Chapter 32: Chapter 32: The Final Straw

The restaurant manager looked at the feces smeared across the glass walls, the yellow sludge splattered through the front door, and the road outside covered in filth.

For a moment, he felt like laughing.

But seeing Mr. Anderson’s furious expression, he held it in.

He walked over to Mr. Anderson, who was currently busy directing the apprentices in cleaning up the mess. Surprisingly, after the morning’s relentless assaults, the apprentices seemed to have developed a psychological immunity to feces. None gagged, vomited, or even protested.

Though clearly disgusted, they donned gloves and began scrubbing the feces off the glass walls. The task wasn’t easy.

If a scientist had been present, they might have explained why the waste was so stubbornly stuck to the glass. The high-pressure impact from the septic truck’s collision had caused the feces to hit the glass like bullets. Upon contact, air was expelled, creating a vacuum-like seal between the glass and the fecal matter.

To remove it, merely spraying water wasn’t enough. Physical force was required to break the vacuum.

And with feces… the more you scrub, the messier it gets.

No wonder there were stories of Federation citizens using up an entire roll of toilet paper for one sitting.

Mr. Anderson’s face was as dark as the filth he was surrounded by. He cursed incessantly—at the apprentices’ incompetence, at the driver responsible for the accident, and possibly at life itself.

“Mr. Anderson…”

Anderson wiped the white foam forming at the corners of his mouth. “What?”

The manager looked at him seriously. “Don’t you see? This is part of their strategy.”

Anderson froze. “I’ve considered that, but…”

“No laws were broken,” the manager emphasized. “It was an accidental traffic collision. Insurance will cover their costs, maybe just 50 bucks. But for us? We’ll spend hundreds, maybe thousands, trying to recover.”

“It won’t be long before people start calling us the ‘Sewage Restaurant.’ Once that label sticks, we’ll lose customers for good. And who knows what they’ll do next?”

The manager was a sharp man—someone who had brought the restaurant back from the brink of failure. He understood that fighting back against this campaign was futile.

“Today it’s a septic truck. Tomorrow, who knows? And the day after that?”

“Forgive me for not siding with you on this, Mr. Anderson. If the loan shark decides not to collect his money and instead keeps funding stunts like this to ruin you, everything you’ve invested in this restaurant will be for nothing.”

“As long as you keep running this place, you’ll always be at a disadvantage in this fight.”

“We’ve seen what they’re capable of. I’ve already told you: if you can’t resolve this, I’ll resign at the end of the week.”

Anderson opened his mouth to respond but found no words.

“I respect your determination, Mr. Anderson. I know you have your principles, but I can’t change you. I can only change myself.”

The manager gave a small smile, patted Anderson on the arm, and went outside to coordinate the cleanup. The mess couldn’t wait for city sanitation. The street needed to look presentable as soon as possible. ⱤÂＮộ𝖇ËＳ

Farther away, reporters snapped photos relentlessly. The manager didn’t bother trying to stop them—what would be the point?

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Anderson slumped into a chair, lighting a cigarette and holding his head in his hands.

The manager was right. If this continued, no one would dine here anymore.

It wasn’t just about the targeted harassment. Customers would fear becoming collateral damage. Who wanted to risk a smashed car window or worse just for a meal?

No amount of wine vouchers could lure them back.

He turned to watch the manager, now rolling up his sleeves to join the cleanup effort. The apprentices and staff, drenched in sweat, were working tirelessly to scrub the mess off the lawn and the streets.

Anderson suddenly felt like he had aged years in a single moment. His once-proud stance faltered, and his back hunched slightly.

He had made his decision.

Just as he resolved to gather the necessary funds, footsteps echoed from the entrance. Lance entered, covering his nose and mouth in mock disgust.

Alberto had wanted to come himself, eager to see Anderson humbled. But Lance had convinced him to wait at the café, warning that the stench might ruin his expensive shoes.

Lance didn’t mind the smell but knew how to appeal to Alberto’s vanity.

As soon as Anderson saw Lance, anger surged through him. Despite his decision to compromise, his blood boiled. He stood abruptly.

Lance smiled calmly, unfazed by Anderson’s fury. “Mr. Anderson, looks like you’re in quite a mess.”

“You’re the biggest mess I’ve ever met!” Anderson roared, striding forward to grab Lance by the collar.

The cigarette in Anderson’s mouth brushed against Lance’s chest, sending sparks flying.

The manager rushed in, barely managing to restrain Anderson. The old man’s strength was remarkable, nearly breaking free.

“You can hit me, Mr. Anderson,” Lance said evenly. “But have you considered the cost of doing so?”

He spoke with a calm menace, his tone icy. “I guarantee your restaurant will close, and not just the restaurant. You, your wife, and your family will find yourselves unwelcome anywhere in the Federation.”

“You might think I’m bluffing, or trying to scare you. Go ahead, test me.”

“Maybe the next time Angel Lake’s water level rises, people will say it’s connected to you and your family.”

His words, and the chilling confidence behind them, made Anderson’s raised fist waver.

For the first time, Lance’s usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more unsettling.

Anderson finally lowered his hand. The manager, still trying to defuse the situation, offered conciliatory words.

Lance adjusted his collar and dusted off the ash marks on his shirt. A small burn hole remained—a reminder of Anderson’s failed defiance.

“I wanted to talk this out,” Lance said, “but you clearly lack that maturity.”

“This is your final warning, Mr. Anderson. These past few days were just to show you one thing: you can’t handle the consequences of this fight. We can.”

“If you don’t settle this, the next steps will be far worse—beyond my control.”

The manager quickly interjected, “Mr. Anderson has agreed to repay everything with interest. We’re just short on cash right now.”

Lance smirked. “We’re all adults. We know what needs to be done.”

“Mr. Coty extended a helping hand, and you betrayed his goodwill. Get the money, apologize, and everything will go back to normal.”

“If you don’t… enjoy this brief peace. I promise, it’ll be your last.”

With a lighthearted smile, Lance added, “Well, that’s all I had to say. This place stinks. I’ll send you the bill for my ruined shirt—check your mailbox.”

Without waiting for a response, Lance left.

At the café, he recounted everything to Alberto, who was so thrilled he couldn’t sit still.

“That was brilliant, Lance! Why don’t you come work for me?”

It was the first time Alberto officially invited Lance to join him. The plan had been flawless—legal, cost-efficient, and deeply satisfying.

Even if Alberto paid Lance an additional 500 bucks, the entire operation had cost less than $1,000, leaving a hefty profit margin on the $5,000 debt.

More importantly, Alberto felt vindicated. For him, satisfaction outweighed the money.

But Lance politely declined. “Let’s revisit this later. I’m still figuring out my next steps.”

Alberto respected his decision. “I understand, Lance. I’ll be waiting.”

As they parted, Lance assured him, “By tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Anderson will call, begging for your forgiveness.”