Chapter 937: Seventy-Two Hours

"We haven't assigned him a cell yet—should we make it rough on him?" Director Bu asked Lans in a low voice over the phone.

Mr. Walter is still in the interrogation room; he’s asking whether Lans wants him placed in a shared cell.

The detention cells in the police station aren’t like prison cells—each room has either two or four bunk beds; here, it’s one large room with long benches welded to the walls, and in the corner, a toilet to prevent inmates from urinating or defecating anywhere.

There are single cells, smaller rooms, but enough space to lie down and stretch out.

Most are shared cells—luckily, seven or eight men together; unluckily, ten or twenty crammed in.

Most of these thugs arrested aren’t serious enough for sentencing—say, brawling—if no one files charges, neither the police nor the court wants to waste time or government resources on such minor cases.

To ordinary people, handling these matters seems cost-free, but in reality, it’s still work.

Any work involves labor costs.

Spending hundreds or thousands in labor costs to handle a case worth maybe a few dozen dollars? It makes no sense.

Though no one likes to calculate things this way in this country, a capitalist society operates this way—everything has a price.

Since these people aren’t eligible for prison, they’re held in the police station for seventy-two hours, then released.

Over time, street thugs have grown less afraid of free three-day stays; some even deliberately provoke trouble—or avoid trouble—by creating opportunities to get arrested, just to hide inside.

These frequent visitors know the police in this station well; sometimes, when officers want to mess with someone, they assign that person to a shared cell.

No direct orders needed—just a knowing glance or subtle gesture—and those thugs will find ways to harass him, beat him daily.

Being beaten here is as good as being beaten for nothing.

If Mr. Walter is locked in a shared cell, he won’t sleep a wink tonight.

Lans considered for a moment and declined the proposal: “Unnecessary. His current charges have already sealed his fate—but we can’t let him off so easily.”

“Make him pay for a single cell. Keep the money yourselves.”

Director Bu’s face lit up with a smile: "Got it. I know how to handle it."

Soon, Mr. Walter was led out of the interrogation room; he knew he’d be staying here for a while.

The officer escorting him to the cell whispered: “Do you want a single cell or to share with others?”

Mr. Walter paused, then said: “I want a single cell!”

The officer nodded but didn’t move immediately. He lowered his head slightly, yet his eyes locked onto Mr. Walter: “They all say you’re a big shot.”

Hearing this, Mr. Walter knew he was being extorted. He almost laughed—but he knew now wasn’t the time to voice his thoughts.

He’d heard rumors about police station rules before, treating them as idle entertainment.

Now, that knowledge helped him.

“How much do you want?”

“For someone else, I’d ask fifty a day.”

“But for someone like you? Without two hundred a day, I’ll have to send you to a shared cell.”

Watching this officer brazenly extort him, Mr. Walter was momentarily stunned.

But he quickly realized it wasn’t surprising—this was Lans’s territory. They knew he was at odds with Lans, so they felt free to extort him.

He didn’t hesitate. He nodded: “Fair price. But I can’t pay you right now.”

The officer led him toward the single cell: “Your lawyer will come tomorrow. Have him pay.”

“By the way, you’ll need to stay here at least half a month.”

Half a month meant three thousand. Even though Mr. Walter didn’t care about three thousand, he was shocked by this cop’s greed.

It took him a moment to recover: “Aren’t you afraid?”

The officer gave a knowing smile, then said the one phrase he’d heard but never understood:

“This is Jincheng!”

Before he could respond, the officer stopped outside the cell door, opened it: “Alright, go in.”

He shut the iron door and walked away.

Looking at the five-square-meter space, Mr. Walter let out a heavy sigh.

“Motherfucker!”

The news quickly reached the Labor Union. The Labor Union took this seriously—Mr. Walter, as the rotating vice-chair, represented the Union’s face.

The Labor Union’s rotating vice-chair operates on a two-plus-three system: if, during the initial two-year term, the Union approves his work,

and over half vote to let him continue, he serves an additional three years.

After completing the second term, he enters the cooling pool.

Mr. Walter is currently in his second term and has considerable support within the Labor Union.

