Shadow Empire

Chapter 1010 Casual Chat and the End of the Year

In the evening, the police chief finally signed a document, suspending two officers from duty pending investigation for "dereliction of duty," and it is highly likely that they will leave the police force.

The reason is simple: during their work, a key criminal suspect committed suicide by hanging himself in the detention room, which is the greatest humiliation for the New Gold City Police Department!

The New Gold City branch is spreading this story, and it's definitely not good news.

More importantly, everything related to this car accident came to an abrupt end at this moment.

You say this was a premeditated murder, but you need evidence.

The evidence wasn't the locally registered truck, nor why it was there, but rather the person driving it, why they were there at that time, and why they floored the accelerator and crashed into the car coming out of the police station.

Now that the driver is dead, there's no point in continuing the investigation.

The chief actually knew that he could also investigate the driver's family to see if there had been any unusual changes in them recently.

For example, suddenly having more money in your hands, or some other changes.

However, what he could think of, Lance and his gang could certainly think of as well. At this moment, he no longer dared to regard Lance as an ordinary criminal group leader, and this person could definitely not be an ordinary criminal group leader.

Those investigative methods that are usually effective are completely useless against him, and might even lead you astray.

Since the Perez family has dropped the matter, the matter is now closed.

The whole thing was quelled at the cost of two officers being dismissed.

Although the two officers lost their jobs, they will soon find new ones, as they were also victims in this incident.

Once things have calmed down, we can recall them to the police force.

The police chief handed the signed document to his secretary, and it would soon appear on the mayor's desk.

He leaned heavily against the back of the chair, causing the chair to slide backward a distance, perhaps ten or twenty centimeters.

He sat there with his eyes closed, and in just two or three days, he felt a weariness he had never experienced before.

The phone on the table suddenly rang. He cursed "Fuck!", then rallied and answered the phone.

He's now a little afraid to answer the phone, who knows if it's bad news, to the point that he feels like he might be sick, and he's a bit overreacting to Lance.

Everything was very stable and peaceful when Lance wasn't here, but everything went wrong as soon as he appeared.

"This is the police chief's office..." he said weakly.

Fortunately, the voice coming through the phone wasn't the one he was afraid to hear; it was an old friend calling, "I heard you've been having a bad time these past few days?"

The police chief sighed. "Yes, it's worse than ever before. I never thought dealing with these gangs would be such a hassle."

"But Lance's appearance shattered some of my preconceived notions and stereotypes about gangsters."

"He is fast, ruthless, and has not left any openings for me."

"That driver, the truck driver, committed suicide in the detention room this morning."

The person on the other end chuckled twice. "That does sound terrible. Want to come over for a drink?"

The police chief was clearly interested in the suggestion. He thought for a moment, and since he had nothing else to do, he said "okay." Then, he stood up, propped the microphone up with his shoulder, and said while packing his things, "I'll be there right away."

He put down the phone, tidied up the things on the table, hesitated for a moment, and then put on the holster.

Just as he himself thought, he was now somewhat stressed by Lance's presence, and who knew if he would run into trouble or encounter any unexpected events.

He used to leave his handgun in the office after get off work because he rarely used it, but now he feels safer carrying it with him.

He then told his secretary and drove away.

About twenty minutes later, he met the new FBI director, who had been in office for two years, at the home of his old friend, the FBI director.

After taking off their coats, the two hugged and then went into the living room.

The room was warm, with the heating on full blast; this is the kind of life only the wealthy can enjoy.

Regardless of what fuel they use, the boiler in this house never stops burning throughout the winter, and for about four to five months each winter, they burn about three to four hundred dollars for heating.

This is almost half a year's income for an average person.

But they only used them for warmth.

“You need to come and help me,” the FBI director called out, and the police chief followed him over.

"The barbecue is ready. Take it to the table and I'll get the wine."

After assigning the tasks, he went to another room, a room specifically for storing wine and spirits. He had several wine cabinets filled with all kinds of wine and spirits.

The police chief used a special tool to take the baking tray out of the oven and place it on a small, heated grill in the restaurant. Then he brought over some side dishes.

Vegetables, onions, some things to cut through the richness, tomato sauce, salted lemon, and pickles.

These are all essential items for eating barbecue, as well as a vegetable salad.

