The production line of Williams Food Company, under Jones's almost military-strict management and the workers' rising enthusiasm, hummed more smoothly and powerfully each day.
After a week of adjustments and optimization, the "rhythm production line" personally designed by Alan could stably produce 1,500 cans of consistently high-quality stewed beef per workday.
In the factory's warehouse, neatly stacked can boxes for the first time piled up into a truly significant small mountain.
This morning, in the office, Catherine handed a financial report to Alan.
"Sir, this is our complete financial report for last week."
A hint of irrepressible excitement was in her voice.
"After fulfilling the orders from Mr. Gable and all the merchants in Bowery District, we achieved an inventory surplus for the first time.
More importantly, after reaching a daily output of 1,500 cans, our unit production cost was further compressed, and the company's net profit margin has stabilized at thirty percent."
Alan took the report and began to read it.
Thirty percent—this was an astonishing figure that any physical manufacturing industry in later generations would be proud of.
It meant that for every can sold at fifty cents, fifteen cents would become the company's net profit.
A daily output of 1,500 cans meant a net income of over two hundred dollars per day.
That was six thousand dollars a month. Over seventy thousand dollars a year.
This figure was enough to drive any New York businessman crazy, but not a trace of satisfaction could be seen on Alan's face.
"How much inventory do we have in our warehouse now?" he asked.
"Approximately three thousand cans, sir. And that number is increasing every day."
Catherine answered without hesitation, then added,
"As previously predicted, the market in Bowery District is nearing saturation. We must find new buyers as soon as possible, otherwise, our cash flow will soon be crushed by these mountains of inventory."
"You are right."
Alan's finger moved slowly across the map, from the Bowery District downtown, finally resting on the name that symbolized wealth and status—Fifth Avenue.
"It's time to execute that plan and let New York's high society also taste our flavor."
Two days later, on the busiest street corner adjacent to Union Square, a previously vacant shop was redecorated and quietly opened.
The shop's facade had no sign, only a line of small text written in elegant golden script on the mirror-like glass window.
"Williams Food Company · New York Free Tasting Event."
At the shop's entrance stood two security guards, personally selected by Miller for their tall and imposing stature.
They wore brand-new, impeccably ironed dark blue uniforms and white gloves, standing expressionlessly on either side like guards of the Beefeater regiment.
They did not open the door to solicit customers, nor did they speak to anyone; they simply stood there in silence, which in itself became an eye-catching sight.
At ten in the morning, the shop doors opened punctually.
No goods were displayed inside the shop.
In the center, there was only a long table covered with a white tablecloth.
On the table were gleaming silver platters, delicate bone china plates, and bottles of red wine from France.
Catherine, dressed in an elegant yet capable dark blue suit custom-made by the city's best tailor, stood gracefully behind the table like a salon hostess from a prestigious family.
Beside her was a chef specially hired at a high salary from Delmonico's Restaurant.
He was currently placing a steaming pot of canned beef into an ornate copper chafing dish.
After a while, he would scoop it out and open the can.
Immediately, an indescribably rich, mellow, and multi-layered aroma wafted from the chafing dish, like an invisible hand gently caressing the nose of every passerby.
Initially, the elegantly dressed, well-mannered high-society pedestrians only cast curious glances.
They held a natural wariness and disdain for such street-side free tasting events.
But soon, the situation changed.
"Oh... my goodness, Harold, do you smell that? What is that smell? It's simply... simply too fragrant!"
A bejeweled lady, arm in arm with her portly banker husband, stopped at the shop entrance.
Her husband sniffed and also showed a surprised expression, saying in an exaggerated tone,
"It smells like... stewed beef? But, a hundred times more fragrant than what our cook makes!"
Just as they hesitated, one of the guards at the door stepped forward with a standard gait, opened the door for them, and made a "please" gesture, remaining silent throughout.
This ritualistic invitation satisfied the vanity of the upper-class individuals.
The couple exchanged glances and walked in.
"Good day, sir, madam."
Catherine greeted them with a smile; her demeanor and speech were impeccable.
