The demise of the Viper Gang was like a stone thrown into the stagnant waters of the Bowery District, the ripples it created far from settling.
The name Allen Williams, and his Williams canned goods, became an overnight legend, a hot topic of discussion on every street corner.
Within a month, the fame brought not only awe and a flood of orders, but also a growing sense of crisis in Allen's own heart.
In the basement, Mr. Gable excitedly waved a long list of orders, which he had registered that morning, detailing the demands from various merchants.
"Williams, look! Come and see this!" His voice trembled slightly with excitement, "The entire Bowery District, even merchants from the neighboring blocks, want to buy your canned goods! You've struck gold, kid, you've really struck gold!"
Allen took the paper, his gaze sweeping over the numbers.
Behind every number was a considerable profit, but he also saw the huge problems hidden behind those numbers.
Allen folded the order sheet and put it in his pocket.
"Mr. Gable, thank you for your help. But you know better than I do that with my current production capacity, even if I worked day and night, I couldn't complete a tenth of the quantity on this order."
He pointed to the cramped basement, which saw little sunlight all day.
"This can be a starting point, but it can never be a factory. It's too small, too unsafe, and too inefficient. Any minor disturbance, like a heavy rain flooding the basement, or an inspection shutting down this building, and my business would immediately grind to a halt."
Mr. Gable's excitement cooled. He was a shrewd businessman and immediately understood the deeper meaning in Allen's words.
"You mean… you're moving?"
"Not moving, sir," Allen corrected, "It's building a factory. I need to find a real home for 'Williams'. A sturdy, spacious place that can accommodate all my ambitions."
These words deeply shocked Mr. Gable.
He had originally thought Allen would be content with the status quo, at most renting a larger storefront and slowly operating his business.
But he hadn't expected that this young man's goal, from the very beginning, was to establish a real industrial factory.
That afternoon, Allen left the workshop's daily production to Miller and Jones for temporary supervision, and changed into a decent but not luxurious woolen coat, newly bought from a tailor shop, before walking into a well-known land agency office in downtown New York.
"Good afternoon, sir, how may I help you?"
A sharp-looking agent wearing glasses enthusiastically greeted him.
"Good afternoon."
Allen handed over his business card, which only had his name and the words Williams Food Company printed on it.
"I'm looking to purchase a property for the construction of a food processing plant."
The agent's eyes immediately changed when he saw the name, showing a mix of curiosity and respect.
"So you are Mr. Williams! The hero from the newspapers, it's an honor to have you in our office. Are you looking for an empty plot of land or an existing factory building?"
"An existing factory building would be best," Allen stated his conditions.
"First, it must be a brick and stone structure, sturdy enough, with high walls. Second, the area must be large enough to accommodate at least fifty workers operating simultaneously, and have independent storage space. Third, it needs convenient transportation, preferably near the East River docks, to facilitate the import of my raw materials and the export of finished products."
The agent listened, rapidly jotting notes in his notepad. He looked up, a professional smile on his face.
"Mr. Williams, your requirements are very clear. However, a factory building that meets all your conditions won't be cheap."
"I know. But money isn't an issue, as long as it's worth the price."
Allen's tone, though calm, conveyed an undeniable confidence.
After all, he had earned quite a bit during this period.
"Understood, I see."
The agent immediately became more attentive.
"I happen to have a few properties that meet your requirements, one of which I think you might be particularly interested in."
"Tell me about it."
"Along the East River, it was formerly a blacksmith factory called 'Nolan Steel'."
The agent pulled out a document from a stack of files.
"As you know, last year's financial fluctuations caused many businesses to collapse, and Mr. Nolan was no exception. He is now eager to sell this factory to pay off debts, and because it has gone unnoticed, the price has already been driven very low."
"Oh? Why has it gone unnoticed?"
"Because it's too big, and too sturdy…" the agent explained.
"For ordinary businessmen, they don't need such a large place, nor do they need such thick walls. Moreover, the cost of renovating a cast-iron blast furnace is very high, so it has become a hot potato. But this seems to perfectly match your requirements for safety and space."
Allen's heart stirred; this sounded like it was tailor-made for him.
"Take me to see it," he decided immediately.
Led by the agent, Allen stood before the abandoned blacksmith factory for the first time.
The sight before him made him catch his breath.
Because this place didn't look like a factory at all; it was practically a small fortress.
The massive red-brick factory building, eroded by time, presented a sense of industrial power.
Three-story high walls tightly enclosed the entire factory area, with remnants of broken glass still on the wall tops to prevent climbing.
Both the east and west entrances had heavy double iron gates, strong enough to withstand any non-military level impact.
"Please come in, Mr. Williams." The agent laboriously pushed open a small door on the east gate.
Allen walked in, and the internal space of the factory area was much larger than he had imagined.
The main factory building's high ceilings and massive pillars all showed its former glory.
Sunlight streamed through the dusty, huge skylights, forming columns of light that illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air.
"This is the main forging area," the agent introduced, "That huge blast furnace, though extinguished, its chimney and ventilation system are all intact."
Allen nodded. He walked to the other side of the factory building, where there were several independent brick houses.
"These were previously the offices, warehouses, and staff dormitories."
An independent office area that could be managed; a huge warehouse that could store a massive amount of finished products; and even dormitories that could be used to house core security personnel.
Perfect!
This was the first physical foundation of the empire he dreamed of!
He stood in the spacious, silent, factory, filled with the scent of steel and fire, closed his eyes, and it was as if he could already hear the roar of future machines, smell the aroma of countless canned goods, and see hundreds of workers busy here.
"Mr. Williams? Are you satisfied?"
The agent's voice pulled him back from his imagination.
Allen hid his emotions well, turned to the agent, and said, "This place is alright. Let's look at other places."