Empire of Shadows

Jobav had heard from others how Lance had managed to deal with the stubborn Mr. Anderson for Alberto, leaving a positive impression on him. Occasionally, in social settings, he even mentioned this incident in conversation.

He had been keeping an eye on Lance, and today presented a good opportunity to probe further—especially since he faced similar issues himself.

“We’re partners,” Lance said, neither confirming nor denying that he worked for Alberto. Technically, it was true.

Alberto had provided Lance with the initial funds to start his business and helped him expand his connections in Jingang City. Even though Alberto’s “assignments” didn’t pay much, Lance still accepted them.

Debts of gratitude were always the hardest to repay. Sometimes Alberto would even cover extra costs, which only made it harder for Lance to refuse him.

Jobav sipped his drink and leaned closer. “I have some similar issues I’d like to entrust to you.”

“I also deal in loans, but as you know, not everyone who borrows money can pay it back.”

“My approach is different from Mr. Coty’s, which makes my collection costs significantly higher. I’ve been thinking of trying a different method, and your timely appearance has given me more options.”

As a successful immigrant from the Empire, Jobav’s achievements hadn’t granted him the core benefits he sought in Federation society.While his wealth earned him a certain level of respect, local capitalists never treated him as one of their own. Instead, they eyed his fortune with undisguised greed.

It wasn’t his physical presence they coveted, but the money in his pockets.

Being an outsider made local capitalists wary of him, but also emboldened them to covet his assets. He had to tread even more carefully than others. In the ruthless world of capital, any slip-up could make him a target.

The escalating tensions between immigrants and natives, stoked by politicians, had further strained his position. More borrowers were refusing to pay, finding excuses, delaying, or forcing him into costly lawsuits.

Litigation in the Federation was prohibitively expensive. Winning against a native borrower required hiring a Federation lawyer—those mercenary litigators who demanded exorbitant fees.

Jobav’s business was in trouble. The judicial and law enforcement systems didn’t help him recover debts; instead, they seemed to protect the defaulters.

This so-called “land of freedom and equality” was neither free nor equal.

Jobav hoped Lance could help him as he had helped Alberto. If Lance could solve his problems, his burdens would be significantly eased. And if things went south, the fallout would fall squarely on Lance—not him.

Though he admired Lance’s abilities, admiration didn’t translate into financial gain. In Jobav’s world, profit outweighed sentiment.

“Usury?” Lance asked.

Jobav nodded. “Some of it, yes,” implying that not all the debts fell under that category.

He observed Lance’s lack of immediate response and grew slightly anxious, though he kept it hidden. “I can offer you ten percent commission, plus an expense allowance.”

“Lance, I assure you, no one in the Federation will pay more than I’m offering!”

The more enticing the offer, the more Lance realized how difficult these debts would be to collect. It was highly likely they were large sums—starting at several thousand, if not tens of thousands.

Smaller debts, of a few hundred dollars, wouldn’t warrant such a generous expense budget or commission. There simply wouldn’t be enough profit margin.

After some thought, Lance shook his head and declined. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jobav, but I can’t take on this job.”

“Mr. Coty extended a helping hand when I needed it most. I value gratitude, so I help him with certain matters.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll do this forever. Perhaps you’re unaware, but I’ve started my own company, and it’s doing well.”

Lance smiled. “Currently, I’m making four to five thousand dollars a month in profit, and it’s only growing.”

Jobav frowned slightly and countered, “Twelve percent.”

At twelve percent, a ten-thousand-dollar debt would yield a twelve-hundred-dollar commission—not insignificant.

But Lance shook his head again. “I’m certain these debts aren’t small.”

Jobav didn’t deny it, thinking Lance was trying to estimate his potential earnings. “The largest is fifty thousand dollars.”

At twelve percent, that would mean six thousand dollars in commission. Factoring in expenses, Lance could potentially earn over sixty-five hundred dollars on just that one debt. ŕ𝐀₦ȎꞖЁṡ

“Mr. Jobav, if someone is borrowing such large sums and you’re willing to lend to them, they must be local elites, correct?”

The question made Jobav realize where the problem lay.

It wasn’t just his company; no financial institution capable of lending such amounts would be dealing with dockworkers.

People borrowing tens of thousands were likely capitalists or influential local figures. For an immigrant, these were dangerous adversaries.

Jobav himself was unwilling to confront them directly. He hoped to offload the risk onto Lance, but Lance wasn’t about to make enemies of the local elite for a few thousand—or even tens of thousands—of dollars.

Capitalists and social elites had networks of friends who would hear their grievances. Soon, Lance would earn a reputation as a “despicable debt hound” among overlapping social circles.

Meanwhile, Jobav would recover his principal, perhaps even profit, while preserving his reputation and status.

That wasn’t a deal Lance was willing to make.