"Welcome to the Williams Food Company's tasting event. We are offering a complimentary sample of our latest product, Williams Premium Stewed Beef, to the connoisseurs of New York. Please allow me to serve you a portion."
She used a small silver spoon to serve a portion from the can for each of them, placing it on a delicate bone china plate.
The banker was initially reserved, but his wife had already been enticed by the aroma and was eager to eat.
She elegantly speared a small piece of beef with a small fork and brought it to her mouth.
The next second, her eyes narrowed in bliss.
"Oh... my God..."
She let out a satisfied sigh.
"Harold, this... this is incredible! This beef practically melts on my tongue! And this broth is more delicious than any consommé I've ever had in Paris!"
Seeing this, the banker also took a bite.
Immediately, his usually stern face also showed an expression of shock and enjoyment identical to his wife's.
"This... this is really canned food?"
He asked in disbelief.
"Yes, sir."
Catherine handed him a beautifully produced brochure.
"Our Williams Company's cans use our unique lead-free mechanical sealing technology and segmented steam cooking process, safely and perfectly preserving the freshest, most delicious moment of the ingredients within the can."
The couple's reaction was like a signal.
More and more upper-class individuals, attracted by the aroma and intrigued by the "guards" at the entrance and the elegant decor inside, began to enter the shop.
Exclamations and praises rose and fell.
"This is better than what my French chef makes!"
"It's simply a work of art! I never eat canned food, but this, I feel I could eat every day!"
"Darling, we must buy some to take home! We can use this to entertain guests at our dinner party next week!"
Catherine maintained a composed smile, giving the same polite answer to every customer who inquired about prices and purchasing channels.
"I'm very sorry, madam, but our premium canned goods are not yet officially on the market. However, we are looking for the most suitable sales partner to represent the highest quality in New York."
Then, she would appropriately add a sentence.
"However, if it's convenient for you, could you please leave your name and the address of the shop where you usually shop? Once we confirm a partner, we will ensure that you can buy our product at your most familiar shop as soon as possible."
This was an extremely clever marketing strategy.
She not only collected the most accurate list of potential customers but, more importantly, cleverly shifted the pressure of "choosing which shop" to the owners of high-end food stores who had not yet arrived.
Throughout the day, Catherine's register recorded over two hundred family names of significant importance in New York.
In the evening of the sixth day, just as the tasting event was about to conclude, a well-dressed, distinguished middle-aged man, after observing for several days, finally entered the shop.
"A brilliant performance, Mr. Williams."
He did not taste the food but walked directly to Alan, who had been observing from the back for a long time.
"You flatter me. I believe a good product deserves a good stage. May I ask who you are?"
"Charles Tilford. Owner of Parker & Tilford Food Merchants," the middle-aged man introduced himself.
Parker & Tilford!
New York's most high-end and renowned food merchants!
"I've heard much about you, Mr. Tilford."
"I think we needn't waste time, Mr. Williams."
Mr. Tilford was a direct man.
"Dozens of my old customers sent their butlers to my shop this afternoon, asking about a 'Williams Premium Canned Good' I'd never heard of. You've caused me no small trouble."
"No, no, no, sir, I think what I've brought you is a huge business opportunity."
Alan shook his index finger, smiling as he retorted.
"Perhaps."
Mr. Tilford nodded, not intending to argue the point with Alan, but asked directly,
"I wonder if you could come to my office tomorrow morning. I want to secure the exclusive distribution rights for this product throughout the Upper City. However, I hope you will have a sufficiently sincere cooperation plan."
Alan smiled; it seemed the big fish had taken the bait.
"Of course, I am always sincere with potential partners."
After seeing Mr. Tilford off, Catherine excitedly ran over.
"Sir, we succeeded! We've opened the door to New York's most exclusive market."
"Yes, Catherine, we succeeded."
Alan looked at the gas lamps gradually lighting up in Union Square outside the window, his heart filled with pride.
From a street hero in Bowery District to a new elite on Fifth Avenue.
He only needed one meticulously planned tasting event.