Chapter 1087: Compromise and Transaction

The senior Agent Supervisor, after a period of contemplation, looked at his best friend and asked a crucial question: "If I say... no, will I die?"

He stared intently into his friend's eyes, hoping to hear the truth.

His friend, after draining the wine in his glass, met his gaze and spoke with a very firm and definitive voice. "Yes."

"And I can tell you, very... cruelly: not only you, but your wife and children, and possibly your extended family and relatives will be implicated."

"You are still harboring fantasies about this, brother!"

"You are not a law enforcer right now, nor are you acting for judicial justice. You are being used as a knife to stab a monstrous interest group that those behind you are afraid to confront directly. Do you think the fate of that knife will be kind?"

He shook his head. "If you're lucky and you succeed, you will be discarded by them as a pawn."

"Then the people here [Lance's faction] will eliminate you and your family to vent their rage, and simultaneously warn everyone else that anyone who dares to challenge them must pay a heavy price."

"Didn't they always say this?"

"If you want a group of monkeys to stay put on a mountain, the simplest way is to kill one of their own in front of them."

"And you are that sacrifice."

"If you fail, and the interest group here is not defeated in this gambit—if Lance White is not arrested by you, or sent to prison, or to the electric chair—what do you think your fate will be?"

"The people behind you will fail. They might have a way to protect themselves, sacrifice some interests, concede defeat entirely, and leave the game table."

"But what about you?"

"What about the fate of pawns like you?"

Every word his friend spoke came from the heart. On one hand, he genuinely didn't want his good friend to oppose him.

On the other hand, he also truly wanted to convince his friend to join their side, enabling him to gain more attention within the entire interest group.

This meant his friend would have a greater chance of promotion later. His authority would grow, and his income would increase.

He had just bought a better house. What about the future?

Would he upgrade to a much grander villa or even an estate?

Would his children, like the children of the social elites, have a better start and walk a path further than their father?

When a person stands at a different height, the concerns that occupy their mind are also different.

When poor, one only thinks about how to eat and how to avoid future hunger.

But standing at his current height, what did he think about?

He thought about the future development of his family and whether his children had any chance to reach a higher platform.

To ensure his bloodline could also flourish at the highest levels of Federal politics.

The senior Agent Supervisor remained silent after hearing this. After a while, he rubbed his forehead. "I don't know."

"I don't know how to choose."

His friend pressed his hand onto his shoulder. "Your superior, Roland, and the people behind him—they are only using you as a tool."

"But I, we, are brothers. I would never hurt you."

"I just want you to live better and go farther. Didn't we talk about it before?"

"We can retire together, buy a piece of land in the suburbs, build a bigger house, and live side-by-side..."

A little later that night, Lance received a call from the senior Agent Supervisor. His tone clearly showed a mix of resentment and reluctance.

But that wasn't important. What Lance needed was his commitment. "Mr. White, I've made up my mind."

"So, what is your answer?" Lance asked.

After about ten seconds, a heavy breathing sound came through the receiver. "What can I do for you?"

He genuinely couldn't bring himself to say the words "I defect to Lance" or "I align with Senator Cleveland's faction." He felt uncomfortable. He chose a different phrasing.

Lance understood his underlying meaning. He smiled. "Two things. First, I have a name for you. He should be in the FBI. See if you can track him down."

"Second, what is Roland and his group planning to do to me?"

The senior Agent Supervisor was a decisive man. Once he committed to aligning with Lance and Senator Cleveland's side, he held nothing back.

He told Lance all of Director Roland's ideas and plans, omitting no detail he knew.

Lance was not surprised. It matched his own assumptions. At this stage, the only people bored enough to want to see him fight the Perez family were the FBI and those hostile to Senator Cleveland's faction.

He was clear about his own value. Besides providing some political solutions, his main value was the immense transfer of funds he provided to Congress and Senator Cleveland.

Clever people were abundant. Lance was certainly not the cleverest. If they wanted to, they had plenty of ways to acquire various talents.

As for his far-reaching foresight on global development, that wasn't critically important. The advantages the Federation gained after the war meant that even if they made mistakes, they would still be far ahead of other nations.

