The Shadow Tycoon
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 152: Donations and Food Vouchers
The fact that Mark represented the mayor in taking a stake in Interstellar Trading Company might be hard for some ordinary people to understand, but in reality, it was perfectly normal, because other things were happening that some ordinary people might not even have heard of.
Someone once joked that the last second of every big election in the Baler Federation was the instant a new syndicate was born. The Baler Federation had a history of more than three hundred years since its founding, and had welcomed a total of fifty-two Presidents.
Why fifty-two? Because certain Presidents had accidentally fallen to their deaths while going downstairs, or been blown into the sea and vanished while fishing on the shore, or...
In short, there were always some people whose luck was not so good. But that was normal. That was life, was it not?
Apart from those rather unlucky Presidents, behind almost every other President there was basically the shadow of a syndicate. For instance, one relatively familiar to people in the Federation was “Jerry & Dice,” a typical syndicate born because of a President.
This syndicate had supported three politicians in succession onto their shining moments on the Federation’s historical stage. Precisely because they had supported three Presidents, “Jerry & Dice” had not encountered any trouble for more than a century.
No one knew when they might once again select a new President for the Federation, one who would also belong to their group, the fourth President of theirs.
Oh, by the way, those three Presidents were respectively the son of the founder of “Jerry & Dice,” his son’s grandson, and his son’s grandson’s son. They were all one family.
Political machines and interest groups were sometimes mortal enemies, but sometimes they were indistinguishable from each other. This was the Baler Federation, the so-called land of freedom.
Seen this way, the mayor taking a stake in Interstellar Trading Company became far less frightening. And this matter had been handled by his nephew Mark. William believed that if any problem arose, Mark would immediately step forward and apologize to society.
Because he had hidden these terrible things from his uncle. His uncle, Mr. Mayor, would absolutely never lightly forgive anyone who violated the law and the rules, even if that person was his nephew.
If those terrible things did not happen, if Interstellar Trading Company could continue profiting in a relatively proper manner, then perhaps in the future William and his company would also become part of a certain syndicate. Of course, the mayor could not be the President. The core they revolved around would be his superior, or his superior’s superior.
By now, William had long since passed the age of cynicism. He did not feel offended. Instead, he felt this was a good thing. After Mark took a stake, certain things that were inconvenient to handle could be given to Mark.
No one was more suited to that role than he was. Many people would feel that Mark represented the mayor, and even if there was trouble, they had to solve it themselves and could not trouble Mark, because troubling Mark was the same as troubling the mayor. But William would not think that way.
When everyone knew Mark represented the mayor, Mark’s appearance meant the mayor’s attitude. He did not even need to say anything. He only had to stand beside William.
Putting aside this matter too small to be smaller, the next day William met with the mayor. This was a charity gala, and strictly speaking, that was exactly what it was. Sabine City’s local elite had basically all arrived.
There were not many people, only several hundred. The upper circle of a city of eight hundred thousand could accommodate only these several hundred people, and among them nearly half, or between a half and a third, were there only because their male companion or His Lady had the opportunity to enter the hall. They themselves did not possess that strength. That made the actual number of people in the upper circle even smaller.
William sat in a seat slightly farther back. His age, his career, and his wealth were not yet enough to place him in that conspicuous position at the very center of the first row. But sitting in the back also had its advantages. At the very least, he could take in all the little movements of the well-dressed women and gentlemen in front of him.
The theme of tonight’s charity gala was helping some unemployed people through the present difficult period by way of donations. Sabine City’s unemployment rate had already reached the terrifying figure of sixteen percent, and there had already been cases of people starving to death.
This was not a good sign. City Hall, or rather the mayor, had used his own influence to suppress the news, but he had also realized that the situation had truly reached the point where political power needed to be mobilized.
In truth, people starved to death every year. Hobos on the street died from heat in summer, froze to death in winter, and were occasionally starved to death. That was all very normal.
A few years ago, there had even been a grim report about a hobo attacking a stray dog, only to lose to the dog and be eaten by the pack. It had briefly sparked heated discussion in society. After that discussion, people stopped paying attention to this group.
When facing reporters’ interviews, many people held the same view. Hobos had hands and feet. They could work to support themselves. Even scavenging would let them live well enough. But they chose begging, so they were not worthy of sympathy.
This time, however, the person who starved to death was not a hobo, but an unemployed old man living alone.
Calling him old was actually not quite right. He was only in his fifties, not yet of retirement age.
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