Empire of Shadows

The restaurant manager looked at the glass curtain wall covered in splattered feces, at the yellow liquid that had crashed into the restaurant entrance, and at the various excrements strewn across the road outside.

At that moment, he actually wanted to laugh!

But seeing Mr. Anderson's furious expression, he ultimately didn't laugh.

He walked to Mr. Anderson's side, who was currently overwhelmed—he was directing the apprentices to clean up.

Perhaps the morning's fecal assault had given these apprentices a psychological resistance to feces; they didn't feel nauseous or vomit.

Although they were very reluctant, they put on gloves and began to clean the fecal residue from the glass curtain wall.

This stuff was actually quite difficult to clean.

If a scientist were present at this moment, they could definitely explain why these fecal chunks and residue were so firmly stuck to the glass.

The impact from the overturning fecal tank created high pressure, spraying it out like bullets, slapping onto the glass with a 'smack'.

A small amount of moisture expelled the air between the fecal chunk and the glass at the moment of impact, creating a sealed, vacuum-like state.

Trying to remove it from the glass at this point, merely rinsing with water might not work; external force was needed to reduce or eliminate this vacuum-like state for it to detach.

And poop… well…

The more you wipe, the more there is.

Otherwise, there wouldn't be news stories about Federal citizens using an entire roll of toilet paper to wipe their butts.

Mr. Anderson's face was dark, constantly cursing, not knowing if he was scolding the apprentices for their clumsiness, or the person or people who caused the accident, or perhaps both.

"Mr. Anderson…"

Mr. Anderson, his mouth flecked with white spittle from cursing, turned around and wiped his mouth. "What is it?"

The manager looked at him seriously, "Haven't you realized that this is also their tactic?"

Mr. Anderson paused, "I considered it, but…"

"No one broke the law, Mr. Anderson," the manager emphasized. "An accidental car crash; the insurance company will pay the bills, maybe fifty dollars will be enough."

"But for us, we might have to spend hundreds or thousands of dollars to minimize the impact of this event."

"Before long, the name 'The Poop Restaurant' will definitely spread, and by then we will definitely be greatly affected, and we don't know what else we will have to face next."

The manager was clever; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to quickly improve the restaurant's business, so he knew even better that this kind of confrontation was meaningless for the restaurant.

"Today it's a poop truck, what will it be tomorrow, what will it be the day after?"

"Please forgive me for not standing on your side on this issue, Mr. Anderson. If the person who lent you the money doesn't plan to get it back, and even takes out some more money to retaliate like this…"

"All the effort you've put into this restaurant will become a bubble."

"As long as you continue to do business by opening your doors to welcome guests, you will always be at a disadvantage in this kind of confrontation."

"We have all seen the other party's methods, and I have discussed it with you. If you can't resolve this matter, I plan to resign after this week."

Mr. Anderson wanted to say something, but he opened his mouth and didn't say anything.

"I respect your decision, Mr. Anderson. I know you have your persistence; I can't change you, I can only change myself."

He squeezed out a smile, patted Mr. Anderson's arm, and then walked outside to direct the apprentices and waiters to clean up.

This matter couldn't wait for the city management bureau to arrange for someone to clean up; they had to make the street look less terrible in the shortest amount of time.

Some reporters in the distance were frantically taking pictures, which couldn't be stopped, so the manager never considered the idea of chatting with them.

Mr. Anderson sat in the chair, lit a cigarette, and held his head.

He knew the manager was right; if this continued, it wouldn't be long before no one came to eat.

It wasn't just a simple 'targeting'; customers would also be afraid of getting into trouble. Who would want to deal with gangs or the like?

If their car was smashed or they were beaten up for coming to eat a meal, it wouldn't be worth it at all for people who could afford to spend twenty or thirty dollars on a meal!

Even if he sent out a bunch of nine-dollar-ninety-cent vouchers, people wouldn't come to take advantage of it.

But…

He turned his head and watched the manager also roll up his sleeves and join the ranks of cleaning, watching him use a water pipe to flush the fecal residue out of the lawn, watching everyone busy and covered in sweat…

Suddenly, he seemed to age a few years in that instant, and even his back, which had never bent, became a little hunched.

At that moment, he had made a decision.

Just as he was about to prepare these funds, he suddenly heard footsteps. Lance walked in from outside, looking disgusted, covering his mouth and nose.

Originally, Alberto also planned to come over; he wanted to see the old thing lower his head in front of him, but Lance asked him to wait at the coffee shop.

