You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Lyon led the way into the conference room.

Three middle-aged and elderly men of different builds were sitting around an oval table.

Upon hearing the door open, the three of them stopped talking and turned their gaze toward the doorway.

"Mr. Mayor!" The man sitting on the left, with a thick beard and wearing a plaid shirt, was the first to stand up.

He opened his arms, holding a cigar in his hand. "I thought you were lost in the office."

Harvey chuckled twice, strode over, and pointed to Lyon behind him:

"Stop with the chit-chat, let me introduce you. This is Mr. Lyon, representing... well, representing the future largest charity NGO in Seattle and several heavyweight investors. This is his security chief."

Harvey didn't dare mention Sterling's name, but people in this circle could tell who Lyon represented just by sniffing the air around them.

The bearded man bypassed Harvey and extended his calloused hand to Leon:

"The construction union, Bill."

"Mr. Lyon, your bodyguard looks pretty tough. This masked lady looks like she could snap my neck in five seconds."

Eva stood slightly behind and to the side of Leon, her arms crossed over her chest, not even lifting her eyelids. "She really can." Leon grasped Bill's hand from the construction union, applying a little more pressure.

"So I try my best not to make her angry."

Upon hearing this, Eva opened her mouth, but in the end, she didn't say anything about who was afraid to anger whom. She just secretly rolled her eyes behind her back.

Another fat man across the table burst into laughter.

He was wearing a baseball cap with the Seattle logo on it and had the build of a bear.

"I am the president of the dockworkers' union. You can call me Old Jim."

"Mr. Lyon, the mayoral election has caused quite a stir. We brothers who enjoy the sea breeze at the docks have had enough of Reynolds' hypocritical environmental policies."

Old Jim from the dockworkers' union pulled out a chair and gestured for Lyon to sit down.

"To be honest, my redneck brothers who drive forklifts at the docks don't really believe in the Democratic Party," said Jim, an old member of the dockworkers' union.

"It's the same for my construction workers. They want jobs, and infrastructure projects." Bill from the construction union exhaled a puff of cigar smoke and leaned back in his chair.

"I heard you guys have close ties with bigwigs in the Republican Party?"

"As long as Director Sterling can guarantee that the South District overpass renovation project will be awarded to us next year after he takes office, the construction union's votes and support will be yours." Old Jim from the dockworkers' union nodded in agreement: "It's the same on the docks side. As long as the new mayor doesn't care how we schedule shifts and doesn't stuff those diversity inspectors who can't even distinguish between shipping containers into our union, we will definitely stand on your side."

Leon pulled out a chair and sat down, letting out a sigh.

However, based on Lyon's understanding of American politics, the fact that grassroots rednecks do not support the Democratic Party and that these union leaders are closely aligned with the Democratic Party are two completely separate issues.

As for why union leaders and Republicans are at odds...

Because the traditional Republican Party adheres to a "pro-business" ideology, it advocates for deregulation and tax cuts, and promotes the Right to Work Act in many states. Such laws allow workers to enjoy some of the benefits that unions have fought for without paying union dues.

For union leaders, this is weakening their union's power and appeal, which is absolutely unacceptable!

Thinking of this, Leon turned his gaze to the third person who had remained silent.

The man was wearing a dark blue suit and glasses, forming a stark contrast to the two rough-looking men beside him.

"Patrick, president of the waiters' union." The man in the suit pushed up his glasses, his tone less enthusiastic than the other two.

"Mr. Lyon, Bill and Jim's men can afford pickup trucks and health insurance, so of course they can follow the Republican Party's lead, but my men can't."

Patrick placed his hands on the table and looked directly at Leon. "I represent the tens of thousands of restaurant servers, hotel cleaners, caregivers, and retail cashiers in Seattle."

"Most of them are minorities and earn minimum wage."

"Democrats have pledged to raise the minimum wage and expand the coverage of Medicaid."

"If I express my support for you today, and my subordinates don't even have money for medical treatment tomorrow, they'll definitely tear down my office."

"Come on, Patrick!" Bill from the construction union chimed in mercilessly.

"What are you pretending for? Everyone knows your waiters' union is the Democratic Party's biggest front man!"