Shortly after, the FBI director came out carrying two bottles of liquor, two glasses, and an ice bucket.

"Brandy or whiskey?" He placed the ice bucket on the table between the two men. The police chief looked at the whiskey. "We're having barbecue today, whiskey."

The FBI director opened the unopened bottle of whiskey, put ice in two glasses, and then poured the whiskey in.

They are old friends who have known each other for a long time. When they were young, they had the same dream. As time went by and they gained more experience, their dreams changed. Interestingly, their dreams still largely overlap, and after many changes, they all dream of having greater power.

Perhaps it is because their values ​​and understanding of society have always been consistent that they have remained good friends.

The police chief was not polite at all; he simply used his hands to remove a sizzling, oily beef rib from the grill.

The bones and meat separated easily and completely; the thick beef ribs were layered with fat and beef, making your mouth water just looking at them.

"I've been starving all day, I'll eat something to fill my stomach first," he said, before taking a big bite of the beef ribs without any regard for appearances.

The melted fat was torn apart in an instant, and the tender beef couldn't stop him from tearing it apart. Soon, a large piece of beef with fat was in his mouth.

The natural aroma of beef fat and a hint of milkiness, along with the unique flavor of spices and the distinctive fragrance of the meat itself, create a subtle chemical reaction in the mouth that is simply indescribable!

Especially the fat and the meat that's close to fat, it melts into juice with just a touch, or maybe it's oil, but it's so delicious!

He picked up a small slice of salted lemon and a small piece of pickled cucumber and put them in his mouth, chewing them along with the meat. The slight greasy discomfort that had just arisen was instantly suppressed.

After a big bite of meat, a refreshing vegetable salad followed by a bite of sweet and sour flavor is simply a treat!
The two raised their glasses and clinked them together. The chilled whiskey wasn't harsh at all; in fact, you could say that the process of drinking it was almost imperceptible.

After putting down the cup, the police chief finally let out a heavy sigh of relief. "I feel like I've come back to life."

The FBI director laughed heartily. "That's an exaggeration, or did Lance put too much pressure on you?"

The police chief curled his lip. "Both. Lance is not an easy person to deal with. He is completely different from the gang leaders I have encountered in the past. I can't even find an example to describe him."

"I don't know who he resembles. He doesn't resemble anyone else. He is just himself, unique, someone I've never met before."

"Roland (FBI Director), he's going to be a big problem for you!"

As an "insider," the police chief actually knew some inside information, such as the federal government's plan to address the rampant gang problem after the war, and that this issue would be handed over to the FBI, specifically to "Chief Roland" standing before him. This would be a very difficult "war."

He called this work a "war," not to exaggerate its difficulty, but to state a fact.

The five major federal mafia families are not simply gangs; they also have many political figures speaking on their behalf, including members of Congress.

To deal with them, you need to target not only them, but also the politicians behind them, the capital they control, and their friends in society.

The federal government may not have anticipated that gangs would grow so rapidly and infiltrate so deeply during its period of leniency, and now eradicating them will be exceptionally difficult.

Roland wasn't discouraged; instead, he smiled and said, "That's what makes it more interesting, isn't it?"

"And I believe I can resolve these problems."

"No matter what forces or people are behind them, the federal government and Congress will ultimately stand by my side."

The police chief nodded and said, "What you said is correct, but I'm worried about yourself."

“Those gangs are all crazy, just look at Lance’s group.”

“They killed their opponent right in front of the police station, and the driver committed suicide this morning. Before he did, he met with the lawyer his family had hired for him.”

“I suspect that the lawyer gave him the suicide order that Lance gave him, and after the lawyer left, he returned to his cell and committed suicide.”

Although the matter was dealt with quickly, the police chief still feels somewhat uneasy about it now.

“They have no respect for the law, they don’t obey the law, and they don’t know how to respect the law. Dealing with them is not an easy task, Roland. They might come after you directly.”

Director Roland appeared very composed, even displaying a rather unique demeanor and temperament. "If you, me, or any of us who have been given a special mission, were to face these gangsters, you wouldn't dare."

"Can you expect anyone else to deal with them?" Director Roland shook his head as he cut the beef on his plate with a knife.

Stack the cut beef, onions, and pickles together and put them in your mouth.

After chewing a few times, he continued, "This is our mission!"

