Chapter 257: Mr. Land, Guess Who I Am
As his power continued to grow, Davey began to seriously consider the makeup of the people under him.
Unlike Dutch’s small crew, Davey’s organization was already far more complex, and it would only become more so in the future.
Most of the newly recruited employees were Germans. After all, many of them had received solid military training, followed orders well, and showed a relatively high level of loyalty.
But Davey understood that relying entirely on Germans wouldn’t do. He wasn’t German himself, and in the long run, that imbalance could easily come back to bite him.
Because of his natural affinity for and understanding of Asians, supporting them was inevitable.
Beyond that, he also recruited other whites, African Americans, Latinos, Asians, and even Native American tribes indigenous to the West.
Davey held no ethnic prejudice. In a place like the West, talking about ethnicity had little real meaning.
A more diverse power structure made it easier for him to maintain balance and control.
...
Saint Denis, the Land Mansion.
Not long after Davey returned—
“Mr. Land, the Mayor is on the phone for you,” Elisa said.
Davey went into the study and picked up the receiver.
“Mr. Mayor.”
Mayor Henri Lemieux’s voice came through the line.
“Oh, Mr. Land, I’ve received some good news. Our moonshine will begin selling in Saint Denis tonight, correct?”
“Of course, Mr. Mayor. You know I’ve poured all my money into the distillery. If we don’t start selling soon, I might go bankrupt. Naturally, I’m anxious.”
Henri Lemieux let out a hearty laugh.
“No, no, no, Mr. Land. I know you still have your garment factory, plenty of shops, and your previous moonshine business. You’re not going bankrupt.”
Davey smiled. “Maybe not, but I really am tight on funds lately. I’ve hired too many people, and there are so many workers to support. If I don’t move soon, I might have to go to the bank just to make payroll.”
Lemieux asked, “So, Mr. Land, how many bottles of moonshine have you prepared this time?”
As soon as he heard that, Davey knew exactly why Lemieux had called—to get a sense of the profits.
Lemieux could probably guess there were financial pressures, but as long as the dollar figure was big enough, that was all that mattered.
“About twenty thousand bottles. After promotions and agent fees, I estimate we’ll still make at least ten thousand dollars.”
“Of course, this is only the beginning. Saint Denis has hundreds of thousands of people. That’s a massive market, isn’t it, Mr. Mayor?”
In truth, as the scale expanded and more links in the process were smoothed out, the cost of producing moonshine—medical alcohol included—had dropped even further. By the time it reached Davey, the profit was already more than a dollar per bottle.
That meant selling over twenty thousand bottles would bring in at least twenty thousand dollars in profit.
But when reporting to the mayor and outsiders, he cut the number in half.
“That’s wonderful news, Mr. Land. I think we should host a banquet tomorrow to celebrate, don’t you agree?” Henri Lemieux said, sounding even more pleased.
He held a twenty-percent share. Once all those bottles were sold, that meant two thousand dollars straight into his pocket.
Making that kind of money without lifting a finger—there was nothing not to love.
And this was only the beginning. There would be much more to come.
“Of course, Mr. Mayor. Perhaps we could invite all our partners as well, don’t you think?”
On the surface, Davey had given up eighty percent of the profits. In reality, it was eighty percent of his own fifty-percent share—and he was just as happy.
Saint Denis was far too large a market for him to swallow alone, at least for now.
A perfect outcome. Everyone walked away satisfied.
“Yes, Mr. Land. I’ll make sure to share this good news with everyone.”
“But I’ve also heard some bad news. Apparently, someone in Van Horn Trading is imitating your moonshine. That’s not a good thing, Mr. Land. What do you think?”
Davey replied evenly, “Mr. Mayor, I believe this will be dealt with very soon. Those who offend our shared interests will be punished.”
“I’ve heard they like eating fish. The bottom of the Lannahechee River should be deep enough to keep them well fed.”
Henri Lemieux answered with satisfaction, “Naturally, Mr. Land. Anyone who dares offend our common interests will not be shown mercy.”
“I’ll be waiting for your good news.”
After hanging up the phone, Davey fell into thought.
Once moonshine sales began in Saint Denis, his previously strained finances would expand rapidly.
But the manpower under him was already starting to fall short.
The first recruitment brought in fifty employees. The second added thirty Germans brought over by Emin Deva. The third brought in another hundred, seventy of them German.
That made a total of one hundred eighty employees.
Add to that Donal and his continuously growing group of more than a hundred followers.
In the West, one hundred eighty fully armed employees plus over a hundred cowboys was an enormous force.
But for Davey’s current scale of business, it wasn’t enough—not even close.
The recruitment plan had to continue.
This time, he would need at least two hundred more employees.
It would be a heavy burden, but the moonshine business in Saint Denis should be able to support it.
Only with enough manpower could his expansion continue.
At that moment, Elisa walked in.
She poured him some brandy and lit a cigar.
Davey was just about to speak when—
Ring, ring.
The phone rang again.
Davey frowned slightly and picked up the receiver. “Hello, this is Davey Land.”
Landlines in this era didn’t have caller ID.
Just as he assumed it was another partner calling to ask about the moonshine, a voice came through—both unfamiliar and strangely familiar, with a playful edge to it.
“Mr. Land, guess who I am.”
Author's Note
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