Milton was a smart man. His judgment had been correct.
Davey had never intended to "wash his hands clean." In the United States, there was no such thing as black and white—only dollars.
If Milton truly chose to stand against him, Davey wouldn't hesitate to eliminate both Milton and Ross.
Saint Denis at night was chaos.
Theft and robbery were constant.
Except, of course, on Rue Flavienne.
This was the wealthy district. Security there was impeccable. Even at night, patrol officers circled twenty-four hours a day. Any suspicious figure would be detained and questioned immediately.
Every intersection, every alley, had officers on duty.
When Dutch took revenge on Bronte, he had to approach from the river behind the estate instead of walking the streets openly.
And because of that incident, even the small river behind the property was now guarded by patrols.
...
Land mansion.
After Abbas finished reporting on Dutch and the others' movements, Davey showed little reaction.
He had long known Dutch would hide near the docks and try to stow away on a ship.
Milton likely had similar intelligence.
Dutch believed he was hiding well, but in truth, no one was bothering to close in on him.
Pinkerton needed Dutch and the others to keep running. As long as the robbery case remained unresolved, their temporary law enforcement authority wouldn't be revoked.
If all the robbers were captured, that authority would naturally disappear.
They had already arrested several suspects. That was enough to give the city council an explanation—for now.
"Call Donal."
Donal, who had been waiting, entered and bowed respectfully.
"Mr. Land."
Davey ignored him.
He simply smoked his cigar, staring out at the night beyond the window.
Donal quickly sensed something was wrong.
Ten full minutes passed. Sweat dripped from his forehead before Davey finally crushed the cigar out.
"Nothing you want to tell me, Donal?"
His voice was calm, unreadable.
Donal's body trembled.
"Chairman, I was wrong. Please give me one more chance."
He dropped to his knees.
"I always trusted you, Donal," Davey said evenly. "But you've disappointed me."
"Do you think I can't read a ledger because I didn't study much? Or do you think I'm too kind?"
"Tell me. What's the situation?"
Donal didn't dare hide anything.
The moonshine Davey produced had long been subject to theft.
At first, workers would sneak a sip during production. Before bottling, a little loss was impossible to detect.
As the factory expanded, such things became unavoidable.
Then the stealing escalated.
Once one person started, others followed.
Money tempts the heart. Even Donal had gotten involved. The profit margins were enormous—real, shining dollars.
"Donal," Davey asked quietly, "do you want to die, or do you want to live?"
Donal's voice shook.
"I want to live, sir."
Davey fell silent.
He was short on capable people. Donal was competent in many areas.
Killing him outright would be a waste.
"I'll give you one last chance. But punishment is unavoidable."
"Go to the factory. Gather all the workers. Pick out the ten who stole the most. Shoot them in front of everyone."
"Repay three times the amount you took. Then take fifty lashes in public."
Donal knocked his head against the floor.
"Thank you, Chairman."
Davey sighed.
"Don't take it again, Donal. Some money isn't meant to be touched. You might live long enough to take it—but not long enough to spend it."
"If you don't steal, your subordinates won't dare. If they don't steal, the workers won't dare."
"Set up alcohol inspectors at the factory. Anyone caught drinking during work hours is fired immediately."
"Go. Have Abbas accompany you. Let every worker witness it."
By then, Donal was soaked through—fear and regret mixing together.
"Thank you, Chairman."
...
Davey was expanding the moonshine factory rapidly.
His moonshine was produced using the most advanced equipment in the United States. The quality was high, the price low—making it the drink of choice for most customers.
After continuous development, they had launched seven different flavors, taking over most of the market in New Hanover and Lemoyne.
It wasn't that there were no competitors.
Some even sold at lower prices.
But dominating a market required more than flavor. It required manpower—and deterrence.
Anyone who dared sell moonshine in New Hanover or Lemoyne, no matter the gang, would face Davey's harsh retaliation.
Land Security was not to be trifled with.
Its employees, earning over a hundred dollars in salary, weren't idle. They carried out missions daily.
Out of sight, countless gang members across New Hanover and Lemoyne had been hunted down and killed by Davey's men.
The Germans were natural soldiers—disciplined and obedient, far more reliable than most.
Many of the Chinese had also gone through training.
After rigorous drills, they were no less capable than the Germans.
The difference was in how they saw things.
The Germans treated Davey as an employer.
The Chinese treated him as their commander.
Most of them had arrived with nothing. Davey gave them steady wages, full meals every day, and a place where they were organized, trained, and valued.
To them, it felt like starting over.
They didn't care much for politics or systems of government. What they understood was loyalty and hierarchy. In their eyes, Davey wasn't just running a business—he was building power.
Privately, many of them called him "Great King."
The nickname had first spread through Chen, who had once served as Davey's cook.
Chen was no longer in the kitchen. He now handled recruitment, assignments, and internal discipline among the Chinese workers—something closer to an internal overseer than a servant.
If Davey ever gave the word, they would answer without hesitation.
They were always ready.
...
Each day, moonshine brought Davey tens of thousands of dollars.
The real bottleneck wasn't sales—it was production.
Take Saint Denis alone. With its population in the hundreds of thousands, the market there could generate tens of thousands of dollars per day.
But production capacity hadn't caught up yet.
For now, that piece of fat had to remain untouched.
...
Meanwhile.
In an abandoned house near the Saint Denis docks,
Dutch, Arthur, and the others sat in silence.
They looked exhausted.
...
(Disclaimer: This fanfic has not been dropped. It is only on hiatus for now. As soon as there are new chapters, I will post them.)
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