bureau” made him uneasy.

They would inevitably clash; though Derek hid himself well now, Lans believed they’d become opponents someday.

Many civilians and some reporters, plus a few refugees, also attended.

This should have been a public prosecution—but the Labor Union, to exert more influence over the case’s direction, legally joined as a co-plaintiff.

With a co-plaintiff and its own legal team, after consultation with the prosecutors, the prosecutors withdrew from participating in the trial.

So now, the lawyers representing the plaintiff were appointed by the Labor Union.

The defendants had free lawyers.

The trial’s purpose was to ensure these attackers faced legal punishment—not to let them escape it—so their lawyers should be as ordinary as possible.

The chance of an ordinary lawyer turning the case around? Absolutely zero.

When the judge arrived, everyone stood, then sat again; the trial officially began.

Because this involved a criminal case, a jury was present.

As the Labor Union’s lawyer began his assault, everyone clearly saw the defendants’ free lawyer struggling to speak coherently.

This was normal.

The legal profession is a field with scarce talent; good lawyers, once discovered, are quickly snapped up by major law firms.

These free lawyers were mostly graduates who couldn’t find suitable jobs and just drifted through courtrooms.

They had no drive to win—only to survive their lives quietly.

After a series of “attacks,” the free lawyer finally collapsed, his HP depleted.

Now came the plaintiff’s lawyer’s free reign; the free lawyer could only occasionally shout “Objection!”—nothing else mattered.

Anyone with eyes could see: the case was settled. These refugee attackers would inevitably be found guilty.

Just then, the plaintiff’s lawyer suddenly asked: “Such a coordinated attack couldn’t have been spontaneous—someone must have orchestrated it behind the scenes. Am I right?”

Before the defense lawyer could shout “Objection!” or the judge could stop him, he directly turned to one defendant: “...Am I right?”

Before the trial, this defendant had met his “defense lawyer” and his family.

His family told him they were fine—they’d moved to a state in the Federation’s center, both had decent jobs earning about ninety a month combined.

They’d also obtained legal status—

The Labor Union had immense power; otherwise, Congress wouldn’t see it as “a massive nuisance.” It held great influence over “talent recruitment.”

It had enlisted a closely allied company to hire the attacker’s two family members under the guise of “talent recruitment,” applied for “talent immigration” to the Federal government, and received approval.

Whether these two were truly “talent” didn’t matter—the Labor Union itself was one of the institutions that certified such claims; they simply assigned these ordinary people high professional titles, and the government approved.

Suddenly, the whole family became Federals with high-income, respectable jobs—the Labor Union kept its promise.

So at this moment, he had no hesitation—and no room for it—he simply nodded: “Yes.”

The courtroom erupted in uproar—mostly from ordinary civilians.

During the trial, the defendants claimed they attacked the protesters because they felt threatened.

The main targets of this strike and protest were refugees and illegal immigrants; they feared the protest’s pressure would destroy their last hope of survival, so they spontaneously stormed the procession, leading to the tragedy.

But now someone admitted they were organized—many in the audience gasped: there was a twist?!

Karl sat in the gallery, eyes half-lidded. The refugee who had defected to the Labor Union also saw Karl—but he wasn’t afraid; instead, he pointed at Karl: “It’s him! He organized us!”

Everyone’s gaze passed over Karl and landed on Lans. Lans remained calm—but the crowd was stunned, or rather, terrified!

Is this something they’re even supposed to hear?

Just as they began to wonder whether they’d be eliminated as witnesses for overhearing something they shouldn’t have, Karl, sitting in front of them, suddenly stood up. “This is slander!”

His voice was loud, and inexplicably, everyone exhaled in relief. They looked at Karl with friendly eyes, hoping he’d say more.

Karl himself felt bewildered—what was with all these stares?

But he quickly snapped back to himself. “What evidence do you have that I organized you?”

The defendant was about to say more, but the judge had already regained his composure. He slammed his gavel hard. “Order!”

The courtroom fell silent at once. His gaze lingered on the defendant for a moment, just as he was about to speak, the plaintiff’s lawyer stood up.

“Your Honor, I propose we admit the defendant’s testimony as supplementary evidence and consolidate the cases!”

His goal was to drag Karl into this case. From the lawyers’ perspective, making Karl a defendant and locking him up with these criminals would help some of the stubborn ones reconsider their choices.

The simplest way to undermine someone’s authority is to tie them to a dog—simple, brutal, but effective!

They wanted exactly that: to imprison Karl, the man they’d always looked up to, and put him on trial. That would shift their attitudes and positions, making it easier to take him down—and possibly even influence Lans.

But it was a pity—this was Jincheng City.

The judge struck his gavel again. “We cannot determine whether the defendant’s testimony contains lies or whether there is sufficient evidence to validate his accusations. Therefore, the question of whether Karl is the organizer will be investigated separately and reopened as a new case.”

“We will now proceed with the remaining proceedings.”

He glanced down at the documents before him. “The plaintiff and defendant may now deliver your closing statements.”

The plaintiff’s lawyers conferred briefly. They had time to prepare their closing statements—this was permitted under the law.

They also communicated with Mr. Walter’s people on-site and decided not to protest the judge’s ruling.

Though bitterly reluctant, they had already pushed as far as they could on someone else’s turf!

To take Karl down in court?

Completely impossible!

After a brief discussion, both sides delivered their closing statements, and then the jury began deliberating.

A few minutes later, the jury unanimously found the defendants guilty.

Next came the judge’s sentencing.

Since the facts were clear and the evidence ample, and the defendants had pleaded guilty outright, there was no disagreement. The judge handed down sentences swiftly—almost all were over ten years.

With the final strike of the gavel, the trial ended.

One reporter captured a photo as the crowd dispersed—the victors’ faces bore no trace of triumph.

Yet Karl, and behind him Lans, the possible losers tied to the case, still wore faint smiles.

(End of Chapter)