The bootlegging business had never been legitimate.
Davey had never intended to compete on fair terms with anyone.
Within his sphere of influence, all bootleg liquor was strictly forbidden. Anyone who dared to brew it would be sent to meet their maker.
Raise soldiers for a thousand days, use them for a single moment.
After spending so many dollars training his employees, it was finally time for them to prove their worth.
As things stood now, across the entire West—or more precisely, the three major states of West Elizabeth, New Hanover, and Lemoyne—no force, whether in the open or in the shadows, could rival Davey's armed group.
Lunchtime.
Private chef Chen prepared an abundant feast.
Kung Pao Chicken, Stir-Fried Beef, Chili Pork, Corn and Rib Soup, Pan-Seared Veal, Spicy Fish Fillets, Braised Duck, Roast Suckling Pig, and Crispy Roast Chicken.
Nine dishes in total.
This was Davey's lunch—simple and unadorned.
"Excellent craftsmanship, Mr. Chen. This may well be the best meal I've had in years."
"It seems I won't be able to part with you anytime soon. Ah, this food—what a pleasure."
Thinking back to what he used to eat, it felt entirely different from this.
Even the rice wasn't plain white rice, but golden fried rice.
The grains were coated in beaten egg and stir-fried, then mixed with corn kernels, diced cured meat, chopped ham, shredded cucumber, and various other ingredients.
"As long as you like it, Mr. Land."
Seeing Davey's satisfaction, Chen finally relaxed, though there was still a hint of hesitation on his face.
"Mr. Chen, if there's anything you need help with, feel free to say so."
"In Saint Denis, as long as it's not too troublesome, I believe I can handle it for you."
Davey quickly sensed that Chen had something on his mind and decided to ask directly. He didn't mind dealing with a few minor inconveniences.
Hearing this, Chen hesitated before speaking.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Land. These are small matters and shouldn't trouble you."
"But we truly have no other choice. You know, in this city, our people hold a very low status and are rejected by many."
Chen was visibly uneasy, uncertain whether Davey would really be willing to step in.
"Go on. What happened?"
Faced with Davey's question, Chen explained the situation from beginning to end.
It involved people attempting to immigrate illegally.
In the late nineteenth century, life in many parts of Asia could only be described as misery beyond measure. People lived in desperate conditions, barely surviving.
Throughout the year, they might only taste meat and oil during festivals. On ordinary days, they survived on thin porridge.
Whenever disasters struck, corpses filled the land, and even the exchange and consumption of children was not uncommon.
By contrast, those living in Saint Denis—even with low pay, discrimination, and exclusion—could still earn over twenty dollars a month. A pound of beef cost less than twenty cents.
Thanks to industrial production, wheat was even cheaper, only a few cents per pound.
Living here, without worrying about saving money, meant white rice every meal and meat on the table every day.
Compared to life under the old regime, this place was nothing short of paradise.
That was why so many, if they had any means at all, would do everything possible to sneak over. Compared to staying alive and having meat to eat, a bit of discrimination was nothing. In the eyes of officials in those countries, they were little more than expendable labor and social outcasts anyway.
This time, a smuggling ship had been discovered. Under United States federal law, the hundreds of people aboard were to be deported.
Most of them shared ancestral ties with the community in Saint Denis.
They tried every possible way to seek help, but no one was willing to intervene.
In the end, the matter fell to Chen—after all, he was the only one serving a truly influential figure.
After listening, Davey didn't respond immediately, instead falling into thought.
He already had a rough understanding of the situation of this community in Saint Denis.
At present, they had no organized gangs, relying mainly on mutual support between clans. Compared to other factions, their strength was negligible, leaving them constantly vulnerable to exploitation.
Their social standing was among the lowest in the city, leaving them especially vulnerable to exploitation.
Under Davey's command were people of many different backgrounds—Black, White, German, and French alike. Naturally, there was no reason others couldn't be included as well.
As for so-called martial arts from the East, such a concept didn't exist yet—after all, Bruce Lee wouldn't be born for another forty-one years.
After a moment of contemplation, meeting Chen's hopeful gaze, Davey finally spoke.
"Mr. Chen, I believe I can help you resolve this minor issue."
"My people are currently recruiting employees. Perhaps your friends would be willing to apply."
"They may not know how to ride horses or shoot, but that's not a problem. I can train them, as long as they're willing to work for me."
"Of course, their pay won't match that of formal employees. They'll start as apprentices and receive half the salary—fifty dollars."
"If anyone is willing to follow me and obey my orders, Mr. Chen, you can have them come and apply."
...
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