Courtyard Houses: From Bronze Compasses to Global Reach

Chapter 125 The Shadow of the Dock and the Invisible Judgment

The rapid rise of the "Golden Harvest Group" in New York was like a piece of juicy meat, attracting the covetous eyes of countless wolves. Among them, the most greedy and powerful was the Genovese family, who controlled the lifeline of the New York Harbor docks. In 1959, by firmly controlling the International Dockworkers Association (ILA), this family could almost determine the fate of any cargo entering or leaving New York Harbor.

"Golden Harvest" owns several large warehouses in Brooklyn's Red Hook district. Although the actual source of goods comes from Lin Yan's space, the appearances must be perfect. This gave the Genovese family the opportunity to act.

Carlo "Mad Dog" Martino, the foreman in charge of dock affairs for the family, swaggered into the "Golden Harvest" port office with two of his men.

“Listen,” Carlo tapped his desk with his cigar, “your ships, your cargo, if you want them to unload and go to the warehouse smoothly, you have to know the rules. This is the amount every week.” He held up two thick fingers. “Two thousand dollars. This is the ‘Labor Peace Contribution.’ Otherwise… the docks are busy, and there are many accidents.”

Office manager Robert "Bob" Smith tried to reason with them and even attempted to resolve the issue through legal channels—he contacted higher-ups at the ILA and called the police. But the result was disheartening. Everyone had been bought off or coerced by the Genovese family with money and fear.

This coercion did not come out of thin air; it was built on the Genovese family’s decades-long iron-fisted control over the International Dockworkers Association (ILA), and the ultimate cost of this control was silently borne by tens of thousands of ordinary dockworkers and their families.

While the cargo ship "Golden Harvest" was forced to remain in port, several stevedores who had just finished their night shift were drinking the cheapest beer in a bar near the dock, their faces full of worry. One of the older workers, Salvador "Old Sal" Esposito, his face etched with the marks of time and exhaustion, sighed as he looked out the window at the stationary cargo ship.

"See that?" He tapped the table with his rough fingers. "Another ship is stuck. The big shots on board can't reach an agreement, and in the end, it's us who are the ones who suffer and have no work to do."

Angelo, a young worker standing nearby, muttered indignantly, "That foreman Carlo, 'Mad Dog,' came to me again yesterday. He said the amount of 'voluntary donations' needed to be increased to 'guarantee' we'd still have work in the future. Almost half of the money I work so hard to earn each week ends up in their pockets under various pretexts! 'Widow's Fund,' 'Christmas Party,' 'Labor Peace Donation'... what fancy names!"

Old Sal gave a bitter smile. "Half? That's not bad, Angelo. When I was your age, it was much worse. Do you know how they controlled all of this?" He lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard by their ever-present eyes and ears.

"If you want to find work at the docks, or even just qualify to wait in line, you first have to get 'their' approval. You have to know a small-time boss, give them a gift, or pay a 'referral fee' directly." Old Sal's voice was full of helplessness. "Getting a job doesn't mean the end. Every day, a portion of your wages has to be handed over to the assigned foreman—this is 'tribute money.' If you dare not pay, or complain, your name will disappear from the work list the next day, and you might even get a beating in some alley, told you 'don't know the rules.'"

"What about the union? Shouldn't the ILA be protecting us?" another worker interjected, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"Protection?" Old Sal scoffed. "ILA? Those high-ranking officials are already in cahoots with the Genovese family! The foremen they appoint are all family members. They collect exorbitant union dues, but how much of it actually reaches us workers? The so-called pension and healthcare funds, I hear, have been diverted for investment or simply swallowed up. When we get old, can't work anymore, or get injured, who will care about us?"

He took a big gulp of beer and continued, "The worst thing is the 'shape-based' system. Every day before dawn, we had to crowd at the dock entrance like animals, waiting for the foreman to come and pick people. Whoever he pointed to got work and food for the day. Those who weren't picked went hungry all day. This power was completely in the hands of those thugs! Want to be picked? Fine, give them a 'kickback' on the side! Every penny of our hard-earned money was siphoned off by them at every level!"