The police chief smiled wryly, “That’s why I’m just a police chief, while you’re already the FBI director. You’ve gone much further than I have.”

Roland simply responded with a smile; it wasn't that he had actually gone further than the police chief, but rather that his objectives were more pronounced.

Some people say he's crazy, always doing things that seem a bit abnormal, whether it's dirty work or hard work, he does it all.

It's all for climbing higher!

Now that he finally has such an opportunity, he certainly won't give it up. He won't consider the FBI as his limit; he wants to go to higher places, so he needs to better demonstrate his value.

Seeing that his good friend seemed to have realized the situation, the police chief reminded him, "The Lance family and the Perez family will definitely have a full-scale battle after the war. You can let them fight each other until they are both crippled before dealing with them."

"We could even consider bringing in more gang forces to expand the scope of their fighting."

Roland nodded. "That's a good suggestion. I'll consider it carefully."

The two ate barbecue, drank alcohol, and chatted about their work, rumors in New Gold City, and secrets from the federal government.

This was just an ordinary gathering, but it wasn't so ordinary after all.

Roland once again firmly memorized the name "Lance White," regarding him as a formidable opponent worthy of his attention.

At the same time, he also thought of the news sent back from the branch office in Golden Harbor City that the Lance family had completely infiltrated all aspects of Golden Harbor City and even Likalai State.

Whether it's the city hall, the state government, the city police department, or the state police department, almost everyone from top to bottom is either one of their people or has a close relationship with them.

As a result, even after two years, they have not been able to collect much criminal evidence related to the Lance family, nor do they dare to collect it.

It's not just the government and law enforcement that are openly colluding with Lance; even ordinary citizens seem to be very supportive of Lance.

The entire Jingangcheng branch office made absolutely no progress.

This is an opponent that deserves to be taken seriously.

As the year draws to a close, all sorts of things start to seem less surprising.

After all, it's almost the end of the year, and people always have some special feelings about the last month.

They hope their children can come back so the family can be reunited—this mainly refers to the poor; the rich never worry about this.

Because the Commonwealth people would return to their places of residence, various civic groups and organizations in New Gold City became exceptionally active.

For example, the Workers' Party has recently been promoting itself by distributing leaflets on the streets, urging more people to pay attention to or join the Workers' Party and speak out for themselves.

The establishment of the Workers' Party did not bring more or better power or influence to the trade unions. This was partly due to the tension of the war, and partly because the Workers' Party was now seen as a joke by the public.

They have no seats in Parliament, no governors or mayors joining the Labor Party, and no one of their own winning.

So although they were established in a short period of time and seemed very busy, they didn't give people a very good impression.

Only after they win a governorship and gain at least a few seats in Congress can they be considered to have truly entered the political arena.

If they can't do these things, then the Workers' Party is no different from some fraternities and sororities in schools.

As for how to ensure their people win the election, the natural solution is to win over voters and continue to expand their campaign.

Lance's vehicle moved slowly along the road. The snow on the ground made the road slippery. Along the way, he had already seen several car accidents caused by brake failure on the ice.

The vehicle continued onward; this was the urban area of ​​New Gold City, the center of the Federal "Vision."

If you hold up a sign in the countryside, no one will pay attention to your plight, but if you hold up a sign here, someone will definitely notice you.

Many journalists also like to wander around here; they always manage to discover some unusual news, some of which are indeed of great reporting value.

The convoy passed another intersection and then slowly pulled over to the side of the road.

A large group of people holding anti-war signs were gradually approaching from a distance, and they almost completely occupied the road, making it impossible for vehicles to pass.

Those at the front kept waving their fists and shouting their protest slogans.

There were many reporters around taking pictures of them or interviewing some of the participants in the march.

Lance saw some of the names that Senator Cleveland had his eye on: these were “social activists,” or you could say “nonpartisan opinion leaders,” or, to put it more simply, public intellectuals with a stance.

These are the people who take money to do things.

Because they have a relatively professional background, as well as a certain degree of fame and social influence, there will always be some people who firmly believe that what they say is the truth.

These people also use their influence on society to profit from it.

Previously, their employers were often different companies and politicians.

Now, however, there are more foreign forces involved.

These people don't care who pays them or what they say; all they care about is whether the money goes into their own pockets and whether they can gain more attention and greater influence from this matter!

(End of this chapter)