Chapter 196: Let It Rot Even Worse

Factories worldwide are facing problems. Among the workers under factory owners, there are always a few who stand out.

These are usually organizers or leaders of the factory workers’ unions, making it necessary to discuss how these unions operate.

They unite registered members within their factories, forming internal unions to rally the workers.

When people gather, there must be leaders and middle managers, who often become the factory’s troublemakers.

On assembly lines, one lazy person can slow the entire line, causing a backlog of parts at every stage.

This wastes time and effectively reduces work intensity, though wages remain unchanged.

Workers actually support these troublemakers because one person’s slowdown makes most of the line’s workload lighter. Some even intentionally do this in certain factories.

In earlier years, when factory profits were good and domestic demand was broad, factory owners could only tolerate this by offering extra meals or paying a little overtime to get workers back on track.

Over time, this behavior became a common form of rest. The history of factories worldwide is essentially a story of workers and owners battling.

Workers fought for better benefits, higher wages, fuller protections, and safety nets.

As long as they worked, regardless of output, factory owners had to pay at least the minimum wage or face union and legal troubles.

When Lynch proposed changing the employment structure, the mayor immediately opposed it for this reason.

Workers still wielded great power. Though capitalists and politicians ruled, the majority were ordinary people and workers. Laws protecting workers also indirectly protected capitalists.

If Lynch shook the fundamental employment system, it could spark a bigger upheaval.

But now, whether the upheaval happens or not doesn’t matter much. Even without this, workers were already restless. With it, they couldn’t get any more disruptive.

If this could fix current factory problems and give workers a chance to return, it would be good.

This was what the mayor valued. Whoever controlled jobs controlled the voice—sometimes louder than the unions.

After some writing, the mayor set down his pen, rubbed his wrist, and asked, “If I let you proceed, how many jobs can you save?”

Lynch’s mouth twitched as he shook his head. “Not many. You forgot—there’s another issue when we talk about this.”

“Foreign trade!” the mayor almost blurted, recalling their previous conversation.

He frowned but quickly relaxed. “I don’t want others to know about this today…” Lynch nodded silently, not wanting to say anything foolish. “Prepare some materials first. This should be decided by early next year.”

Lynch understood the mayor’s meaning immediately. The president might resign or be forced out in the first quarter. It wasn’t clear which, but he couldn’t hold on.

The mayor got this info from his political mentor, also a top official in the Progressive Party’s Development Office.

Mayor Landon was discovered by this official during college; their relationship was close.

Regarding Sabin City’s transportation company, the mayor consulted his mentor, who said it was okay to take action.

The transportation company’s contract holder was part of the presidential system. That a conservative got the contract in a progressive city was essentially a secret deal. Thanks to this deal, the mayor learned the farce’s ending early.

People knew secrets and wanted to speak out. The mayor quietly deepened his authority this way, easing his own urge to vent.

A mayor knowing when the president would step down naturally sparked speculation.

Lynch quietly acknowledged the mayor’s influence. The mayor, satisfied, let Lynch leave. Then he picked up the phone.

He needed to discuss with superiors, including the governor and his mentor, about Lynch’s new cooperation idea and the foreign trade issue.

Outside the city hall, a large crowd was already gathered, marching and chanting numbly under orders.

Their eyes lingered on Lynch briefly, their expressions shifting from curiosity, greed, envy, jealousy, to fear, then withdrawing quickly—a complex, strange process in a moment.

“Don’t offend the rich” was taught since childhood by parents and teachers, so even now, many still feared them.

After a brief silence watching Lynch leave in a luxury car, the crowd erupted again in a mighty roar.

The car slowly stopped outside Lynch’s house in a chaotic neighborhood. The driver, from the community service company, prepared to leave—he didn’t serve just one person.

Lynch called out to him.

“Thanks for driving me several times. I don’t even know your name.” He stood outside, lit a cigarette, and handed one to the driver.

Surprised and humbled, the driver accepted and lit it himself. “I’m Jack, Mr. Lynch.”

To Jack, Lynch was like a cloud floating in the sky, while he was just grass on the ground. He didn’t know why Lynch called him, but he sensed it was good.

The community service company was downsizing; some residents in the upscale villa community were forced to move for various reasons.

Empty houses lowered the company’s monthly income to the limit, forcing cuts to maintain profits.

Many ordinary staff were laid off, and drivers were next, though security was strengthened.

Armed veterans were hired, earning unanimous praise from remaining residents.

If Lynch favored him, Jack hoped to keep his job.

Lynch wanted to say more but fell silent, nodded, and shook Jack’s hand.

Jack watched Lynch enter his home, then stubbed out his cigarette.

Near the community office, he lit another cigarette.

Company rules banned smoking in non-smoking community areas out of respect for residents, but Jack broke this rule.

His superior immediately scolded him and considered firing him, but Jack’s explanation averted the crisis.

“These are cigarettes from Mr. Lynch. He asked me to smoke with him for a while.”

Looking at the cigarette with half left, the supervisor fell silent for a moment. “Don’t let me see this again next time. Understand?”

Jack nodded and obediently returned to the office, waiting for other clients’ requests.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Back in his room, Lynch called for the eldest of the kids, whom he had legally adopted and placed in a nearby community.

The houses there were cheaper and slightly bigger, enough to accommodate the dozen or so half-grown children.

The eldest, fifteen years old, was the first child Lynch remembered rushing forward to stab the iron rod into the informer’s body.

His name was Noel Green. He had a younger brother named Fern Green. Although logically they should have changed their surnames to Lynch’s, Lynch refused. They kept their original surnames out of respect.

As Lynch said from the start, even though he adopted them, they didn’t need to call him Dad, but Sir.

Noel arrived quickly, panting from running. “Sir?”

Lynch waved him over and told him to sit. “You’re always out there. You must know some of the unsavory things going on in Sabin City, right?”

Noel nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Your work hasn’t changed recently, but watch out if anyone’s targeting our company—or me. You understand?”

Noel nodded again, hesitating. “May I know why?”

Lynch said calmly, “Our warehouse was robbed.”