Chapter 34: How Did You Do It?
"Families of missing children?" Officer Brayden frowned. "So you’re planning to…?"
"Give them a child," Lance replied, "healthy, handsome, polite, and willing to pay them $200. Of course, they’d need to keep their mouths shut about the arrangement."
Lance didn’t hide his intentions, as he needed Brayden’s help to execute the plan.
Brayden’s eyes lit up. "That’s quite the unique business. You shouldn’t share ideas like that so freely."
Lance leaned forward slightly. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill, Officer Brayden. I believe the profits from our future collaborations will far exceed this."
He shrugged, feigning indifference.
Brayden, however, was clearly intrigued. "I’ll keep an eye out. Plenty of kids have gone missing in Jingang City over the years. Matching ages shouldn’t be too hard either. I have to admit, you’re opening up a whole new market!"
He pocketed the envelope. "Tomorrow, same time, same place—I’ll have an answer for you!"
Brayden and his partner exited the restaurant and got into their patrol car. As they drove off, Brayden filled his partner in on the plan.
His partner perked up. "How much money could we make from this?"
Brayden lit a cigarette, his eyes on the rearview mirror. "Not sure yet. It depends on how much he can negotiate with others, but we can set a baseline."
"You know what Jingang City has in abundance?" Brayden’s voice trembled with excitement, as if he’d stumbled upon a gold mine.
Before his partner could answer, Brayden floored the gas pedal and exclaimed, "Illegal immigrants! We’ve hit the jackpot!"
Lance watched the police car speed away, shaking his head as he returned to his coffee and waffle.
The waffle was a chaotic blend of flavors: maple syrup, fruit jam, chocolate shavings, and powdered sugar—a typical Federation-style overload of sweetness. Paired with unsweetened coffee, it was slightly more palatable, but still overwhelmingly rich.
Lance only managed to eat about a third before giving up, feeling as if his teeth were screaming in protest.
When he went to pay, the shockingly low price made him doubt if the bill had been calculated correctly. The owner only charged him a dollar: 35 cents for two coffees and 65 cents for a waffle and a burger.
"Mr. Anderson should see these prices," Lance thought wryly. "He’s the real thief around here."
He was confident Brayden would take this matter seriously. The potential business seemed enormous, and Brayden wouldn’t want Lance sharing this lucrative opportunity with anyone else.
But in reality, the business wasn’t as promising as it appeared.
How many illegal immigrants in Jingang City could save up hundreds of dollars?
People like Elvin, who worked on the docks, barely saved three to five dollars a month despite extreme frugality. Even at the high end of savings, they’d need five years to accumulate $300. Р𝘈𐌽ôBĚś
While some exceptional cases existed, they were rare—maybe one in a thousand. This venture was more akin to selling real estate to the homeless. If they could afford homes, they wouldn’t be homeless.
Saturday morning was a day for gatherings outside St. Naya’s Cathedral.
Lance arrived punctually, greeting a few adults before heading to the side area where the younger crowd gathered.
The teenagers greeted him warmly.
To them, $5 was a significant amount. At Fat Boss’s place, a meal cost just 20 cents. At Mr. Anderson’s restaurant, meals ranged from $20 to $30, sometimes more—an unattainable luxury.
With $5, these kids could splurge and have fun for days. Their recent upscale dining experience, complete with free $2 meals, left them with nothing but admiration for Lance.
Even Gerald was thrilled. The teenagers’ fondness for Lance elevated his own standing.
Of course, not everyone was kindhearted.
"Hey, Lance, I’m curious," one of the teens asked with a sly grin, "how much did you make from this gig?"
Greed and jealousy are human nature. Someone had calculated that Lance had spent over $100 on them in just one day. Surely, he must have earned much more to afford such generosity.
The buzz about Mr. Anderson’s restaurant over the past couple of days only fueled their curiosity.
Gerald quickly rebuked the question. "That’s none of your business!"
The teen chuckled awkwardly. "I didn’t mean to offend, Gerald. I was just curious. I mean, I made money too, so I was wondering how much Lance earned."
Others spoke up in Lance’s defense. "You don’t have to answer that, Lance. We’re just grateful you thought of us when you did."
But Lance surprised them by answering.
"All together? About $1,000."
Gasps erupted. Even Gerald was stunned, blurting out, "That much?!"
The first teen, his jealousy barely concealed, exclaimed, "A thousand dollars?! I’ve never even seen that much money!"
Lance remained calm. "If it shocks you that I made $1,000, wait until you hear this: the person who assigned me the job made at least $2,000."
Another round of astonished gasps rippled through the group.
"Wow, Lance, will there be more opportunities ?" Ennio couldn’t resist asking the question on everyone’s mind. "If there’s anything I can do, I’d love to help."
The group chimed in eagerly, their voices growing louder. For the chance to earn $5 with minimal effort, who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity?
From the main gathering, Mr. Jobav noticed the commotion and turned to see a large group of teens surrounding Lance. Intrigued, he sent an assistant to find out what was happening.
The assistant returned shortly, looking bemused. "You won’t believe what I just heard, Mr. Jobav."
"Spit it out, or I’ll dock your pay," Jobav replied irritably, disliking the theatrics.
The assistant quickly complied. "That young man made over $1,000 from a recent job—and the kids say he spent over $100 on them."
Even the assistant seemed incredulous. A thousand dollars was no small sum, even to someone earning above-average wages.
Jobav’s curiosity deepened. "How did he manage that?"