xymnovel Chapter 111 San Francisco's Major Infrastructure and Taxation
Chapter 111 San Francisco's Major Infrastructure and Taxation
Chapter 111 San Francisco's Major Infrastructure and Taxation
While Hongwu and his entourage were meeting with Hong Xiuquan, a tremendous change was taking place in San Francisco, on the other side of the ocean.
Portsmouth Square, inside the City Hall building.
It was already late at night, but the building was still brightly lit.
Mayor Thomas Browne sat at the head of the long table in the council chamber on the second floor, flanked by a dozen or so city councilors.
Mayor Brown had a thick document spread out in front of him, the cover of which read "San Francisco Municipal Engineering Comprehensive Renovation Proposal." He turned to the last page, looked up, and his gaze swept over each of the council members present.
"So, the proposal regarding the San Francisco municipal engineering project has been approved."
George Ashford, the Democratic congressman who was converted to a suicide squad, began by saying, "Then the next issue we'll face is the issue of money."
"Currently, the city's financial resources are completely insufficient to cover the costs of both the road paving and sewer excavation projects we are undertaking simultaneously; the shortfall is at least $300,000."
Congressman Hawke of the American Party said, "Let's put out a tax, since this year's taxes haven't even started yet."
Property tax, highway tax, and commercial taxes targeting bars, casinos, and brothels—it's time to seriously levy these taxes that we haven't been doing in recent years.
Furthermore, we can also retain the customs duties that were originally intended to be handed over to the federal government.
Ashford asked, "What if that's still not enough?"
Hawke pondered for a moment, then slowly said, "Then we'll have to change the way we collect taxes."
"San Francisco now collects business taxes on bars, casinos, and brothels in the form of license fees. It costs $35 per gaming table per month, $5 per prostitute per month, and $10 per bar/liquor license per month."
"Compared to their profits, these taxes are nothing more than a hair on the head of nine cows."
Ashford asked, "What do you mean?"
"Change it to 5% of turnover!"
"Good idea, what do you think?" Mayor Brown looked at the other council members.
The lawmakers exchanged glances and raised their hands one after another in agreement.
"Passed unanimously."
Mayor Brown nodded, closed the document in front of him, and said, "After reporting to Lord Guilliman, announce it tomorrow and begin implementation."
"6
The next morning, two huge notices were posted on the notice board in front of the city hall building.
The first notice was titled: San Francisco Municipal Engineering Job Openings.
The notice was very simple: The city government is launching a citywide road paving and sewer system construction project, and is now recruiting workers. Requirements: good health; daily wage: two US dollars.
The note also specifically stated that there is no distinction based on race, and that equal pay for equal work applies.
The second notice is titled: San Francisco Municipal Engineering Funding Source Announcement.
The content of this notice is not so pleasant:
To raise funds for municipal projects, the city government decided to levy the following taxes: property tax, levied at a rate of 0.5% as stipulated by state law; highway tax, levied as a surcharge on property tax at a rate of 0.1% as stipulated by state law; and business tax, levied on entertainment venues such as bars, casinos, and brothels at 5% of their turnover.
The first to react were not the businessmen, but the newspapers.
Less than an hour after the notice was posted, reporters from various San Francisco newspapers surrounded the notice board.
That evening, extra editions flooded the streets.
"Municipal construction begins; government to change tax laws!"
"Equal pay for equal work regardless of race? City government issues controversial notice!"
"Paved roads and a comprehensive sewer system—San Francisco is entering a major infrastructure era!"
Newsboys' cries echoed through every street and alley, and freshly printed newspapers were quickly snapped up. In taverns and on the docks, almost everyone was talking about it.
The focus of the discussion naturally centered on the word "taxation".
"What else can our government do besides collecting taxes?"
Inside a pub, a drunken white man slammed his fist on the table. "They're ignoring all those increasingly numerous Chinamen, all they care about is robbing us of our money!"
His companion said, "Didn't the higher-ups say that the tax is to fund municipal projects? If it's for road repairs and sewers, I'd be quite supportive."
"The roads in the city turn into muddy piles when it rains, making them impossible to walk on. And the sewers—I'm fed up with those cesspools on the streets; they overflow and are disgusting when it rains."
"Ha, so you're a complete idiot!"
The white man angrily berated his companion: "The government talks a good game, but look closely at that notice, it doesn't even have a completion date! They can work as long as they want and collect as much tax as they want!"