Angelo slammed his fist on the table, drawing stares from those around him: "Where are the police? Are they just standing by and doing nothing?"

"Manage?" Old Sal shook his head. "Many cops also take bribes, or are simply afraid of retaliation. The Genovese family is ruthless. I heard that a worker once tried to report them, but the next day he was found drowned in the Hudson River, chained to his body... Since then, who dares to speak up? We can only endure it, like our fathers, like being possessed by bloodsuckers, watching helplessly as the meager income we earn from our hard work flows into their pockets, fattening those vampires who never work."

A sense of powerless anger and despair permeated the bar. These workers, physically strong and performing the most arduous manual labor, lived in constant financial insecurity and fear. The Genovese family, like a vast, invisible bloodsucking network, shrouded the entire dock, each link draining the workers' blood and flesh. Their luxury cars, fine clothes, and lavish parties were all built upon the blood, tears, and humiliation of these workers.

A few days later, the conflict escalated. When one of the cargo ships from the "Golden Harvest" docked, the normally busy dockworkers suddenly went on strike. The ship was unable to unload its cargo and was forced to remain on the expensive berth, incurring huge demurrage fees every day.

The news reached Alexander Winters. He was reviewing documents when he heard the report, and simply put down his pen.

"The Genovese family... Vito Genovese..." he muttered to himself, his tone devoid of any emotion, only a chilling disgust. "A bunch of parasites who fatten themselves by sucking the blood and flesh of others."

He didn't even consult Lin Yan. Within his authority, dealing with this level of trouble was as easy as brushing dust off a piece of clothing.

That night, on Long Island, in a heavily guarded luxury estate, lay one of the hideouts of Vito Genovese, head of the Genovese family. He was under intense scrutiny lately, attempting to consolidate his power and dreaming of becoming the "boss of bosses" in the American Mafia.

However, all of this was ineffective in the face of the divine sense of a Golden Core cultivator.

Two ghostly figures of white men silently disappeared into the shadows of the manor. The sentries on the outer perimeter felt a sharp pain in the back of their necks and then lost consciousness. The complex alarm system was easily bypassed by an invisible force. They moved with impunity, precisely finding the master bedroom.

In the bedroom, Vito Genovese had just finished a phone call and was smugly thinking about how to further exploit "Golden Harvest." He picked up a glass of expensive brandy.

Suddenly, he felt an extreme chill sweep over his entire body! He tried to scream, but found that no sound could come out of his throat! He tried to move, but his body felt as if it were being crushed by an invisible boulder!

Two figures slowly emerged from the darkness. Their eyes were calm and undisturbed.

"Victor Genovese!" one of the shadowy figures spoke. "You and your filthy claws touched something you shouldn't have."

"Who are you, or who's behind you? I can give you money, lots of money, just let me go tonight!" Vito Genovese managed to squeeze out the words.

"Shadow" looked down at him disdainfully. "We're not interested in money, and you'll never know what you're dealing with!" Then, it extended a finger and gently tapped his forehead. A chilling, ruthless force instantly surged into Victor's brain!

Vito Genovese's body convulsed violently, his eyes rolled back sharply, and saliva drooled from his mouth. His memories and thoughts of power, intrigue, wealth, and violence were brutally shattered and erased by that force… A few seconds later, his eyes became empty and vacant, his face contorted into a dazed grin, uttering meaningless "hoarse" sounds. The once-powerful "leader of leaders" had become a drooling idiot.

Meanwhile, another silent trial is also underway.

Foreman "Mad Dog" Carlo was fast asleep in his mistress's apartment when a sudden, excruciating pain shot through his limbs! He awoke with a scream, only to find his arms and legs twisted at bizarre angles, completely shattered...