"To you, 'It's none of your business if your subordinates don't have health insurance' is just a fear that if you switch to the Republican Party, the Democrats will cut off funding for your union's top management!"

Old Jim from the dockworkers' union chimed in, "Yeah, what are you pretending for? Did you buy that Porsche last year with minimum wage?"

Patrick's face darkened, and he was about to retort when Leon raised his hand and tapped the table twice, immediately silencing the three presidents.

"I can't keep the policies the Democrats have given us unchanged, but I can offer you some new contracts later," Lyon said, looking at Patrick.

Patrick frowned. "What do you mean?"

"After Sterling took office, all the outsourced cleaning and catering contracts for the city hall, police department, fire department, and all public facilities in the South and West districts were re-tendered." Lyon stared into his eyes. "My NGO will spearhead the establishment of several shell companies... several service companies."

"The municipal council will provide a new contract, and the union will take 20% of all profits as a management fee."

"Furthermore, in these municipal outsourcing projects, your union members' hourly wages will be increased by 15 percent on top of the existing rate."

The meeting room was deathly silent. Harvey was frantically wiping away sweat, mentally cursing:

"That's fucking shady. After listening to Lyon for so long, it turns out he's just using municipal funds to buy off the unions without spending a single penny of his own."

Patrick's previously tense shoulders slumped instantly, and his eyes revealed undisguised greed.

Aside from basic cooperation, the hourly wage of union members increased by 15 percent. But how much of an increase is actually made in the contracts of grassroots staff is ultimately decided by those at the higher levels.

"A 15% increase?" Patrick swallowed hard. "Will the municipal budget even pass?"

"That's not your problem to worry about." Leon leaned back in his chair and glanced at Harvey.

"Since Sterling hasn't taken office yet, then it's the current mayor. You'll help us resolve the subsequent budget issues in advance, right?"

Harvey shuddered and quickly stood up straight: "Yes! Yes! This money can come from... from the city's environmental improvement fund. It's completely legal and reasonable!"

Patrick immediately put on a genuine smile, stood up, crossed half the table, and firmly grasped Leon's hands.

"Mr. Lyon, on behalf of tens of thousands of hardworking service industry workers in Seattle, I thank you for your care for the working class."

"You're right, policies are all empty words. Only when the money reaches the workers' hands is it true charity. The service workers' union firmly supports the leadership of the new government!"

Bill and old Jim rolled their eyes at Patrick's smug expression.

"Your mood changes faster than turning the pages of a book," old Jim from the dockworkers' union spat.

"I'm doing this all for the benefit of the workers," Patrick said matter-of-factly, straightening his tie.

Leon ignored their verbal sparring, pulled his hand back, and tapped it on the table.

"We've settled the money and promises. Now take me to see the person who can actually get things done. There are quite a few people in my neighborhood who can't find jobs, so we need to deal with them quickly."

The three presidents exchanged glances.

They knew very well that they were just mascots who collected money and signed documents. The ones who could truly organize people on the streets and have the final say at construction sites and docks were the area representatives and small bosses below.

"No problem, Mr. Lyon." Bill from the construction union stubbed out his remaining cigar in the ashtray, stood up, and patted his belly.

"They're waiting in the spare meeting room downstairs. I have to warn you, those guys aren't as easy to talk to as we are. They're all roughnecks who like to drink and resort to fists at the drop of a hat." "I happen to have both of those qualities." Leon stood up and straightened the hem of his windbreaker.

Lyon and his group followed the three union presidents down the stairs to the meeting room at the end of the first-floor corridor.

It was almost 11 a.m.

Before he even reached the door, Lyon heard a burst of arrogant shouting and cursing, interspersed with the dull thud of a soda can hitting the wall.

The city hall clerks on both sides of the corridor huddled behind their desks, and several passing interns, their faces pale, quickly slipped away along the wall, not daring to look at the wooden door at all.

Bill, the president of the construction union, and old Jim, the dockworker union leader, walked at the front.

Bill was prepared to put on airs of a high-ranking official, but as soon as his hand touched the doorknob, a loud shout came from inside.

"Fuck your Democrats! Last month they said they'd add environmental protection equipment to the docks, and now eight of my forklift drivers have been grounded for failing to meet emissions standards! Those sons of bitches in suits!"