In other words, their cost of error was low, and their tolerance for error was high. Thus, the knowledge Lance possessed about world development, while good to have, wasn't indispensable.

Only the money—the unimaginable amounts of money he provided—was something they could not afford to lose and could not replace.

After ending the call, Lance called Tom, explaining the situation and suggesting that the FBI's actions might not be aimed at him personally, but rather at Senator Cleveland and the interest group he controlled.

Lance left it to Tom to convey the information to Senator Cleveland.

What Lance needed to do now was "cooperate" by continuing the fight with the Perez family, according to Director Roland's plan.

He could leverage Director Roland's plan to make the FBI proactively facilitate the gunfights.

With the defection of the senior Agent Supervisor, Lance understood many things, such as... the liquor order.

Late that night, two trucks entered the New Golden City from outside the city. The liquor ordered by the local gang had arrived.

Lance had previously told them that the liquor would be left at a designated location, and they would pick it up there. This method of delivery was very convenient and safe.

First, there was no direct contact between them. Second, Lance's team would not disclose the location beforehand, and his people wouldn't leak the information, thus preventing detection by the local Prohibition Bureau.

But if the buyers knew the location, there was a risk of exposure. All of these precautions were for security.

As for whether the buyers' own gang had Prohibition agents planted as informants, that was their own problem.

However, the local gang insisted on an in-person exchange, which Lance had found suspicious. Now he knew this was likely another part of Director Roland's plan.

Whether they intended to frame the Perez family or simply seize the liquor to "manufacture" evidence against Lance, he was ready.

Around midnight, the two trucks began moving again, arriving at the agreed-upon exchange location.

It was an alley on a street in the mid-ring of the New Golden City, a common type of Federal alleyway.

It had only two exits and a large open space inside. Being behind buildings, it was dark and well-concealed.

Such places were often used for special transactions, like those involving cheap sex workers or underground bars.

The location was generally good, but it had one fatal flaw: if the two ends of the alley were blocked, there was no escape.

Setting the liquor transaction in such a place was clearly a setup for "catching the thief with the goods."

The two trucks quickly arrived at the designated spot. Lance was not in the trucks. He was in a car diagonally opposite the alley exit—a very ordinary-looking car.

The dim streetlights couldn't illuminate the car's interior, and no one could see the occupants.

The transaction was being handled by a rookie combat captain on Lance's side, but Lance had already briefed him. He was not worried or afraid about this task.

While waiting for the transaction, Lance noticed several cars silently approaching diagonally opposite his position. Some people got out. They looked less like gang members and more like law enforcement agents.

In the dark, the dim light only weakly illuminated Lance's chin, and the faint glimmer of light reflecting in his eyes, obscured by shadows.

Mador felt a surge of anger and realization. "This transaction is compromised."

Lance hummed. "I see it."

"Should we move?" Mador asked.

Lance negated the idea. "Don't engage them yet. Let's see what they plan to do next..."

At that moment, a senior agent nearby had an excited expression. He had received a "tip" that a large volume of illegal liquor was being exchanged here tonight.

In reality, the issue of smuggling liquor was now extremely polarized in the Federation. For the poor, the difficulty and cost of obtaining liquor were high; Prohibition was genuinely effective for them.

Not everyone could afford or obtain liquor. Churches noted that Prohibition had reduced alcohol-related problems, and social morality had improved slightly.

But for the upper echelons of Federal society, Prohibition was a joke.

In a Federal hub like the New Golden City, catching liquor smugglers was easy: search the estates and villas of the wealthy. You would certainly find something.

But the question was: who dared to search?

Who could search?

Unless a politician failed in a political struggle and the victors explicitly ordered the search, who would dare enter those houses?

As for searching ordinary people?

They could, but there wasn't much to find. The cost of the investigation would likely exceed the value of the case.

So, targeting the transactions of these unknown gangs was far more aligned with the Prohibition Bureau's current thinking.

"Wait until they complete the transaction, then we rush in."

"If anyone resists, open fire after two warnings!"

Killing a few vicious gang members, seizing a large shipment of smuggled liquor, and confiscating a large sum of criminal money would certainly count as a major achievement.