Seeing the visible disappointment in Jobav’s expression, Lance decided to offer an alternative. “I can suggest another way for us to work together.”

“Go on.”

“You could package these debts and sell them to me. Once I purchase them, whether I recover the money or not is none of your concern.”

In his mind, Jobav immediately labeled Lance as “greedy.” He hesitated before asking, “How much would you offer?”

“Ten percent, as a gesture of goodwill between fellow immigrants.”

“For anyone else, I wouldn’t offer more than five percent.”

From the moment Jobav had tried to manipulate him, Lance had stopped considering him a friend and started treating him as a business rival.

In business, if someone seeks to exploit you, don’t hesitate to covet their wealth in return.

Jobav rejected the offer outright. “That’s unreasonable. I’d rather hold onto them myself.”

Lance smiled. “It’s just an offer. You’re free to decline.”

“In fact, I’d prefer if you collected the debts yourself. At least that way, our friendship remains intact.” He raised his glass, clinking it against Jobav’s in a gesture that left the latter visibly displeased.

“Goodbye.” With that, Lance finished his drink and left.

Jobav stared after him, frowning deeply.

If someone could borrow tens of thousands of dollars and still be considered capable of repayment, they were either capitalists or local elites—both groups that were too troublesome for an immigrant to offend.

Mr. Jobav himself was unwilling to confront them directly. Instead, he tried to coax Lance into doing it with the allure of a modest commission. But Lance wasn’t foolish enough to risk offending the city’s elite and capitalists for a few thousand dollars—or even tens of thousands.

These people had connections. They would vent their frustrations within their networks, and soon Lance would be known across overlapping social circles as a “despicable debt hound.”

And Mr. Jobav?

He would recover the principal, possibly make a small profit, and emerge unscathed in terms of reputation and social standing.

That wasn’t the kind of deal Lance wanted.

The disappointment on Jobav’s face was evident. Realizing that persuading Lance further was futile, he made one last attempt. “Fifteen percent. That’s my final offer.”

Lance shook his head again but shifted the conversation. “I can offer you another way to cooperate.”

“Go on,” Jobav said.

“You package these debts and transfer them to me. After that, whether I can recover the money or how much I recover will have nothing to do with you.”

In that moment, Jobav mentally branded Lance as “greedy.” He remained silent for a while before asking, “How much would you pay?”

“Ten percent—because we’re both from the Empire.”

“For anyone else, I wouldn’t offer more than five percent.”

From the moment Jobav had attempted to manipulate him, Lance had stopped considering him a friend. In his eyes, they were now business rivals.

In business, if someone sought to exploit him, he had no qualms about coveting their wealth in return.

Jobav flatly refused. “That’s unreasonable. I’d rather hold onto them myself.”

Lance smiled. “It’s just an offer. You’re free to decline.”

“In fact, I’d prefer if you handled these debts yourself. At least that way, our friendship won’t be jeopardized.” He raised his glass, clinking it against Jobav’s with a cheerfulness that didn’t match the other’s sour mood.

“Goodbye.” With that, Lance finished his drink and left.

As he watched Lance leave, Jobav frowned deeply.

He had previously approached the Camille Gang to help recover a ten-thousand-dollar debt. They demanded five thousand dollars upfront and required him to cover all collection expenses—with no guarantees of success.

The Camille Gang was even greedier and uglier than Lance, and negotiations with them had fallen apart.

Now, Jobav faced a dilemma. Should he form his own gang or similar organization to recover the debts?

If he did, and those enforcers were traced back to him, it could implicate both him and his bank.

Over the years, Jobav had seen numerous immigrant capitalists devoured by the Federation system, leaving them with nothing. The process was brutal: they were given a choice between surrendering their wealth and leaving the country, or risking everything and facing ruin.

Most chose to leave their hard-earned fortunes behind and return home in disgrace.

Leaving allowed for the possibility of starting over, but facing the harsh sentences dished out in the Federation—metaphorically or literally—meant no return.

Where did these sentences come from?

The Federation’s judiciary operated under a doctrine of “punitive justice,” which was essentially a form of “spanking.” A judge could choose to “lightly spank” someone, doling out a minor penalty to show justice had been served.

But they could also choose to “spank hard.”

There were cases where someone owing a few hundred dollars in taxes was hit with a million-dollar fine on the grounds that “failure to impose a severe penalty would encourage others to disregard the law.”

Conversely, corporations that defrauded investors of millions were often allowed to pay a token compensation of a few hundred thousand, deemed a “reasonable financial risk.”

The courts were always lenient toward local capitalists, praising their contributions to employment and tax revenue.

But for immigrant capitalists, the system was unforgiving. They were seen as thieves, robbing the Federation of its taxes and wealth.

When immigrant capitalists were dragged into court, they were left with no choice but to decide: surrender their wealth and leave or lose everything and face ruin.