"Once the money is collected, they'll just hire two people to slack off on the project. It'll take eight or ten years to finish, and they might even ask for a second payment halfway through!"
Meanwhile, in an office on the south side of Market Street, several well-dressed businessmen were gathered around a mahogany table, discussing something in hushed tones.
The leader was a Jewish businessman in his fifties named Abraham Goldstein, who ran San Francisco's largest casino and also owned several pubs and brothels.
He held the afternoon's newspaper in his hand, his eyes behind his reading glasses narrowed into slits as he repeatedly looked at the tax notice from the city hall.
Property tax, highway tax, commercial tax —
Goldstein threw the newspaper on the table and sneered, "Gentlemen, have you calculated how much money we'll have to pay after the tax laws are changed?"
"At least tens of thousands of US dollars."
Sitting across from him was a middle-aged man in his early thirties named Jacob Mayer, who was also Jewish and ran a casino and two brothels.
"My casino had a turnover of nearly $400,000 last year. Adding the brothel's revenue, at their tax rate, I would have to pay $30,000 in business tax alone each year."
Meyer gritted his teeth, his face grim: "Thirty thousand dollars, what's the difference between that and outright robbery?!"
"That's why I called everyone here."
Goldstein looked around at his compatriots and said in a deep voice, "We must find a way to stop this and get the city government to rescind the tax decision."
"How can we stop it?"
Another tavern owner, Joseph Eichmann, frowned: "We've gone to those congressmen today, but they just won't budge."
Ashford used to be quite easy to talk to, but this time he's completely unreasonable; he won't even take money from me.
"And Hawke is the same way."
Meyer added, "They weren't this awful when they were taking money before; this time they're like completely different people."
Goldstein said fiercely, "Then let's bypass the city government and go straight to Sacramento. The city government has unilaterally changed the tax collection model, and the state government will absolutely not tolerate it."
The businessmen in the office hesitated.
They now know the situation in Sacramento; it's not as peaceful as San Francisco.
After the previous incident, the Democratic Party and the American Party in San Francisco have become more amicable, at most exchanging insults in the council.
At the state level, the Democratic and American parties are really taking action. Sending gunmen to assassinate each other is nothing new. The militias controlled by the two parties have fought several battles, with reportedly over a thousand casualties.
Now, going there now would be risky, not to mention the possibility of being mistakenly targeted, it's questionable whether the state government can even send anyone.
Goldstein slammed his fist on the table and roared, "What are you all hesitating about? Which of you here doesn't have businesses involved in any of those three things? Do you want to hand over tens of thousands of dollars for nothing, or spend less money to have the state government settle this?"
Just then, a businessman named Benjamin spoke up: "Let's pay it. Compared to our wealth, this amount of money isn't much."
"You two continue your conversation, I'm leaving."
After saying that, he picked up his hat and walked out of the office.
"Ever since Benjamin was attacked by that group of thugs called the Van der Linde gang, he's become a lot more timid," Meyer said suddenly, watching Benjamin's retreating figure.
"Never mind him, let's continue discussing. In short, we absolutely cannot pay this money!"
"Lord Guilliman, that's the situation."
Inside City Hall, Mayor Brown respectfully reported the intelligence: "There is a great deal of resistance to taxation throughout the city, and quite a few businessmen have even decided to go to Sacramento to file a complaint."
"It's okay, just keep pushing it forward."
Guilliman, without looking up, calmly stated as he processed the documents: "Each official sent to collect taxes should be accompanied by two police officers, both for protection and as a deterrent. Anyone who dares to resist should be arrested on charges of tax evasion and heavily fined."
"As for those Jews who want to file complaints, Xinghan Church will handle it."
"Yes."
Brown slowed his pace and left the office to begin issuing orders.
Soon, the officials in charge of tax collection, each accompanied by two fully armed police officers, began going door-to-door to collect taxes.
Although most citizens complained, they still obediently paid the money. After all, for them, 0.6% property tax is only a few dollars, which they can afford if they grit their teeth.
However, the collection of commercial taxes was not so smooth.
The Siren's Tavern in the dock area.
This pub belongs to an Irishman named O'Brien.
When he saw the tax collectors coming to collect taxes, his response was simple: he pulled a shotgun from under the liquor cabinet, pointed it at their chests, and said, "Robbers, get out of my tavern! I won't give you a penny!"
"Finally, someone's courting death."
