Chapter 1139: No Understanding, Understanding, Becoming, and Carelessness

When Roland was very young, something happened at school. Things were often stolen in his class, but no one could ever find the culprit.

This displeased both the parents and the students. After several thefts, the school claimed they caught the "thief," a seemingly ordinary, introverted, and weak student.

Roland, who was just a student then, didn't believe the boy was the thief. How could someone who couldn't even look people in the eye be a thief?

Because of the mounting anger from parents, the school publicly "executed" the student at a school assembly. The principal, the board, and the teachers collectively announced his crimes, resulting in the most severe punishment: expulsion.

The Federation was not a society where individuals operated independently. To put it simply, everything and everyone was connected.

These connections were often very tight. Some people might not realize this because they were not part of that tight network.

Take the simplest example: an influential student who wanted to attend an elite university. Even without their parents intervening, the school, along with their parents' friends, would be eager to write a letter of recommendation to the elite alliance university.

But an ordinary child from an ordinary family couldn't do that. So, in their world, the world seemed "simple," but it wasn't.

The introverted student's expulsion meant he was virtually barred from attending any other school locally. No school could withstand the massive pressure from the parents of other students: Are you going to admit a thief into my child's class?

Are you that desperate?

These parents were relentless. Private schools certainly wouldn't take such a powerless student with a stained reputation.

After the incident, the thefts in the class completely stopped. People celebrated. The thief was gone, and justice returned.

Later, Roland learned by accident that the introverted student was not the thief. The school, under pressure and unable to find the real culprit, simply chose an easy target—a child from a family that couldn't fight back. They used this extreme "warning" to solve the problem.

The outcome was exactly what they wanted and needed: the thefts stopped, because the real thief was terrified.

He couldn't guarantee that his next act wouldn't be discovered, nor that he would be any luckier than the scapegoat.

Later, while working, Roland encountered the introverted former classmate. He was living miserably.

During their conversation, Roland learned that because of the expulsion, his father was humiliated. He had a fierce argument with his wife and eventually drove them out.

His mother quickly abandoned him and ran off with another man, leaving the young man to fend for himself.

He did many things afterward, just struggling to survive.

What left the deepest impression on Roland was that the introverted, wrongly accused classmate actually became a thief, a criminal.

It was at that moment that Roland gained a deeper understanding of life and society.

Sometimes, whether something is the truth is utterly irrelevant to many people. The result is what matters.

Roland was restless, sitting down, then standing up, clenching his fists, then running his hands through his hair.

Finally, he seemed to make a decision. He picked up his car keys and left the Bureau, needing to make a phone call from a safer location.

After driving around the city for over ten minutes, he arrived at a small motel that was easy to observe and seemed empty. He rented a room with a phone and sat there.

He continuously monitored the area around the motel, ensuring no one looked like a lookout, before dialing the New Golden City number.

First, he had someone find the guard's family information, then he called the bank.

"I need you to check a few accounts. They should have financial transactions with this account..."

He provided several personal account numbers, including the guard's own.

He knew the names of the guard's family members and his account number, but he couldn't know their specific account numbers. He had to use indirect methods.

As the wage earner, the guard's account was certainly linked to his family's accounts. That was the clue.

The person on the other end was a bank employee, also from the New Golden City.

Roland had worked with this employee several times. It was a partnership: the employee provided him with bank account intelligence, and Roland paid him a fee.

"Another case?" The employee clearly assumed it was business as usual.

Roland replied after a few seconds. "Yes, investigating a case."

"Give me half an hour. The archives are huge."

Roland chain-smoked while waiting for the call. He had always wanted to be a hero, a figure of justice and light.

He wanted to bring justice and prosperity to the world, but he constantly faced difficult choices.

Between sacrificing himself and sacrificing an imperfect but innocent person, he chose self-preservation.

He knew clearly that only he possessed the power to change the world. Others would only make it more corrupt.

Twenty minutes later, he called back. The employee had the information. "Of the five accounts you gave me, three are frequently used. Two of those have transfer records to the account you provided, conducted via check."

"One is very frequent, almost monthly. The other only had three deposits, and the amounts are small. The largest transfer was ten dollars."

Roland sighed in relief. "Thank you. This intelligence is very important."

"After the case is concluded, standard procedure applies."

The bank employee laughed. "I trust you."

"Standard procedure" meant that after the case was over, the expenses, including the "consulting fee," would be processed through the official reimbursement system.

It wasn't a large fee—thirty to fifty dollars, never more than a hundred.

For simple work like today's, Roland would usually pay twenty dollars.

A phone call, half an hour, twenty dollars. A profitable exchange.

Comparing the account numbers with his notebook, the two linked accounts belonged to the guard's wife and his son.

Roland struggled internally, but finally bit the bullet.

He had never understood the school's actions, but now, he understood.

He called home. His cousin answered.

"Transfer fifty thousand dollars to this account for me. Use the independent account."

His cousin paused, then agreed. The funds belonged to Roland; the cousin only managed them.

After the cousin wrote down the account number, Roland casually asked, "How is he doing in school?"

He was still slightly bothered about his son's school situation, but the issue was resolved smoothly.

"He's doing well. It's just... you know, the other students don't know who his father is, and they're curious. Sometimes excessive curiosity can hurt him."

In this society, being a single-parent family was a weakness, representing vulnerability and potential isolation.