Then a voice with a heavy Latin American accent shouted, "Your docks are nothing! My brothers who wash the hotel sheets, even their overtime pay was deducted by the hotel using some bullshit time optimization system!"

"That pale-faced Patrick is always drinking coffee with the mayor, does he care whether we live or die?"

The three association presidents outside the door froze in their tracks.

Old Jim's face flushed red, while Patrick took a half step back, reached up to push up his glasses, and a fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead. They had originally just wanted to call over a few of their most troublesome and unruly underlings, hand them over to Leon to deal with, and incidentally use Leon to suppress their arrogance.

To their complete surprise, this group of construction rednecks, dockworkers, and minority service workers, who usually couldn't stand each other because of competing for jobs, actually became one big team by cursing the higher-ups and the Democratic Party during the half hour they were waiting.

"What are these idiots doing, bringing their own alcohol in here..." Bill swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly.

These high-ranking officials earn millions in annual salaries, drive Porsches, and spend their days chatting and laughing in Washington and at City Hall.

Meanwhile, the rednecks and foremen below them pay hefty union dues every month, yet face inflation and the risk of being fired at any time.

This kind of thing is usually fine, but now that they've all gathered together to drink and complain, they've brought it all out into the open.

If those high-ranking officials went in to show off at this time, getting a beating would be the least of their worries.

"Mr. Lyon." Bill turned around quickly, forcing a stiff smile.

"They're all inside. They... well, they usually do manual labor, and they're pretty straightforward."

"If the three of us go in, they might not be able to open up and reach an agreement with you."

"Yes, yes, yes! You can just go in and say we arranged it." Patrick quickly agreed, taking two steps toward the stairwell.

"If we're there, they'll have reservations. It's better for you to handle this kind of relationship building between young people yourself. I suddenly remembered I have a meeting in the city, so I'll head out first!" After saying that, these three big shots who control tens of thousands of workers in Seattle didn't even dare to push open the door, and turned around and disappeared into the emergency exit next to them as if their lives depended on it.

Leon watched their disappearing figures and shook his head speechlessly.

He had originally thought that the junior leaders brought by these union chairmen would at least be some grassroots staff who had attended community college for a few days and wore suits, but judging from the noise, it was no different from a zoo inside.

He reached out and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

A strong smell of beer and tobacco hit you right in the face.

The spacious conference room was now a mess of smoke and dust, with a dozen crumpled beer cans lying on the long conference table.

On the left sat several burly men wearing fluorescent yellow vests, their bodies covered in cement dust. Their arms were as thick as thighs, and they were using the edge of their helmets to pop open beer caps.

On the right were several dockworkers, their bodies reeking of fish, with their feet propped up on leather chairs. In the corner, several men of different skin colors, dressed in service industry uniforms, were squatting together, smoking and exchanging greetings to each other's mothers in Spanish and Russian.

The moment the door opened, the shouting and cursing inside stopped instantly.

A dozen hostile and scrutinizing gazes turned towards the doorway.

They saw Leon walking at the front, followed by Eva, who was dressed in all black tactical gear and had her face covered by a mask, and at the very back was Harvey, the acting mayor of Seattle who had been wiping sweat on television every day recently.

"Damn, the mayor's here." A dockworker put his legs off the chair, grabbed a half-empty can of beer from the table, and showed no respect whatsoever. Eva's fingers instinctively twitched towards her waist.

Although she had witnessed Leon tearing apart mercenaries with his bare hands, she was now facing a group of low-class people who could go on a drunken rampage at any moment.

In such a confined indoor space, if an unrestricted brawl were to break out, the scene would certainly become quite unpleasant.

Harvey stood outside the threshold, his calves already starting to cramp.

He glanced at the chairs beside the burly men, cursing the three runaway association leaders a hundred times in his mind:

Are these bastards drunk and about to start a riot at City Hall? I've only been mayor for a few days, am I going to get thrown out of a window today?

These rednecks, when they're drunk, don't care if you're the mayor or not; if they smash a chair over you, your head will be smashed open.

He took a half step back, ready to turn around and rush towards the elevator at any moment.