One month after the factory began operations.
The Williams Food Company's premises had completely shed the desolate, abandoned appearance of the Nolan Steel Mill.
Twenty brand new, steam-powered giant copper pots were neatly arranged in the production workshop, like twenty silent and majestic giants.
The factory's fifty production line workers operated efficiently and in an orderly fashion to the rhythm of the "beat production method."
The roar of machines, the shouts of workers, and the rich aroma of stewed beef blended together, forming a passionate symphony unique to the industrial era.
In the office, Catherine placed a newly completed monthly financial statement on Allen's desk.
Her fingers trembled slightly with excitement.
"Sir, please take a look. This is our company's financial report for its first full month."
Allen picked up the report and flipped through it.
The numbers clearly recorded the astonishing pulse of this nascent commercial entity.
"...Total sales: $9,320."
"...Raw materials and production costs: $3,815."
"...Salaries and operating expenses: $1,344."
"...Strategic investment (capital injection into Metropolitan Meat United Company): $3,000."
Catherine pointed to the number highlighted with a double line at the bottom, her voice filled with joy.
"After deducting all costs and that important strategic investment, our company achieved a net profit of… $1,161 in its first month."
This number might not seem like much.
But Catherine and Allen both understood its meaning.
After completing fixed asset investments and strategic layout, the company not only didn't lose money but started making a profit in its very first month!
It also proved that all of Allen's prior decisions were correct.
Because if the three thousand dollars invested in starting the company with Bill were excluded, the net profit would be...
Four thousand one hundred sixty-one dollars.
One month!
This profit figure was no longer just "making money"; it was a printing press operating at full throttle.
"Very good." Allen put down the report.
"This proves that our foundation is solid. Jones, announce that all workers who participated in last month's production will receive a $2 bonus each. Catherine, you and the office staff will receive $5. Miller, your security team as well."
This reward, exceeding everyone's expectations, immediately caused a suppressed cheer to erupt throughout the office.
Allen's face also showed an expression of joy.
After all, he owned the company entirely, so the money the company earned was essentially his money.
Just as everyone was celebrating, Mr. Gable walked in, looking hurried.
The usual joy was gone from his face, replaced by worry.
He placed a somewhat familiar yet strange-looking can with a "thud" on Allen's desk.
"Allen, something's happened. Look at this."
Seeing this, Allen curiously picked up the can.
Its shape and size were almost identical to his "Standard Red Label."
But the label printing was crude, featuring a ridiculous, grinning chef's head, and the text read "Croft's Delicious Stew."
Most critically, its seal, though imitating Allen's mechanical seaming, was shoddily crafted, with even tiny gaps visible at the seams.
"Who made this?"
"A fellow named Silas Croft."
Mr. Gable said angrily.
"I've looked into it. He used to be a tinsmith, and your lead-free cans took away his business, so he's held a grudge. I don't know where he secretly learned your technique, but he's set up a workshop and started imitating your product!"
"Imitation is a compliment that successful people inevitably receive."
Allen's expression didn't change much, and his tone remained calm, as he had seen too many instances of plagiarism in later generations.
"How is his quality?"
"Quality? Like dog shit!" Mr. Gable said dismissively.
"I opened and tasted it; the meat inside was dry and tough, and the broth was as bland as dishwater! But Allen, he has one fatal weapon!"
"Price."
Allen said it for him.
"Exactly! Price!"
Mr. Gable slapped his thigh, saying somewhat bitterly.
"Your 'Standard Red Label' retails for fifty cents. But he sells his for only twenty-five cents. Half the price! The poor people in the Bowery District can't tell the difference in quality; they only look at what's cheaper! My sales have noticeably dropped these past few days!"
Catherine's brows furrowed tightly.
"Price war. This is the lowest, yet most effective, form of business competition. Sir, if we don't respond, he will slowly erode the mid-to-low-end market we've worked so hard to establish, like woodworms."
"Respond? How do we respond?"
Jones couldn't help but ask from the side.
"Are we also going to lower prices? What about our profits… what about the salaries of all our workers?"
In the office, everyone's gaze focused on Allen.
Allen said nothing.
He simply tapped his finger gently on the crude imitation can.
The crisp sound was particularly clear in the quiet office.
After a long while, he finally spoke, a perplexing smile on his face.
"Don't panic. The appearance of this Mr. Croft may not necessarily be a bad thing for the company."
"Not a bad thing?" Everyone was stunned.
"Yes."
Allen stood up, walked to the blackboard, and picked up a piece of chalk.
"On the contrary, I think this is a good thing. Because he has given us an opportunity. An excellent opportunity to truly upgrade our product to a 'brand.'"
He looked at his core team and began to elaborate on his "anti-encirclement" strategy.
"First, we absolutely cannot lower prices."
He drew a heavy X over "lowering prices" with the chalk.
"Price is our dignity, and it is the bottom line of our quality. Once we start rolling in the mud with our opponent, we have already lost."
"He doesn't compete with us on quality, and we absolutely won't compete with him on price. We are fighting a war called 'perception.'"
"Catherine." He issued his first command.
"I need you to immediately find someone to design a unique brand visual identity for our 'Williams Food Company' and our cans, respectively.
Starting today, all our products, whether Red Label or Gold Label, must have these two logos printed on the body, top, and bottom of the can."
"At the same time, print a sentence on the label—'The one and only, Williams.' And below it, add a small line of text: 'Please look for the genuine trademark to beware of harmful counterfeit products.' "
"Second is advertising." Allen continued.
"I want you to take two hundred dollars and place advertisements in all mainstream newspapers in the city for a week."
"The content of the advertisement should not boast about how good our taste is. Instead, it should 'educate' the market like a science popularization article. Tell all New York City residents how harmful traditional lead-soldered cans are to them and their children.
Tell them how important a clean factory is for food safety. We won't mention any competitor's name; we will only set the standard. The highest standard for 'health' and 'safety.'"
"Third, is channels." Allen looked at Mr. Gable.
"Mr. Gable, I need you to unite with all our retailers. The company will provide you with a batch of promotional posters and flyers for free, which will detail how to distinguish genuine Williams cans from fakes.
I will also give you an additional sales discount, on the condition that you must display these posters in the most prominent places in your stores."
"I want our partners to be the frontline soldiers in our brand war."
A three-dimensional brand strategy composed of "brand visual identification," "market perception education," and "channel stronghold consolidation" was clearly presented by Allen.
In the office, everyone was completely stunned by this unheard-of approach.
According to their traditional thinking, the only way to deal with a price cut was to cut prices.
But Allen had opened a door to a whole new world for them.
He wasn't counterattacking; he was elevating the dimension.
"This Mr. Croft thinks we are just in the business of selling stewed beef."
Allen put down the chalk and made his final summary.
"He's wrong."
"We are in the business of selling trust."
He looked out the window at the factory, which was roaring at full capacity.