Chapter 581 - 268: The Collapse of the Empire (Part 2)

"Come on, Mr. Krueger, my dear friend. This isn’t some strike or demonstration by American truck drivers. Glietz City is a culturally-driven tourist city with low industrial development. How many of those old men and women are actually workers, and do you think they’ll listen to union leaders?"

These plans are just too dogmatic.

Sir Brown shook his head in disappointment and cast his gaze toward the marching crowd holding various signs.

These old folks are just like that stinky dog poo stuck on the soles of shoes—can’t scrape it off or shake it off, dealing with them is utterly disgusting.

"Still, slightly underestimated the Ilyena family’s influence rooted in this city."

The chairman is a seasoned politician.

He’s not lacking social practical experience like the young slick-haired guy beside him.

It’s very unlikely that these aunts and uncles organized spontaneously.

Most likely there’s a hidden hand behind this.

Mr. Brown’s gaze traveled through the car window, scanning the crowd protesting in front of the crane, and soon locked onto a young girl holding a sign.

The young girl also recognized the car plate by the roadside.

She carried a sign reading "Krug Bank Get Lost" and casually strolled over to knock on the window, handing a flyer through the small opening Sir Brown left open.

"Citizens of Glietz City, unite to protect our beloved Oil Painting Magazine. If old hag Brown wants to sell it, he might as well sell his own ass!" the girl said in a mocking tone right in front of Sir Brown.

Sir Brown waved to stop the about-to-explode Ole.

Instead, he magnanimously rolled down the entire window.

He examined the flyer depicting himself in the attire of a madam from a European brothel, with a woman dressed like a showgirl from the Holland window displays beside him, whose features and blonde hair vaguely resembled Ole beside him.

"Such a strikingly comic style of parody, I doubt it was Miss Ilina who drew it. Anna was never a good artist by nature; her works always feel like there’s a layer of veil between emotions and technique. Besides, this drawing has a very street vibe, unlike something a lady like her would produce."

He elegantly commented.

"I drew it. How is it, Sir Brown, your chest is big and your butt is round enough, right?" Secretary Miss Elliot smirked arrogantly at the chairman on the car seat.

Today she wasn’t wearing that blue-gray business suit akin to a white-collar lawyer from the shareholders’ meeting.

A floral T-shirt, tight jeans, silver Yeezy sneakers, she looked exactly like a student who "just happened" to join the parade.

"Hmm, quite a talent for drawing."

Sir Brown laughed charmingly, "But since the shareholders’ meeting has already made the decision to move toward a new era, Miss Anna is still the largest private shareholder in Oil Painting Magazine to this day."

The chairman pointed at the protesting crowd dozens of meters away and made a sorrowful facial expression, "We’re all passengers on the same boat. Even if you don’t want to go down together, we can part on good terms. Now pulling this stunt is too heartbreaking for me."

"Sir Brown. Our miss said, a person must either choose to be a Viking pirate or choose to be a moral saint. You can’t jump on someone else’s ship, throw the owner off the plank, and then nobly talk about being in the same boat, or parting on good terms. That’s just ridiculous."

The young secretary Miss Elliot squinted, smiling at the old gentleman in the cabin, "Hearing you’re heartbroken just makes me so happy."

"Very insightful. Miss Anna really ought to consider going into politics or something; perhaps it has more prospects than being at odds with my magazine. The few pitiful Royalist Old Faction members in the European Parliament really need someone with her looks and public appeal, might even crown her as the queen of the Danube Federation. If Miss Ilina ever announces a wish to restore the old empire, I’d consider voting for her." Sir Brown continued to tell cold jokes with a smile on his face.

He simply stressed "my magazine" with a heavier tone.

"What if the miss doesn’t want to be a queen, she just wants her ancestor’s sculpture to remain in the magazine?" Ellie softly said.

"It’s just a sculpture, why so persistent?" Sir Brown replied.

"It’s just a sculpture, why so persistent?" Ellie countered.

Silence filled the cabin for two seconds.

Both sides were in a knowing dispute.

It was more than just a bronze sculpture; it was akin to a flag. As long as the sculpture stood in front of the magazine’s building, the old shadow of the Ilyena family would still loom over Sir Brown’s heart.

"Alright, if you’re so insistent, then my answer is no."

Sir Brown slowly shook his head.

"Then see you tomorrow. Maybe I should print a larger poster, and perhaps you’ll see your own big headshot on the evening news."

Elliot nonchalantly shrugged.

"Don’t think you can secretly work at night, I’m telling you, someone will be watching here for a long time to come."

The smile on Sir Brown’s face vanished.

He spoke calmly and deliberately, "The Ilyena family might indeed have influence in this city, but so what? Can they camp here like the siege of Troy for years? Eventually, the crowd will disperse; if they stay ten days, I’ll remove this bronze statue on the eleventh day. If they stay a hundred days, I’ll make the old Count’s bronze statue disappear on the hundred-and-first morning."

"I can wait slowly, but any mark of the Ilyena family will vanish into the forest of history; this is an inevitable future event. It’s not just my power, but the power of the era; any resistance is futile struggle."

"Is that your prophecy? Historically, self-proclaimed prophets always ended up on the stake." Elliot looked into Sir Brown’s eyes.

"The magazine’s decision is unchangeable; you can consider it a vow containing both saintly will and pirate determination."

Chairman Brown said in a deep voice.

Anyone could hear the determination in the old gentleman’s tone.

"Well then... see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, and say hello to Anna for me. I’ll say once more, the comic is quite well-drawn, Miss Elliot."

"Spare me, save your hypocritical courtesies. I don’t deserve the praise from Sir Brown. I know you hate me to death in your heart." Elliot nodded casually, picking up her protest sign again.

Sir Brown nodded in return.

He waved at the driver, and the XC90 motor silently started, the Volvo slowly glided into the underground parking lot beneath the magazine.

"Sir. But... they might be serious."

Ole beside him wasn’t as deep as Sir Brown, looking at the promotional page with himself standing in the window show, imagining how this poster would look on the evening news.

The slick-haired young man’s mouth twitched twice.

All his life, Cousin Anna always did what she said; when she said she’d fight them to the end, she would fight them to the end.

"No problem, just keep watch. I am serious too, time is on our side." There was no sign of impatience on Sir Brown’s face.

For the vast majority of Glietz City’s citizens.

The Ilyena name is just a distant memory; the new generation of young people have never seen the family’s most glorious past.

City pride and such is just something mostly said and not truly felt.

Anna’s ancestors put effort against the German Army’s purging of "degenerate art" during World War II, protecting many artists. But these stories are now past events, only documentary mentions remain, no one will bring it up again.

The artistic empire of the Ilyena family has crumbled the moment the shareholders’ meeting decision was publicly announced.

The statue in front of the magazine is the last pavilion for mourning.

How long can one cry at a tomb?

Can crying actually bring people back to life?

What actually worries Sir Brown now, was that sudden phone call he received earlier.