NABC Chapter 90: Large meetings handle small matters, small meetings handle big matters.
Chapter 90: Large meetings handle small matters, small meetings handle big matters.
Chapter 90: Large meetings handle small matters, small meetings handle big matters.
Franklin Gilder stood by the office window, holding a glass of whiskey.
Outside the window is the skyline of Bay City. At dusk, the clouds hang low, casting a hazy gray light over the city.
A few tall buildings in the distance had scattered lights on, but most of the windows were dark.
He was fifty-four years old, with gray hair, and wearing a custom-made dark gray suit.
A platinum watch peeked out from the cuff, its dial gleaming coldly in the dim light.
The office was quiet.
The only sounds were the low hum of the air conditioning system and the occasional soft thud of his leather shoes on the carpet as he strolled around.
He was thinking about Detroit.
Or rather, they were thinking about the benefits and risks of Detroit falling.
The benefits are real and tangible.
For the past week, there has been a constant stream of vehicles fleeing Detroit.
The northbound lanes of the highway were jammed for twenty miles, filled with SUVs, pickup trucks, and even moving trucks loaded with belongings.
Those people brought cash, jewelry, antiques, and works of art.
Bay City was originally one of the core cities of the Rust Belt, but it began to decline after the automotive industry shifted to Bay thirty years ago.
Population loss, shrinking tax revenue, and a fiscal deficit that snowballs larger and larger.
During his six years as mayor, the annual budget meetings always felt like robbing Peter to pay Paul.
It is different now.
The refugees in Detroit need a place to live, food, and money.
Hotels were fully booked, vacant apartment buildings were rented out, and restaurant and supermarket revenues tripled.
Municipal tax revenue increased by 40 percent in a single week.
More importantly, those small and medium-sized families and business owners who escaped.
They are eager to find new backers, carrying their core assets and technology patents.
The Gilder family has been operating in Bay City for four generations, possessing a deep political and business network, making them a natural choice.
Over the past seven days, he has met with at least twenty family representatives.
The terms discussed were largely the same:
The Gilder family offered asylum and political protection in exchange for partial ownership of shares, technology patents, or direct cash donations.
Franklin placed the wine glass on the windowsill.
He felt excited, as if a fire was burning in his stomach.
This kind of wealth transfer might only happen once in a lifetime.
But anxiety also surged up at the same time.
Because all of this was predicated on the fact that the redneck, Carl Jensen, stayed in Detroit and stopped heading north.
Bay City is only 150 miles from Detroit.
If that madman decides to continue expanding, Bay City will be the first to suffer.
With its paltry military strength, Beicheng is no match for them.
What about the state National Guard?
He contacted the Lansing state government last week, requesting an emergency meeting to discuss a joint defense plan.
But so far, there has been no result.
the phone is ringing.
Franklin walked back to his desk and picked up the receiver.
"How is it?"
It was his cousin, Robert Gilder, whom he had sent to Lansing, who was a member of the state legislature.
"They're still making noise."
Robert sounded tired. "The Ford family said they wanted to prioritize protecting Grand Rapids because their main factory was there."
"The Franklin family, I mean the Muskegon branch, demanded that resources be concentrated on the lakeshore defenses."
"The Jin family of Saxony has agreed to strengthen the direction of Bay City, but on the condition that we grant them priority access to the port."
"Conditions are negotiable. The key is to act quickly."
"I know. But the meeting is at a standstill as that old fox Anco Powell doesn't say anything."
Anco Powell is the Speaker of the State Legislature and represents local forces in Lansing.
He doesn't speak, and no matter how much others argue, it won't make a difference.
"What does he want?"
"I don't know."
Franklin remained silent for a few seconds.
"Let's continue talking."
"The bottom line is that the 1st National Guard Brigade must at least be transferred to the southern border of Bay City. If necessary, the development rights for that piece of land in the eastern district can be sold."
"That piece of land in the eastern district is worth 300 million."
"Land can be bought again. But if the city is gone, everything is gone."
"Understood."
hang up the phone.
Franklin sat back in his chair, pressing his fingers to his temples.
headache.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter."
The door opened, and Secretary Emily walked in.
She was wearing a dark blue suit, had a full figure, and her golden hair was styled in a bun.
Franklin would usually glance at it more, but he wasn't in the mood today.
"Mayor, we've got news from over there."
Emily's voice was flat.
