Chapter 94

“Nice clothes!” Alberto said as he stepped in, sizing up Lans’s outfit. “I like the style—introduce me to your tailor.”

He walked around his desk and shook Lans’s hand. “Local federal tailors have no idea how to make a decent suit!”

Many federal people dislike tight clothing, so their fashion has grown looser over time, especially for men.

Here, tailors fall into two extremes: one copies ancestral styles so tightly it’s hard to breathe.

The other turns clothes into squares—no lines, sagging and shapeless.

Alberto wasn’t from the federal; he hated this style.

After a few brief words, Lans sat down on the sofa.

“Have you been following the alcohol market lately?” He handed Lans a cigar. “Pure hand-rolled cigars from Sumuli Island—I had someone oversee their making.”

Lans took it, sniffed—it was rich, with a hint of sweetness.

Alberto pulled out his cigar tools, cut open one for Lans, and now he seemed genuinely enthusiastic.

Lans passed his cigar over, watching as Alberto sliced and toasted it. “Is the liquor market in Jinggang City really this good?”

Alberto nodded. “Better than expected. And you know… I’ve got bigger bosses above me. They told me the Alcohol Prohibition Alliance is gaining major political influence across the federal.”

“Every region has seen increased production and lower crime rates due to prohibition, so Congress plans to enforce a full federal ban.”

“This is also part of the president’s reelection deal with those people.”

Before this, prohibition wasn’t nationwide—it was voluntary by region.

Members of the Temperance Alliance, some church figures, plus behind-the-scenes politicians and power brokers formed lobbying teams to convince each state to join.

They weren’t sure if it truly helped urban development or social progress.

But now, it clearly works.

Even Jinggang City’s media have said it.

Our production is up, work efficiency is up, crime is down—what reason is there not to push it fully?

The Sacred Federal is coming under prohibition—anyone who stands in its way is the federal’s enemy!

Suddenly dragging the president into this gave Lans a strange feeling.

Eating beef for less than a dollar, yet worrying about cabinet politics.

“Let’s talk about Jinggang City’s alcohol market instead.”

Alberto handed the cigar back to Lans. Lans took a puff, nodded under his expectant gaze. “Excellent flavor.”

The two exchanged glances for a few seconds. Lans couldn’t help asking, “You don’t expect me to describe tasting notes or aftertastes, do you?”

“That’s too much to ask!”

Alberto looked disappointed. “I thought you’d say something more flattering—each cigar costs over a dollar fifty.”

Lans looked again at the cigar, took another puff, then paused. “Now that you say it’s worth over a dollar fifty, I suddenly think it tastes even better!”

“Giving this to you is a waste, Lans!”

He laughed, lit his own cigar. “Our state’s prohibition just started—it’s being enforced strictly. No alcohol can get in.”

“They expect this crackdown to continue until January 1st. Beyond that, we don’t know what’ll happen. So right now, only existing stock is available in Jinggang City.”

“November and December—sixty-plus days. How much alcohol can this city consume?”

“Your stock of Gold Label Napo Whiskey? Market price is around eleven dollars now.”

Tens of thousands of bottles sound like a lot from one person’s view—but this city has 1.1 million permanent residents, plus massive daily influxes from maritime traffic.

The city hall estimated, based on surveys, a population of 1.25 million, including short-term residents and those planning to leave.

Excluding illegal immigrants—everyone knows they don’t exist on paper.

If you include them, it’s nearly 1.5 million people.

The alcohol consumption of 1.5 million people is staggering. Jinggang City’s economy is thriving; people aren’t poor. Federal citizens have a habit of drinking.

Lans hadn’t expected his liquor to rise so fast. At eleven dollars a bottle, forty thousand bottles meant over 460,000 dollars.

Businesses with zero cost always yield the highest profits. No wonder capitalists and political families who built fortunes this way pushed laws to ban newcomers.

Alberto looked at Lans, meeting his gaze. “Someone wants your whiskey.”

Lans held the cigar between three fingers. “So you told people I’ve got a big stock?”

His face showed nothing—no anger, no displeasure, as calm as before. But Alberto knew: beneath the calm, turbulence stirred.

