The Mafia Empire

The district police chief held considerable power. While agents from the Criminal Investigation Bureau could question a local chief, even starting an investigation would require a permit signed by a prominent figure in the State Bureau of Investigation. Even if Pronto appointed a dog as a substation chief, no one would dare object.

Clearly, all his reasoning was meant to avoid making this arrangement.

Mason couldn't comprehend why Julian wasn't satisfied. A sergeant position! In the past, Mason had dreamed of becoming a sergeant within three years of being an officer. He had imagined it would take considerable time and perhaps even a modest sum—around fifty dollars—to make that dream come true.

But now, with everything unfolding as it was, he found himself questioning his worldview and even his own worth. Despite being family, brothers, the gap between them felt immense.

He longed for Julian to agree immediately, but after several glances at Julian's calm demeanor, he wisely kept his mouth shut. He knew well enough that simply sitting in this office was already a privilege granted by Julian's power, and he had no reason to disrupt Julian's original intentions.

Julian looked like an old man fond of antiques, his eyes fixated on that plain glass worth a mere dollar. Pronto frowned, intending to say something, but Julian looked up just then.

With a bright, admiring smile, Julian's gaze sparkled with genuine warmth as he spoke, his voice full of praise and envy, "Chief Pronto, I really envy you, truly!"

Pronto's heart tightened, though he kept his expression neutral. He didn't know what this young man intended, but a chill crept up his spine, making his hair stand on end. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Oh? Is that so? I'm just an out-of-shape local police chief—what's there to envy?" He picked up a thick-bottomed glass from the table.

"If anything, it's you who should be envied—young, successful, wealthy, and handsome. I should be the one envying you!"

"Chief Pronto, you flatter me," Julian replied courteously, though this only made Pronto more uneasy. Watching Julian with a strained smile, he waited for Julian's next move, but Julian's following words made his expression change entirely.

"I hear your family is very happy, Chief Pronto. A beautiful wife and lovely children—isn't that something everyone would envy?"

In the next moment, Pronto smashed the glass to the floor, sending splashes of murky coffee everywhere. He drew his pistol, pointing it at Julian. "Are you spying on me and my family? I'll kill you!" The always-smiling police chief now looked ferocious, his voice seething with menace. For him, family was a sacred boundary.

While many powerful people held a distant view of "family," it didn't stop them from fiercely defending the sanctity and sense of duty surrounding it.

Perhaps the secretary outside had heard the glass shattering and wanted to investigate, or maybe she intended to clean up, for there was a knock on the door. Pronto's response was a thunderous roar—"Get out!"

Mason was so startled he half-stood, clutching the back of the sofa, leaning back in fear as he stared in horror at Pronto's sudden outburst.

In contrast, Julian, who had caused this conflict, remained unfazed. For the first time, he lifted the glass and took a sip of coffee, commenting with disdain, "Tastes like burnt barley. I can never get used to it."

"This is the first time someone has pointed a gun at my head," he remarked calmly. "You could try pulling the trigger, and maybe everything would end."

"But I guarantee," Julian added, "you'd go on a journey you could hardly imagine."

Pronto didn't dare pull the trigger, even though he was certain that this shot would kill Julian without any consequences for himself. But he wasn't willing to gamble; he had no idea what backup plans Julian had in place or what kind of retaliation might befall him and his family.

Wood and Gador served as examples, with Gador being the most unfortunate—he died never understanding why he was abandoned, and it all stemmed from the man standing before him.

It was Wood who dragged Gador into this, making him believe that getting rid of someone as seemingly insignificant as Julian would be as easy as squashing a bug. They severely misjudged the situation, and he was mysteriously killed, highlighting the meticulous planning and violent execution Julian was capable of.

"I don't like anyone using my family as leverage!" Pronto withdrew the gun slightly, a gesture of compromise. Julian, naturally, leaned back into the sofa, his expression remaining steady throughout. Pronto slowly holstered his pistol and sat down. "This won't happen again. I'll agree to this, but I need to reassure my subordinates.

Every personnel change at the station is a form of motivation for them."

With ease, Julian pulled a checkbook from his pocket, wrote out twenty thousand dollars, and signed his name—a scrawl reminiscent of a third grader who had just learned to write continuous words, full of uncontrollable and unpredictable edges. He tore off the check, placed it on the coffee table between them, and pushed it forward.

"A check from the Imperial Central Bank, redeemable anytime within the month." More than one person had advised Julian never to keep money in the bank, but he hadn't listened. Was he supposed to stash cash in a cellar and watch it grow damp, moldy, and rot? Besides, money shouldn't merely be accumulated. Money's value is proven only in its "circulation," not by being hidden somewhere.

From his dreams, he'd gathered enough information to know that the giant families and corporations never became world-class entities by leaving their money sitting in the bank. They either reinvested continuously into new projects or broke it down into investments to generate returns.

Pronto glanced at the check on the coffee table, sighed, then picked it up, folded it carefully, and slipped it into his pocket.

By now, Mason had settled back into his seat, faintly recalling what Julian had said in the car—that whether Pronto accepted Julian's money was not up to him! This thought sent a slight shiver through Mason. Pronto had initially refused the money, but now he had taken it, proving he didn't have the final say.