The high-ranking ILA official who accepted huge bribes suffered the same "accident" while preparing to drive his car in his own garage—his legs were "accidentally" run over by his own car...

The police officer who had been bribed "unfortunately" fell down a high flight of stairs during a "routine patrol," suffering a severe spinal injury...

All the key figures directly involved in this extortion and work slowdown incident were "punished by the gods" overnight.

The next morning, when Victor's bodyguard, emboldened by Victor's late rising, ventured into the bedroom, he found the drooling, dazed "boss." The news spread like wildfire throughout New York's underworld.

Shocking! Unbelievable! Vitor Genovese, this ruthless, cunning, and powerful man, suddenly became an idiot overnight? Doctors couldn't find any external injuries or known illnesses, only vaguely diagnosing him with "sudden, severe stroke or unknown neurological collapse." The police investigation also yielded no results; there were no signs of forced entry or violence at the scene, as if death had simply passed by and casually taken his soul.

After the initial shock came a frenzied uproar caused by the enormous power vacuum.

The Genovese family was instantly plunged into chaos with no leader. Several powerful leaders acted independently, distrusting each other and vying for control of the family, but none could command the respect of the people, much less recreate the authority of Victor.

Meanwhile, the other four major families—the Gambino, Lucchese, Colombo, and Bonanno—would not let this golden opportunity slip by. As the saying goes, "When a whale falls, everything springs forth." The sudden collapse of Vito's mountain meant that vast territories, enormous profits, and unparalleled power awaited seizure.

Almost on the same night the news was confirmed, the New York night began to become anything but peaceful.

An underground casino in Brooklyn was the first to be attacked by the Gambino family, with gunfire shattering the tranquility of the night.

Several Manhattan nightclubs that previously paid protection money to the Genovese family received "more favorable" "cooperation proposals" from the Lucchese family.

At the cargo docks in the Bronx, a fierce battle broke out between the Kolob family's thugs and the remaining Genovese family forces.

The competition for drug distribution networks in Queens is even fiercer, with the Bonanno family making a strong intervention and street violence escalating.

In a short period, New York's Mafia erupted in gunfights and conflicts as they vie for territory and profits. The police were overwhelmed, and newspapers were flooded with reports of gangland killings. The Genovese family, having lost its leader, suffered repeated defeats under attack from all sides, forced to consolidate its power and lie low, watching helplessly as its former empire was devoured by others. They didn't even have the energy to investigate the truth behind Vito's downfall; survival became their primary concern.

The person who started all this chaos seemed to be completely detached from it.

The next day, Bob Smith, the manager of the "Golden Harvest" terminal office, found that the blocked cargo ships were moving freely, the workers were working incredibly hard, and the ILA executives and police were all wearing their friendliest faces, as if the previous trouble had never happened.

Alexander Winters listened to Bob's report in his office, his face expressionless.

"It's good that the matter is resolved. Continue operations," he said calmly.

In his view, the Genovese family's so-called power, cruelty, and greed were nothing more than the laughable struggle of ants in a quagmire. The most direct and physical punishment would be enough to make these filthy parasites understand who truly cannot be touched.

A week later, Alexander Winters came to Lin Yan's house to deliver his completed immigration visa and mentioned the matter. Lin Yan put the sleeping Xiao Qi on a chair and told Winters, "Let him handle the Mafia's affairs himself. You can't eradicate these people. Instead of killing them, it's better to slowly boil them like frogs in water, give them some trouble, and continuously weaken them. It's best to let them fight amongst themselves, but not completely eliminate them. This way, they occupy territory but are powerless to cause trouble. This is the best way to maximize the benefits for the common people." Winters felt he had learned something; the young master looked young, but his mind was top-notch.

The New York underworld was plunged into a massive uproar, panic, and chaotic reshuffling. The name "Golden Harvest" was shrouded in mystery and inviolability during this sudden storm, and no one dared to touch it lightly anymore.