Williams Food Company, the sailboat upon which Allen's enterprise embarked, encountered its first strong external resistance after sailing at full speed for half a month.
That morning, old man Bill, the newly appointed General Manager of Metropolitan Meat United Company, walked into Allen's office with a gloomy expression.
He slammed a procurement Bill onto the table.
"Allen, we have a problem."
His voice was like a muffled thunder, holding back a fire.
"Those old guys are coming after us again."
Allen picked up the Bill.
It listed a batch of cattle Bill had urgently purchased from several farms in New Jersey over the past three days.
The unit price was a full ten percent higher than the long-term contract price they had signed a week ago.
"They breached the contract?" Allen asked.
"No, not exactly." Bill scratched his head irritably.
"The long-term contract is still being fulfilled. But now, to meet your military order, the amount of meat needed far exceeds the long-term contract quantity. The company needs to buy more spot goods on the market. And right now, the entire spot market around New York has gone crazy."
"Tell me more."
"You remember those biggest meat wholesalers in the city, right? They've formed something called a 'Business Association.'"
Bill's tone was full of disdain and annoyance.
"They've sent out dozens of buyers, swarming into every town and village in New Jersey and Pennsylvania like a plague of locusts. They do nothing but one thing—raise prices."
"No matter what kind of meat, no matter the quality, as long as it's beef, they offer half a cent more than our quote."
"You know, those farmers aren't fools. With a higher price, of course, they won't sell their extra goods to us."
Catherine was silently calculating the costs nearby.
A moment later, she came to a very unfavorable conclusion.
"Sir, if our raw material costs universally increase by ten percent, then our net profit on the military contract will be cut by more than half. And our 'Red Label' series, supplied to citizens, will have almost no profit whatsoever."
Bill's expression became even uglier.
"Listen, Allen, that's not the worst of it. They're not only playing games with prices, but they're also sabotaging our transportation."
"Yesterday, two of our transport carriages, full of fresh meat, were intercepted by a group of thugs who appeared out of nowhere while en route from the slaughterhouse to the factory. They didn't steal anything or hurt anyone; they just spooked the horses. As a result, both carriages overturned into a stinking ditch by the roadside."
"We lost a full thousand pounds of beef. By the time our people fished the goods out, they were unusable. Those thugs fled before the police arrived."
In the office, Allen's mind was racing, his fingers tapping on the desk.
Price war, coupled with logistics harassment.
This combination punch was insidious, vicious, yet left no trace.
Because there was no evidence to suggest that those bastards were arranged by the other side.
Even if those bastards were caught, the other side would not admit it.
The old-line wholesalers in New York were once again using their most familiar business tactics to declare their presence to Allen.
"They are forcing us," Allen slowly said, his face devoid of anger, only icy calm.
"Forcing us to abandon our efforts to build our own supply chain, then return to the negotiating table and accept their unequal prices. They want to turn us back into a processing plant at the downstream of their industry, where they can control our profits at any time."
"What should we do, Sir?" Jones couldn't help but ask from the side.
"Should we have Miller take his men to teach those thugs a lesson?"
"No," Allen immediately rejected the idea.
"We are now a military supplier, a 'star enterprise' in New York. We cannot, and disdain to, solve business problems through street brawls. That would only lead us into their preset trap."
In Allen's view, this kind of straightforward business warfare was not very useful at the moment.
He stood up and walked to the map on the wall.
Looking at the map, centered on New York and radiating outwards, he shook his head.
"Catherine, Jones, Bill. It seems I made a mistake," he said.
"I limited my vision to competing with them, thinking about how to win this war of attrition on a battlefield set by the enemy."
"But look."
His finger forcefully swept west across the map, over the Appalachian Mountains, pointing to the vast Midwest.
"Their advantage is controlling these 'faucets' flowing into New York, thinking they are manor lords guarding a well. But they forgot where this water comes from."
"Why should we fight them to the death by the well for the price of a bucket of water?"
Allen understood that the most important thing now was to complete the military order, not to get entangled with these people.
"What we should do is go directly to the real great river that supplies all the wells!"
"They want to drag us down; they're dreaming."
These people really took him for a soft persimmon, squeezing him again and again.
Just wait, now is not the time, they will cry later.
Allen suppressed his thoughts and refocused on the current situation.
"Since the other side is putting so much effort into entangling us, then let's just give them this battlefield, Bill."
"Tell me, Allen, I'll listen to whatever you say!"
Old man Bill knew his mind wasn't too good in this area, so he simply planned to listen to Allen.
"Starting today, contract all our procurement lines. You continue to fulfill the long-term contracts with those farmers, and continue to compete with them for spot goods.
But in the end, don't buy them. Make sure they buy them at a high price, and make them feel that our funds are almost depleted, and we can't compete with them."
"Catherine."
"Yes, Sir."
"Draft a letter to Senator Clark in Washington. Report to him in detail how we, this 'patriotic' military supplier, are being maliciously sabotaged in the rear by a group of profiteering old interest groups. Remember, our wording should be full of grievance, yet also imbued with the determination to serve the country."
"Understood, I will complete it!"
Allen turned around, looking at his core team members.
"I'm going to Chicago myself."
"I want to bypass these greedy middlemen and directly sign a massive contract with the Western ranchers, who truly hold the cattle whips, a contract that will change the entire Eastern meat price."
"They want to defeat us with money. Then I will go to a bigger capital card table, where all of them are out of their depth, and win all the chips."
"While they are still gloating over a few cents higher price for a single cow, I will have already bought the entire ranch."
Allen's idea made everyone in the office's eyes light up.
Indeed, there was no need to fight these local big merchants around New York; it was better to directly introduce more and cheaper meat from a larger market.
Catherine and the others also realized that Allen had never intended to play a defensive counterattack.
What he wanted to do was a strategic grand maneuver, pulling the rug out from under them!
"Sir, I'll go with you!" Miller volunteered, "The security in the West..."
"No, Miller. I need you and your team to guard our base camp."
Allen refused him before he could finish, as those people had even resorted to dirty tricks, and burning down a factory would probably be no burden to them.
So he couldn't take Miller with him.
"This time I'm not going to fight; I'm going to redefine the rules of this industry."
"Trust me, everyone."
He looked at everyone, his tone full of confidence.
"When I return, I believe this middleman war in New York will be over."