In the alley clearing, the young men on Lance's side opened the truck doors, revealing two truckloads of high-end whiskey.

Despite the glass bottles, a strong aroma of liquor permeated the air.

In the darkness, the small gang member responsible for the exchange checked the goods quickly, mainly confirming the quantity. He then smiled and handed over a briefcase. "You are men of your word!"

The moment the Lance captain's hand touched the briefcase, lights suddenly flared up, and a large number of Prohibition agents rushed in from both ends of the alley.

"Prohibition Bureau! Everyone put your hands where we can see them!"

The agents moved swiftly. The young captain slowly raised his hands. He looked at the gang member who had just handed him the money.

The man's face showed no fear or surprise, only calmness, even a slight smile.

It was as if he knew this outcome from the very beginning.

Everyone was immediately subdued. Lance had instructed them not to resist. If they wanted to arrest them, let them.

So, no one resisted, and they were all calmly handcuffed.

The senior agent, seeing the two truckloads of liquor, couldn't help but smile in surprise. This was indeed a major bust.

He turned to the young captain with a look of derision. "I believe we will be spending a very pleasant time together."

The young captain was experienced in chaos—the kind involving gunfights and bloodshed. He wasn't bothered by this implicit threat.

"That depends on whether my lawyer allows me to leave with you, and allows you to do this."

The senior agent burst into loud laughter. "Smuggling this liquor doesn't warrant a lawyer's defense! You know we have the authority here."

The young captain remained calm despite the insults. He spoke in a low voice, asking a question that hit the senior agent like a thunderclap:

"Who told you this truck is carrying liquor?"

"These are fruit juices."

Just as he spoke, flashbulbs suddenly illuminated the scene, and several people wearing badges identifying them as a law firm walked in.

"Who let you in?" The senior agent was both shocked and furious. He glared at his subordinates at the entrance, who looked utterly helpless.

The leading lawyer displayed his identification and relevant documents, then stated, "My client was here conducting a fruit juice transaction. We hear you are not only illegally enforcing the law but planning to torture him for a confession?"

The senior agent turned, looked at the confident young captain, and strode toward the truck. He pried open a box, pulled out a bottle, and twisted off the cap.

When the rich aroma of fruit juice permeated the air, his face was already darker than the night sky.

He stubbornly took a sip. It was indeed fruit juice, with no alcohol content whatsoever.

But he wasn't convinced. "I need to have this... fruit juice chemically analyzed."

The lawyer didn't refuse. "Of course, but I need these reporters to accompany us."

At this point, the senior agent knew he had been drawn into someone's feud, and clearly, the side supplying the "liquor" had the overwhelming advantage.

They had anticipated his moves, deliberately supplied fruit juice, and even let him catch them in the act.

The situation was deeply humiliating for the senior agent. Continuing the pursuit would only make him look like a fool.

The only option was to drop it.

He threw the bottle of fruit juice onto the ground, walked up to the young captain, and jabbed his chest. "You got lucky this time."

He then glared at the lawyers and reporters—the most difficult group of people in the city—and curtly said, "Let's go," leading his men away.

He didn't want to be entangled in such a convoluted dispute. Anyone who made it to a senior agent position in the New Golden City wasn't stupid.

After the agents left, the small gang member who was trading with Lance's team finally realized what had happened. The small gang leader walked up to the truck in disbelief, opened a box, and twisted off a bottle cap. It was still fruit juice.

"You guys..."

Seeing the matter concluded, the lawyer proactively left with the reporters. Earning a large fee for less than ten minutes of work at night made them eager to serve Lance.

The reporters felt the same way. Their cameras didn't even have film loaded, but just pressing the shutter a few times earned them a fifty-dollar fee. They were eager for more business like this.

The young captain rubbed his wrists, which were red from the handcuffs. He turned to the small gang leader and grinned, showing his imperfect teeth.

"You've run into trouble. Big trouble, you know?"

A few minutes later, he reached the car parked diagonally opposite the alley entrance and stood by Lance's car. "Everything is secured."

Lance rolled down the window. "Have them take you to their lair. Clean them out. Do it cleanly."

The young man bowed slightly and ran off. Lance's car quickly disappeared into the darkness.