Harkon did not answer. He lay in the broken stone, his chest heaving under the golden seal. His crimson robes were shredded. The fine silk dragged in the dust like dirty rags.
Lin Mo stepped back from the pit and brushed dust from his sleeve. “A collection agency with an overdue loan. That is almost poetic. It turns out even blood-tax oligarchs get harassed by bill collectors.”
Beside him, Qin Haoran straightened his suit jacket. His eyes shone with enthusiasm. “Chairman Lin, the live broadcast arrays across all one hundred planets are online. Every public square, factory floor, and mining dock has a screen. People are watching.”
“Good,” Lin Mo said. “Give the audience what they paid for. Let them see their former masters start their new careers.”
Qin Haoran turned toward the line of three hundred trembling oligarchs. His smile was dazzling. “Ladies and gentlemen of the board! The cameras are live. Shoulders back. Today, you start giving back to the community you spent ten thousand years robbing.”
Two Righteous Iron Guards stepped forward and hauled Vice-Chairman Malakor to his feet. Malakor had spent three centuries collecting starlight levies from dying worlds. His skin was pale and flabby. His silk robes shook so hard the pearl beads on his collar rattled.