The smell here was too strong, and it would dirty his shoes that cost more than a hundred dollars.

He didn't care about the smell, but he really cared about his leather shoes, so he agreed to Lance's request.

Seeing Lance at that moment, even though Mr. Anderson had made a compromise, he was still filled with rage and stood up abruptly.

Lance looked at him, his eyes wide as if he wanted to eat him, and greeted him with a smile, not worried at all, "Mr. Anderson, it looks like you've encountered a big trouble."

"You are the biggest trouble I've ever encountered!" he said, even walking over and grabbing Lance's collar, raising his fist. The cigarette he spat out collided with Lance's chest, sparking some embers.

The manager, who had rushed back from outside, hugged Mr. Anderson tightly. The old man was really strong, and he almost couldn't hold him.

He prevented Mr. Anderson from resorting to violence while telling Lance to take a few steps back, but Lance didn't do that.

"You can hit me, Mr. Anderson, but have you considered what price you will have to pay after hitting me here today?"

Lance looked at him calmly. This kind of threat, for his colorful life, might be just the most insignificant one.

"I guarantee that your restaurant will close down, and not just the restaurant."

"You and your wife, your family, will not be able to survive in the Federation because you hit me."

"You can think I'm joking with you, or you can think I'm pretending to say some scary words. You can totally try it."

"Maybe next time Angel Lake's water level rises, it will be related to you and your family."

He just stood there, without even meaning to dodge, and even his eyes became completely different from before.

Before, every time Lance appeared in front of him, including just now, he had a… hippie, smiling, improper feeling, like a very common street bug.

Lowly, humble, disgusting.

But when his eyes changed, it gave people an unspeakable, heartfelt fear, as if everything he said was true.

The raised fist was finally lowered, and the manager hurriedly said some flattering words with a smile.

Lance straightened his collar and flicked the cigarette ash on his chest.

The cigarette butt left a black spot on the clothes, and it looked like the fabric was burned. This piece of clothing had to be replaced.

"I originally wanted to talk to you properly, but you obviously don't have that awareness."

"Mr. Anderson, this is my last ultimatum to you. The games these past few days just wanted you to realize one thing."

"You don't have the ability to bear all these consequences, but we do."

"If you don't wake up, then what happens next may be something we don't want to see, and it won't be handled by me anymore."

The manager quickly said flattering words, "Mr. Anderson and I have talked about it. He is willing to give you all the money back with interest, but we are a little tight right now."

Lance smiled noncommittally, "Everyone is an adult and knows what should and shouldn't be done."

"Mr. Corti extended a helping hand to you when you needed help, but you have failed his kindness."

"Prepare the money, then call him and apologize to him, and everything will return to normal."

"If you don't do this, you will also get a period of peace, but I guarantee that this is just the final peace!"

As he spoke, those serious expressions on his face were replaced by a kind of relaxation, and a smile that made people unpredictable appeared on his face, "Okay, I've said everything I need to say. It's too smelly here, I have to go."

"You ruined my clothes. I will send you a bill in a couple of days, and I hope you check your email."

Without giving the manager a chance to persuade him to stay, Lance left directly.

When he returned to the coffee shop, he told Alberto what had happened, and the latter was so excited that he couldn't sit still, and walked back and forth a few steps, "Said it so well, Lance, why don't you come and help me!"

This was the first time he had formally invited Lance to work for him. He did these things so beautifully!

It wasn't illegal, and the cost wasn't high. Compared to five thousand dollars, even if he took out three thousand dollars to get the capital back, he wouldn't think it was a loss.

But in fact, he had only spent less than five hundred dollars so far. Even if he had to give Lance five hundred dollars later, it wouldn't even be a thousand dollars, and he still had a profit of two thousand dollars.

The most important thing was that it was satisfying!

For someone who could casually throw out two hundred thousand, a five thousand dollar deal wasn't important. What mattered was whether his mood was good.

Now that his mood was good, the more he looked at Lance, the more pleasing he found him. He wanted Lance to work for him.

However, it was clear that Lance wouldn't agree.

"Let's talk about it in a while. I haven't considered what I want to do in the future yet."

Alberto knew this was a rejection, but to save face for both of them, he didn't blame Lance or think he was bad. He simply gave him a hug. "I respect your decision, Lance."

Lance also gave him what he wanted, "At the latest by tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Anderson will call you, apologize to you, and beg for your forgiveness..."