Empire of Shadows

"Another incident?"

Mr. Anderson first froze, but then he started, his eyebrows shooting up. "Is that bastard back?"

The manager knew whom he referred to but hurriedly shook his head. "Not him, I don't know how to explain—you'll see when you go there!"

Mr. Anderson took off his apron and strode towards the front of the house. When he stood at the entrance, he... completely froze!

The restaurant was full of customers, but the problem was, there was just one person at each table, and at most they had only ordered three yuan worth of items—many had even only ordered two dollars' worth of food.

A piece of bread, an appetizer, or a bowl of soup.

"I thought they'd leave soon, so I didn't notify you, but who would have thought, once they came, they just wouldn't go."

"Many of the customers left because there were no empty tables, and these people refuse to leave. They all claim they haven't eaten their fill and refuse to share tables."

Mr. Anderson's blood pressure spiked. With a total of seventeen tables, it meant that the lunch revenue today was less than forty dollars!

One should be aware that the restaurant's daily minimum expenditure was over one hundred and fifty dollars, which meant that even if they were fully booked in the evening, there would be no profit today, only a significant loss instead!

His temples throbbed again, that familiar feeling returning. Suppressing his anger, he lowered his voice to a roar, "Call the police, immediately. I want these trash taken out and dumped in the garbage heap!"

Mr. Anderson was considered a minor celebrity in this area. His culinary skills were excellent. It was said the former mayor had praised him publicly after tasting his food when he was the head chef at another restaurant.

In the Federation, the celebrity effect was particularly evident and important. With the former mayor believing his cooking was good enough to run his own restaurant, Mr. Anderson had been inspired to start his own business.

This was one of the reasons he had opened his own restaurant later. If the mayor, a high-class individual who had tasted many delicacies, thought his cooking was delicious—what did he have to worry about?

Skilled individuals are respected everywhere, whether they're cooking meals or... assuming other positions.

Soon the police cars arrived—two of them, with four officers in total.

At first, they were a bit tense. Mr. Anderson was in an unstable emotional state when he called the police, ranting and cursing. They had thought that an attack had taken place here.

But after entering, they realized it was quiet enough to hear one's own breathing.

"Mr. Anderson, you said someone is interfering with your business?"

"Where is that person?"

"Did you see them run that way?"

Mr. Anderson, holding back his rage, pointed at the people by the tables and said, "Isn't it obvious?"

"They've banded together to stop my business. Arrest them. There are no innocents here!"

The police officers, looking at the young people quietly eating bread in tiny bites but indeed eating, were momentarily puzzled. "Did they not pay?"

The manager told the truth, "They've paid."

"So did they cause any trouble?"

The manager, still honest, replied, "They've been sitting quietly at their tables eating."

The officers immediately felt displeased, their hands naturally resting on their belts. "So you're telling me you called the police just to amuse yourselves?"

Mr. Anderson took a deep breath, having sorted out the relationships. "These people ordered two dollars' worth of food and are sitting around without leaving, preventing other customers from coming in. Isn't that disruption?"

The officer was stunned for a good while before responding, "They ordered food and paid for it. On what grounds do you demand that they finish within a specified time?"

"Do you have such a policy displayed for all customers?"

Mr. Anderson was extremely irritated. "Am I supposed to be powerless against this scum?"

The officer glanced at the young customers, straightening his cap and said, "It seems that way, Mr. Anderson."

"They haven't committed a crime, nor have they refused to pay for their meals. They're just eating slowly—there's no law that requires me to arrest people for eating slowly."

"So...", he shook his head, "I can't do anything about this, Mr. Anderson."

"And I must remind you, if you kick them out before they've finished eating, you might get into trouble."

He pulled Mr. Anderson aside to a corner, "I can try scaring them off—it might not work, or it might."

"But the risk is significant. If the precinct finds out I didn't follow the manual, they'll come after me."

Having said that, he looked straight at Mr. Anderson. The police of Golden Port City, if they were to rely solely on the meager salary given to them each month, would likely not even be able to eat their fill.

Mr. Anderson had seen that greedy look in many people's eyes before, and he cursed everything about this place in his heart!

Still, he pulled two five-dollar bills from his pocket and subtly placed them in the officer's hands.

"Not enough, we came in two cars."

Mr. Anderson looked him in the eye. The two exchanged a defiant gaze for about four or five seconds before Mr. Anderson took out another ten dollars.

Only then did the officer give a satisfied smile. "Even if they punish me for not following procedures, I trust my family won't starve. You're a good man, Mr. Anderson!"