Seeing this, the tax collector laughed instead. "Everyone was so cooperative when I was collecting taxes earlier, I almost thought I was going to fail in my mission."
"Kill him directly?" the policeman next to the tax collector asked.
"Just injure him, that's enough. He still needs to be locked up in jail. If he dies, it'll be harder to find out where he hid the money."
No sooner had he finished speaking than another policeman took action.
In a fraction of a second, he completed the entire sequence of actions from drawing his gun to firing. The bullet pierced O'Brien's wrist, tearing the muscles and tendons there to pieces.
"Aaaaaaaahhhhh!"
Blood splattered, the shotgun fell to the ground, and O'Brien clutched his wrist, howling in pain.
But he quickly quieted down.
The policeman's fist, as big as a sandbag, had slammed into his face with tremendous force, and the sound of his nose breaking was clearly audible.
O'Brien's head snapped back, and he crashed to the ground, completely losing consciousness.
"The money that was originally due, plus the penalty for tax evasion—"
The tax collector took out a pen and paper, did some calculations, and said, "Congratulations, you'll have to pay an extra thousand dollars."
Mount Norb, the residence of Abraham Goldstein.
Calling it a mansion is an understatement; it's more like a stone fortress perched on the mountainside.
The mansion's framework is made of solid rock, stacked one block at a time to form sturdy walls. The windows are narrow and long, and the tops are decorated with arched gables.
More than twenty guards were scattered throughout the mansion, patrolling with hunting dogs around the clock, making it a heavily guarded area.
Anyone who tries to break in here will be riddled with bullets within seconds.
"Interesting, it's almost turned into a fortress." Zhang Wu led his men around the mansion, gathering information.
"A fortress? We've already taken Brannan's estate, this is nothing."
The fellow assassin beside him curled his lip and said, "Give me ten men, and I can wipe out everyone inside tonight, and then we can make a mound of corpses."
Why wait until tonight?
Zhang Wu raised an eyebrow and pulled up his face towel. "We're here to make an example of them, so wouldn't it be better to do it in broad daylight?"
"Just the two of us?"
His companion hesitated for a moment, then excitedly pulled out two revolvers, grinning. "What are we waiting for? Let's start the killing!"
The killing process was unremarkable.
First, a grenade was thrown, blasting open the gate and simultaneously turning the guards at the gate into a bloody mess.
The hunting dog barked and charged, only to have its head shattered by a single shot. The remaining guards peeked out from behind cover, but before they could even aim, bullets blew their skulls off.
Within minutes, most of the guards responsible for defending the mansion had been killed or wounded.
The remaining guards, terrified, led Goldstein and his family into the basement, hoping that the two-foot-thick iron door would hold off the rioters until the police arrived.
"It's at least two feet thick. Did you bring explosives?" His companion turned to look at Zhang Wu.
"I didn't bring it."
Zhang Wu spread his hands and said, "But we won't need the explosives. Our men will be here soon."
Police officers who heard the gunshots and explosions did indeed arrive at the scene quickly and began knocking on the basement door.
"Mr. Goldstein, are you alright? This is Police Chief Jackson Anderson. Those two thugs are under control; you can come out now."
Goldstein hesitated for a long time behind the iron gate, listening intently to the sounds outside.
The gunfire did stop. He took a deep breath and gestured to a guard to open the door.
The basement door slowly opened, and he stormed out.
Goldstein was about to yell at the policeman in front of him when a revolver was pressed against his temple, freezing him in the doorway.
"Anderson, your identity is still the most useful."
Zhang Wu whistled, and his companions immediately opened fire, killing several guards inside, leaving his family screaming and huddled together in a corner.
"The police chief was actually colluding with criminals?"
Goldstein's pupils dilated sharply, and he gritted his teeth, saying, "How can you face the taxes the citizens have paid over the years?!"
"You son of a bitch, you still have the nerve to mention that?"
Anderson spat and said, "You Jews are the ones who evade the most taxes, otherwise how could the city's finances be so depleted?"
Zhang Wudao said, "Alright, you guys go out and pretend to be confronting us. I'll interrogate him to find out his assets first, and then you can take over later."
Goldstein gritted his teeth, his eyes bloodshot: "Take my life if you want, but you're not getting a penny of my money! Not a single cent!"
Zhang Wu just grinned and drew a hunting knife from his waist: "No wonder you're Jewish, I just hope your bones are as hard as your mouth!"
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