"explain."
"Detroit has completely fallen."
"The Howard family estate has been breached, and Connor Howard has been confirmed dead."
"The entire city is now under military control, and Carl Jensen has declared Detroit as the territory of New Canaan."
Franklin did not speak.
He looked at the wine glass on the table, the water droplets that had condensed on the glass slowly sliding down.
He waved.
Emily left the room and gently closed the door behind her.
The office returned to silence.
Franklin stood up and walked to the window.
It was completely dark outside.
The city lights are sparse, like an electrocardiogram of a dying person.
I'm reminded of Carl Jensen standing in front of the flames.
He watched the video. There was nothing in the man's eyes except for a cold, unwavering certainty.
"Shit."
He said in a low voice.
Lansing, the State Capitol Building.
Anco Powell sat in the Speaker's seat, looking at the sparsely populated seats below.
Sixty-eight people were expected to attend, but only twenty-seven were present.
Most of the absentees were members of Congress from districts surrounding Detroit; they were either dead, had fled, or were packing their bags to run away.
The remaining people split into several distinct factions.
The Ford family representative was sitting in the front right seat, speaking quietly to his assistant.
The Franklin family members sat on the left, their faces grim.
The representative of the Kim family was in the middle, looking down at his phone.
Robert Gilder, a member of the Gilder family, sat in the back row, constantly checking his watch.
Representatives from several smaller families were scattered around, most of them looking bewildered.
Anco tapped the mallet.
"The meeting is beginning."
The sound echoed in the empty council chamber.
No one spoke.
Everyone was looking at him.
"Today's agenda has only one item: to discuss the current security situation in Michigan and solutions to the threat from Detroit."
He paused.
"Does anyone have a suggestion?"
Representatives from the Ford family raised their hands.
"I propose that the main force of the state National Guard be deployed along the line from Grand Rapids to the Rio Grande to protect the industrial region in the western part of the state."
"At the same time, we request the federal government to send troops to assist in the defense."
The Franklin family immediately retorted, "The shoreline is the key!"
"If the enemy lands at Lake Michigan, Muskegon and Benton Port will be directly exposed. I propose prioritizing the reinforcement of the lakeshore fortifications."
The Kim family representative raised his head: "Sakno needs military force to protect the port."
"That's the only large deep-water port in the state that's still operational. If it's lost, the entire state's logistics will be paralyzed."
Robert Gilder stood up: "Bay City is the closest major city to Detroit and is currently the hub receiving the most refugees."
"If Beicheng falls, the enemy will directly threaten Lansing."
"I propose that the 1st National Guard Brigade be immediately deployed to the southern front of Bay City to establish defensive positions."
Several people spoke at the same time, their voices overlapping.
Anco tapped the mallet again.
"Let's go one by one."
But nobody listened.
The family representatives continued arguing, their voices growing louder and louder.
"You Fords only care about your own factories!"
"With such a long shoreline, can it be protected?"
"If the port disappears, everyone will die!"
"If Beicheng is lost, all your arguing will be meaningless!"
Anko looked at them.
He was seventy-one years old and had served in the state legislature for thirty-four years, including twelve as speaker. He had witnessed countless arguments, over budgets, bills, and territory.
But this time is different.
This time, the argument isn't about the distribution of profits; it's about survival.
The issue of survival is never resolved in public meetings.
He waited a few minutes until the sound subsided slightly before striking the mallet.
"Since everyone has come here, it means we are all here to defend our land."
He stood up.
"In that case, the meeting is adjourned."
After saying that, he turned and walked down from the speaker's seat, leaving through the side door.
The council chamber was silent for a few seconds.
Then the Ford family representative put away the documents, got up and left.
The Franklin family followed.
The representative of the Kim family glanced at Robert Gilder, nodded, and left.
The remaining representatives of the smaller families looked at each other, then stood up one after another.
Robert Gilder stood there, looking at the empty council chamber.
He knew what that meant.
The public meeting has ended.
The real negotiations are only just beginning.
In a secluded room, at a secluded table, the heads of several powerful families would sit down to negotiate terms, divide territories, and decide who would be sacrificed and who would be spared.
He picked up his phone and texted Franklin: "Parliament's over. The real meeting's just started. Waiting for news."
send.
Then he turned and left.
The corridor was brightly lit, casting a pale light on the marble floor.
Footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, gradually fading into the distance.