The Mafia Empire

"Oh, this young gentleman has bid two thousand dollars. Any higher offers?" The auction staff's face had taken on an unhealthy flush. Some might wonder why he was so excited—after all, what did a high-selling auction item have to do with him?

Actually, this perception was incorrect. For this charity gala, the Ternell Grand Theater had been closed for five days: four days were spent setting up the venue and arranging seating, and the final day was dedicated to the auction and gala. Every task required substantial time and effort from the staff, and the five-day closure meant losing at least two shows. The Grand Theater wasn't a charity itself; they were here to earn a commission.

Of course, publicly, they'd claim hosting such events was free as part of their support for charity.

But not a single cent of the fees would be spared. The amount they received depended on the total sales, with 1% going to the theater. Like the countless rules of the game structuring the city's workings, this was one more rule in play.

Thus, the higher the auction proceeds, the more the theater earned, and the auction staff could expect a small bonus as well.

So, indeed, it mattered to him.

Many gazes followed the staff's line of sight to the ninth-row edge, where Julian was seated. He smiled and nodded continuously, and soon he noticed an old man seated in the center of the first row, slowly turning to look at him.

The elderly man, his hair graying and his body slightly hunched, squinted, perhaps due to poor eyesight. His perfectly tailored suit and the respect afforded to him, along with his central seat, indicated he was likely the donor of this wild potted plant—one of Ternell's two council members.

Julian stood up, held down the hem of his coat, and bowed. The elder's face displayed a kindly smile as he nodded to Julian.

Perhaps, in the old man's mind, Julian was nothing but a fool, willing to pay an astonishing price of two thousand dollars for a clump of roadside weeds he'd dug up that very morning. If that wasn't foolish, what was? But, at least in that moment, he was truly delighted. Tomorrow's paper would prominently cover tonight's charity gala, mentioning his name and his "donation"—the two thousand dollars. Who covered the cost wouldn't be mentioned, unless the journalists, editors, and even the newspaper's owner wanted to find themselves exiled from Ternell.

His reputation for philanthropy would reach more ears, further solidifying his role as Ternell's "great benefactor."

Two thousand dollars for a pot of weeds—a ridiculous price. Socialites and officials might see Julian as vulgar, shallow, or even foolish. But the tycoons would envy him, for that pot of weeds earned Julian the chance to meet with the councilman.

This, too, was part of the game.

Subsequent items donated by other prominent figures were also sold at high prices, with even Pronto contributing a box of "Paradise" that fetched twice its market price. Soon, the second councilman's donation appeared on the auction block, but it met with a very different reception from Julian's successful bid. His item was greeted with indifference.

The reason was simple. Under imperial law, each city must have at least two council members, one from the Old Party and one from the New Party. Larger cities could have three, four, or even five council members, with each member joining the state council. Together, they voted on the state's development plans and policies, with four of them ultimately advancing to the Imperial Parliament, split evenly between the Old and New Party.

Ternell was well known as Old Party territory, with all significant institutions tightly held by its members. To have even one New Party councilman in such a city was to ensure he lived in "constant agony." Anyone who dared bid on his item would be aligning themselves with the New Party in Old Party territory—a dangerous move indeed.

Thus, even though the New Party councilman's item was a fine cloisonné pocket watch, no one raised a hand to bid. The theater fell into an eerie silence.

The councilman awkwardly lifted his own hand, showing a single finger.

The staff member on stage broke into a smile. "This gentleman bids one thousand dollars for this luxurious cloisonné pocket watch, crafted by the renowned Orldo clockmaker—a prime collectible. Any higher bids?"

In three lightning-quick calls for bids, the councilman paid his own money to buy back his own donated watch. His face showed only slight discomfort rather than anger; in the past two years, he had experienced this more than once.

Naturally, no one would discuss this peculiar process. The New Party councilman might be shunned in Ternell, but the mayor and other key city officials wouldn't trouble him—in fact, they'd strive to make his work and living environment as comfortable as possible, maximizing his quality of life. According to imperial law, a city's proposal to the state council required the signatures of two council members from different parties to be considered valid.

In other words, if he refused to sign, a city could go four or even eight years without any meaningful development. So people might avoid him, but they had no choice but to keep him happy.

The brief silence soon passed, and the theater returned to its lively buzz, reaching the auction's climax—the item donated by Mayor Peter.

It was a painting. If Delier were present, he might have wept at his lack of artistic knowledge, wondering why a worthless oil painting could fetch such a high price.

Yes, this was the same painting Delier had "sold" to Mrs. Vivian—a worthless piece. But in this setting, at this moment, it was valued higher than works by established artists.

This oil painting, meant to evoke spring but covered in green and yellow blotches, began bidding at two thousand dollars. The previously silent tycoons and wealthy guests seemed to come alive, money becoming merely a number. Within minutes, the price had surged to 4,600 dollars.

Peter's face remained calm and collected as always.

Watching the dwindling number of bidders, Julian raised his fist, and a collective gasp spread through the room.

"10.000 dollars!"

This jaw-dropping bid drew every eye back to the young man seated at the edge of the ninth row. Had he gone mad?

Such charity galas were frequent, sometimes held monthly, sometimes every two to three months. With so many events, bids rarely went over 5,000, as missing one didn't mean waiting years for the next—another would be in just twenty-odd days. So everyone bid with restraint, typically stopping around 5,000 dollars.

Tycoons and wealthy individuals understood that once a price was raised too high, lowering it again would be difficult.

Peter's donations usually went for 3,000 to 6,000 dollars at most.

But bidding a full 10,000 dollars? This was unprecedented in Ternell!

At this moment, Peter, who had remained silent and unexpressive, stood up and walked directly to the podium. "May I ask your name, young man?" His voice was low yet magnetic, filled with charm.

Julian also rose, bowed, and loudly replied, "My name is Julian, sir."

Many present showed expressions of sudden understanding, and even Peter raised an eyebrow slightly—he'd heard the name before. Though some still thought Julian was crazy, they lost interest in criticizing his extravagance. Everyone knew that bootlegging was highly profitable, and many had heard of the rising new figure in Ternell's bootleg scene. People exchanged knowing glances.

Peter nodded firmly, pointing toward Julian. "I've heard of you!" The crowd's gaze shifted between Julian and the mayor. "I won't judge if what you're doing is right or wrong, nor consider others' opinions of you. But here and now, in this setting, I commend your actions. Even if your motives are impure, don't ignore the impact of your donation on impoverished families in desperate need!"

"Dozens, hundreds of families will see improvement thanks to your actions here. You'll give them clothes to wear and food to fill their bellies. This is the purpose of tonight's charity gala!" His voice grew louder, "To help those who need it!"

"Mr. Julian, on behalf of the impoverished families in Ternell who need assistance, I thank you for your generosity!"

Hearing these words, Julian felt momentarily elevated, as though he had become noble and great. But he knew this was all a performance, the political maneuvering of a small-town mayor. Though it was Julian pouring out his fortune to please the mayor, Peter's words had turned both of them into symbols of virtue.

Julian smiled and replied loudly, "I realize now what a foolish act I committed. I'm willing to donate another 10,000 dollars to Ternell's charities. Thank you, Mayor, for showing me my error. I'm grateful for your guidance—thank you!"

Sitting in the second row, Heidler's mouth twitched. He wondered if he'd misjudged Julian.

Meanwhile, on the stage, the mayor finally allowed himself a slight smile.

This young man… not bad at all!