He shook his head quickly to avoid misunderstanding. “No one knows you have liquor. Two days ago, at a family gathering, my big boss mentioned this. I said I could get some—he got interested.”

“Big boss?” Lans raised an eyebrow. “I thought…” His expression said clearly: “I didn’t think you were just a lackey.”

Alberto burst out laughing. “Come on, this is the federal, not our homeland.”

“Sumulians, Pattis, Glaes, Rishis, and you Empire folks—so many from all over the world.”

“The federal’s environment is complex. Don’t tell me you didn’t know—we must unite to survive.”

“If you paid even a little attention to Jinggang City’s five major families, you’d know one is the Sumulian Pasreto family.”

“Paul Pasreto? He’s my big boss.”

Lans stayed silent. Alberto continued: “Mr. Pasreto wants to buy all your Gold Label Napo Whiskey at eleven dollars per bottle. He’ll pay in cash, bearer bonds, securities, or whatever you prefer.”

“If you want to pay taxes, he can transfer it directly.” Alberto burst into laughter.

Even if the Investigation Bureau doesn’t ask how he got so much liquor, just paying enough taxes would take half.

Lans froze on this point—the sum was simply too large. He’d only thought of the liquor, never the money.

Now, if he wanted to cash out, he needed a plan to handle over 460,000 dollars.

Bury it in cash in a safe underground? Or launder it another way?

Money laundering isn’t easy.

Even by Lans’s standards, laundering in this era wasn’t hard—but clearing tens of thousands in cash quickly? Still difficult.

And the federal Tax Bureau would definitely notice.

The Investigation Bureau? Lans didn’t care. Everyone knew if you fed their director, they were sleeping tigers.

But the Tax Bureau? Hard to deal with. They only want money—and lots of it.

Seeing Lans lost in thought, Alberto, a finance company man, knew his worry and offered two suggestions.

“If you want cash and plan to spend it, let the Koda family launder it for you—but they charge high fees.”

“If you don’t want cash, bearer bonds are a good option.”

Casinos have always been a… relatively reasonable laundering method—but the cost is extremely high.

Casinos are already tied to crime. If you don’t pay enough, the Koda family won’t risk conflict with the Tax Bureau over a few thousand dollars.

Give this money to the Koda family? Better to just pay taxes directly—

The Koda family won’t feel indebted to you; they’ll think you owe them. They solved your problem of hidden funds; your fee is payment, not charity.

You’d owe them a favor just to save maybe fifty thousand dollars.

Better to pay taxes outright—the Tax Bureau will think you’re a good citizen!

“Cash. I’ll handle it myself.” Lans finally decided. “How’s the transaction?”

Alberto stood, paced a few steps. “If you want to meet in person, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Pasreto.”

“If you don’t want to show up, sell the whiskey directly to me—I’ll pass it to the family.”

Both options seemed fine. But Lans preferred not to meet this top-tier family boss over this deal—he wanted another reason, to avoid leaks.

He decided to sell the whiskey directly to Alberto for a total of 465,000 dollars, saving Alberto about a thousand.

This cash sum was staggering—and looked even more so.

No hundred- or fifty-dollar bills. Only tens and twenties.

One hundred bills per bundle, tied with rubber bands. They used two waterproof gasoline drums to hold it—both packed to the brim.

Out of trust—and because he couldn’t possibly count it all—he chose to trust Alberto.

But soon, where to store these two full drums became a problem.

He could only transport them back for now.

Buying a reliable, secure house became Lans’s top priority.

Alberto quickly informed Mr. Pasreto of his acquisition of the high-end whiskey. The latter praised him lavishly.

Now, a strange phenomenon had emerged in Jinggang City: most hoarders stockpiled only low- and mid-tier alcohol, especially cheap brands.

Generic cheap whiskey and Copper Label Napo Whiskey were their main stock.

In a way, their choice made sense—when alcohol prices skyrocketed, the mainstream consumers could only afford these cheap or low-quality drinks.

They simply couldn’t afford mid- or high-tier liquor!

A glass of Gold Label Napo Whiskey in an underground bar cost one dollar and thirty-five cents—and even the bar made no profit. Who the hell could afford that?

As a result, the amount of mid- and high-tier liquor currently hoarded by Jinggang City’s dealers was actually quite small…