Although rare in private schools, it could happen. Fortunately, Roland's cousin had intervened, and the bullies backed off after assessing the situation.

Hearing this, Roland sighed. His greatest regret was his inability to protect his wife and children openly.

But everything would be fine. Once he completed his plan, became a true leader, and no longer needed to hide, he would bring them into his life, allowing them to enjoy the life they deserved.

The current pretense and endurance were for future happiness.

"I can't visit them often. Please look after them."

"If you need money, the funds are in those accounts. You can use them directly."

After a few more words, they hung up, after Roland urged him to execute the transfer quickly.

Roland's cousin, who hung up, didn't understand the reason behind the transfer but had grown accustomed to following orders.

As one of the people Roland had indoctrinated with his ideals, he immediately began processing the transfer.

However, the bank informed him that the independent account he was using for the transfer was short of $50,000. He wasn't overly concerned. The account was short by $200. He used a more frequently used account to cover the remaining $200 and completed the transfer.

He didn't bother telling Roland and returned to his other work.

Roland left the motel immediately and drove to meet Lance. He needed a direct confrontation, unlike the veiled talk of the previous days.

Lance wasn't hiding. He had already acquired many of the Perez family's properties. Not just occupying them, but the ownership deeds too.

Although Roland had seized the most lucrative asset, Lance was still profiting handsomely.

Even where the ownership deeds were missing, he had the Bearded Director arrange for the creation of official-looking, yet forged, documents.

The next step was surveying the assets and taking over the businesses.

"I will not personally run the bars and liquor sales."

"The official narrative will be that I do not engage in illegal businesses!"

The room was filled with local police officers and small-time gang leaders. The collapse of the Perez family had left a massive power vacuum.

Lance would not compete with the local gangs for territory; it required too much manpower, and his organization wasn't ready for massive expansion. Furthermore, his liquor sales were more profitable than any other illegal business.

So, he would give up the territory to the local gangs, including the police.

The Bearded Director laughed upon hearing this. The laughter was contagious, quickly spreading to the others.

They all burst into laughter. The Bearded Director was wiping tears from his eyes.

This was the funniest joke they had heard all year: Lance and the Lance family not engaging in illegal businesses?

Yet, it was Lance himself who said it. What could be funnier?

Watching them laugh until they were breathless, Lance took a puff of his cigar, his legs crossed. "Is it funny?"

The single sentence immediately silenced the room. Their laughter froze. Some looked in pain.

If anyone else had asked, they would have said "yes." But Lance was asking. They didn't dare.

You laugh?

The Perez family laughed last, and look what happened to them.

Seeing their faces turn red and purple, Lance smiled faintly. "Alright, it is funny."

Laughter returned, but it was forced, no longer pure.

Lance also laughed for a moment, then raised his hand, signaling silence.

He was like a master conductor, controlling everyone's emotions and actions.

"That was the official line. To be more direct, I don't care about these small businesses. My business is too large. Although these small businesses are profitable, I don't want to compete with you."

"I discussed this with Hull: the local market and local businesses should be controlled by locals."

"But we defeated a behemoth like the Perez family. We can't leave empty-handed. That would be genuinely foolish."

"My demand is simple: I don't want the Perez family's territory or anything else, but the liquor sold in the bars on their territory must be sourced from me."

"As I said, I won't sell retail liquor, but I will wholesale it."

"By the way, I have a Ministry of Defense license. My business is legal. I transport the liquor and hand it over to you. What you do with it—whether it's legal or illegal—I don't care. Understand?"

The gang leaders and police officers realized Lance wanted the entire city's liquor market.

They were shocked by his ambition!

The Bearded Director, now Lance's close partner, asked the question on behalf of the gang leaders. "What about the price of the liquor..."

Sourcing from Lance was fine, but the price was the main concern.

If Lance's price was unreasonable, they would refuse, even if it meant conflict.

Lance waved his cigar. "Seven percent below market price. I guarantee our quality is the best in the Federation, and our price is the most attractive!"

"But!" His shift in tone immediately heightened the tension.

"I have more rules than others."

"Five percent of the profit is a friendship discount. You acknowledge me as a friend, and I share the profit."

"The other two percent goes to Hull and the local police and other system officials as a benefit. I will personally oversee this fund."

"The distribution is none of your business. I will discuss the allocation with Hull and the others."

The Bearded Director was stunned. Lance had only mentioned the club profits before. He had a sudden realization. That's a lot of money!

His eyes grew intense. No wonder people said cooperating with Lance was good, even the ordinary people in Golden Port City.

Is he God?

Anyone who makes them rich is God!

The benefits were clear: these people would align with him, ensuring local stability.

The gang leaders had no objection. A lower cost price meant more profit. Sharing a small part of the profit with the police was fine; stability was paramount.

Everyone got what they wanted. Just then, a knock came at the door. Lance's men entered. One man approached Lance. "Roland is here. He wants to see you."

Lance nodded, placing his cigar on the edge of the ashtray. He stood up and adjusted his jacket. "A friend has arrived. We need to talk privately."

"You can disperse now if you have no further business."

"Of course, if you have issues with territory allocation, settle it peacefully. The situation is tense. Peaceful resolution is best."

"That's all for now. See you later!"

Everyone stood up, escorting Lance to the door. Just then, Roland, who had grown impatient, walked in and saw Lance surrounded by the crowd.

The two men stood ten feet apart, staring at each other. Neither looked away!