Chapter 88: As Long As You Wear a Mask, Everyone’s a Master Actor

“Settled?” The mayor withdrew his gaze from the window and glanced at Ferrell. “How did it go?”

Back in the office, Ferrell felt a storm of conflicting emotions—like a truck crashing into a chemical store—raging inside him. The only comfort was the paycheck in his chest pocket. Agreeing with Lynch might not be such a bad thing after all.

The city hall didn’t pay Ferrell’s salary; it came from the mayor’s private office budget, meaning the mayor was his actual employer. That’s why Ferrell’s salary was barely over five hundred Sol—the mayor simply couldn’t afford to pay more.

More precisely, the funds came from political donations by capitalists. These donations were strictly regulated; politicians couldn’t spend the money arbitrarily. There was a complex, closely supervised process to prevent misuse.

If Ferrell’s salary was too high, the oversight committee had the authority to reduce it or demand his dismissal. This elaborate process existed to stop politicians from taking donations without delivering results, and to check their greed. Only when certain conditions were met could the donations be used freely.

This was the biggest weakness of staffers like Ferrell. If they got fired, it would be hard for them to find equivalent jobs elsewhere—corporations wouldn’t offer satisfying positions. So, despite any frustrations, they had to endure.

If the mayor succeeded politically, these staffers might someday step into the spotlight themselves. Many federal politicians started as aides, gaining experience and the backing of capitalists, which helped them win elections.

This was why Lynch acted so confidently, and why Ferrell didn’t resist him. If Lynch left abruptly, people would say it was due to political differences with the mayor, but Ferrell would suffer the consequences. The mayor, Lynch, and Ferrell all knew how to act for appearances.

The mayor sipped his coffee, watching Ferrell carefully.

His work was heavy but he had a team—four aides including Ferrell, plus two handling menial tasks. Often, his role was just to gather them to discuss matters and then implement the group’s decisions. His job wasn’t as complicated as outsiders thought.

The real challenges didn’t appear on paper but were in social realities.

His aides had discovered Lynch’s secondhand goods auction and immediately saw its value: helping people buy what they need for less, or curb their shopping urges, saving families money. Even if life remained tough, a financial cushion could prevent total collapse.

These were superficial benefits. What truly mattered was action.

Many leaders, when faced with problems, say we’re working on it, we’re discussing solutions, or there’s nothing we can do. Most citizens don’t expect immediate fixes—just that leaders don’t make things worse.

Still, people grow frustrated and angry at inaction. A successful politician must show the public they are doing something when times are tough.

The secondhand goods trade was the mayor’s best response to the economic downturn. It signaled to Sabin’s citizens that he was contributing and not a zombie.

If it succeeded, he would earn widespread praise. If it failed, at least he tried. Any failures would be blamed on execution or unforeseen issues, not his intent. Plus, it gave him political experience for future use.

A perfect plan that costs nothing to promote—why not do it?

Ferrell met the mayor’s gaze and nodded, now composed as if all outcomes were part of the plan.

“I’ve settled things with Lynch and discussed deeper matters. With my help, Lynch understands your and your party’s importance to Sabin City. He’s eager to have dinner with you…”

The mayor smiled faintly. In a city of over 800,000, maybe one in ten thousand had such opportunities; he doubted Lynch was one of them.

Ferrell knew the mayor’s style and attitude well. His silence was expected.

“Lynch promises to build a statewide secondhand goods distribution network centered on Sabin, creating at least 500 jobs by early next year. Also…”

Ferrell pulled out the check from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “This is Lynch’s voluntary donation to you and the Progressive Party, in gratitude for your support of Sabin City.”

The mayor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He glanced at the check, tapped it with his finger, then handed it back. “Give it to accounting for deposit…”

Political donations go to a special accountant and into a dedicated public account, nominally controlled by the mayor.

He paused. “You said what? Lynch wants to invite me to dinner?” A smile crept across his face. “Tell him I accept. For responsible young entrepreneurs, as a local leader, I should share my still-relevant experience and help him avoid detours.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Check my schedule and arrange it.”

It was clear the mayor was in a good mood.