After his lawyer reported his situation, the Labor Union held an emergency meeting overnight, connected to the lawyer.

“...My suggestion is: send a new team, not from our law firm. Let’s discuss—maybe they have new ideas.”

“Additionally, in my view, the Labor Union must manage public relations.”

“I remain pessimistic. If he’s convicted and sentenced, given the mainstream media’s current practices, they’ll sensationalize it.”

“The Labor Union’s public image will suffer—and this could be a devastating blow to our upcoming Workers’ Party formation!”

If people learn the Workers’ Party’s future leadership attempted to assault a low-level female service worker, they won’t just be disappointed in Walter—they’ll be disappointed in the entire Labor Union!

The lawyer’s words left the men in the room grim-faced. They’d worked with this lawyer for years, knew him well—otherwise, they wouldn’t have sent him with Walter to Jincheng to handle this crisis.

If he said this, it meant recovery was highly unlikely.

“What if we get the... victim’s forgiveness?”

Could this case be turned into a misunderstanding?

The lawyer’s voice remained steady, neutral, devoid of personal emotion: “This is clearly a trap set by the Lans family. We can’t break it—unless we persuade the congressional forces behind Lans to pressure him from above.”

“Otherwise, neither the district court nor the circuit court will support a not-guilty defense for Mr. Walter. The Supreme Court is nearly controlled by Congress.”

“Whether you want to resolve this through court or outside it, the only path is the high-level route.”

After brief consultation, another rotating vice-chair said: “Thank you for your advice. We’ll contact you if anything changes.”

“No need to thank me. It’s my duty.”

“Also, I’ve faxed over an invoice. Please handle it.”

“I won’t disturb you further. Goodnight, gentlemen.”

After ending the call, the rotating vice-chair looked around: “What do you all think?”

These were all senior figures of the Labor Union—and also of the Workers’ Party. Some might prefer staying in the Labor Union rather than joining the Workers’ Party.

But regardless, they were all senior figures.

“The lawyer said it’s a trap—a trap we can’t escape. The district and circuit courts are influenced by the Lans family and will rule unfairly against us.”

“You know the Supreme Court’s situation—Congress won’t show us any mercy. We have no leverage here.”

Another senior member added: “So Walter’s fate is nearly sealed—and now we face an additional PR crisis.”

Someone asked: “What if we negotiate directly with Lans?”

“Our top priority is forming the Workers’ Party. His anti-union actions in Jincheng will hurt us, but not severely.”

“But if Walter’s case breaks, it could inflict massive negative damage.”

“We could hand over Jincheng—even Lika Lai Province—to him, in exchange for releasing Walter.”

Solving a clearly staged case is simple: if the plaintiff—the girl—steps forward and says it was all a misunderstanding, the problem vanishes.

But clearly, she won’t. So we must consider other options.

Giving up a province to weather this crisis? Not impossible—but it’s far from ideal.

After all, abandoning over a million workers in Lika Lai Province could breed internal conflict—or even division!

So for now, they had no solution.

One senior member kept opening his mouth to speak, then closing it. The rotating vice-chair noticed—but said nothing.

After the emergency meeting ended, he pulled the man aside into his office.

Since not everyone was present tonight, a larger meeting would be held tomorrow.

But before that, he wanted to hear what this colleague had been too afraid to say.

“I noticed you tried to speak several times. Do you have an idea?”

Seeing the man still hesitant, he reassured: “We’re all working for the Labor Union and the Workers’ Party. If your idea helps solve this, we’ll adopt it.”

“The Labor Union is a brotherhood—you shouldn’t be so guarded!”

The senior member clenched his lips: “We could change our approach—abandon Walter.”

“We’ve been deceived by his false piety.”

“We won’t protect him. We believe in fair law. Which organization doesn’t have a few scumbags?”

“If we show a strong, proactive stance—crush him harder—people will respect us more.”

Hearing this, the rotating vice-chair’s face showed no change—but inside, he stirred.

It wasn’t a bad idea. If the Labor Union clearly sided with the working class—not Walter—and defended the rights of the oppressed, workers would see them as fair.

The rotating vice-chair’s eyes brightened: “Your suggestion is valuable. I’ll bring it up with the chair.”

The man scratched his head: “Can you not say it was my idea?”

As the one who proposed abandoning Walter, even if promoted, he’d struggle to build trust with others.

Who the hell wants to be friends with someone who abandons people at will?

Want to die faster?

That’s why he hesitated in the meeting—speaking would anger Walter alone, but also alienate everyone else.

The rotating vice-chair nodded: “I won’t mention you...”

Meanwhile, Pang Da’s combined fleet was sailing across the Eastern Ocean, three days from Jincheng.

The raid on Jingang gave everyone pause about this war, and made the Dantela Navy wonder whether the Federation would establish an observation mechanism along Yalan’s coast to monitor nearby waters.

If they cannot strike hard at the Federation’s homeland, it will be difficult to draw the Federation’s attention away from the main battlefield on Tanfet Continent.

Given the Federation’s current control over the war’s momentum, allowing them to act freely on the land battlefield, Dantela Republic may truly not be their match.

The Federation’s war potential is too strong—its armies keep pouring to the front lines, while its homeland, far from the war, frantically pumps out blood for the war effort.

In a way, the raid on Jingang was simply the result of having no other options.

Dantela’s naval plan was to cripple, even destroy, Admiral Miles’s fleet entirely, so that the Federation’s other naval force would be unable to leave its own waters at will, preventing coastal cities from being shelled again.

Remember, Jinzhou is also a coastal region—Xinjin City sits right on the shore!

The Federation’s political, economic, and cultural heart lies within range of naval guns; its fleet must defend Xinjin City. If Xinjin City is shelled, the Federation will suffer a massive loss of face.

Then, across the Eastern Ocean, only Dantela’s navy could move freely—either advancing toward Federation coastal cities to force them to bolster homeland defenses.

Or severing the Federation’s supply lines to Tanfet Continent—both would greatly aid the war effort!

Without the Federation’s current blood transfusion and supply of scarce materials, Slad’s side could hardly maintain its current morale!

More importantly, the Dantelans did not want the Federates to truly seize dominant control within the Slad Military Alliance—even if Dantela ultimately lost, they wanted to be defeated by the Sladers, not by the Federation, whose ambitions and greed had already been exposed!

If the Sladers won, they might not harm Dantela’s core interests—but the Federates certainly would!

For Dantela’s national destiny and the future of its people, this is a just war!

In the command ship’s conference room, the Navy Commander-in-Chief, who had overseen this raid operation, contacted every ship’s captain via radio.

“They say we’ll reach Jingang City in seventy-two hours—this may be our final pre-battle meeting before hostilities begin.”

“This battle determines whether we can regain the initiative in the coming war. So, gentlemen…” The commander paused, though he made no further sound, remaining silent—but a force was spreading, silent and unseen.

It pressed heavily on the captains, yet it was not merely pressure—it was trust, encouragement, and mobilization!

“We bear the fate of the war and the destiny of our nation. Now is the moment we must prepare ourselves mentally for sacrifice.”

“If anyone fails to advance when he should, or retreats when he should not—I guarantee you won’t live to see your day before the military tribunal!”

“I have prepared myself for sacrifice. I hope you have too.”

He paused briefly, his tone softening slightly. “Of course, this battle need not end in defeat. The Federates don’t know our plan, and they never imagined that one of their own war movies would inspire us so profoundly!”

The captains listening to the radio chuckled softly. Crafting a war plan based on a Federation war movie sounded like a joke.

Yet it had truly happened.

They themselves hadn’t thought it possible—how much less could the Federates have imagined it?

“Once our plan succeeds, the Federation’s navy and military will become a laughingstock—and we will be the ones who created it!”

“Gentlemen, for Dantela’s honor, stake everything on this fight for Dantela!”

The warships sped forward, leaving behind streaks of white on the sea, which quickly vanished without a trace—as if no one had ever passed through.

The commander looked up at the clock on the operations room wall: seventy-one hours and fifteen minutes remained before entering the combat zone!

(End of Chapter)