Chapter 282 - 286

Chapter 282: The Final Plan

Arthur wanted to calm Dutch down, but by then, Bronte had already gone still.

Dutch released his grip. Bronte didn’t move.

Arthur looked at the frenzy in Dutch’s eyes and felt a strange sense of unfamiliarity—but in the end, he said nothing.

Bronte wasn’t dead yet. He had only passed out from choking on water.

Madness flickered in Dutch’s eyes. He had come here tonight intending to kill Bronte from the start.

“Arthur, my boy… what is it you wanted to say?”

Dutch didn’t rush to shove Bronte into the water. Instead, he calmly took out a cigar, lit it, and drew in a slow, satisfied breath.

The taste of revenge was intoxicating.

Despite his earlier outburst, Dutch had noticed Arthur’s hesitation.

As a “father,” he felt it was time to teach his son something.

Arthur hesitated. He might occasionally needle Dutch, but contradicting him now would openly challenge his authority.

“Dutch… maybe we don’t have to kill him. He’s rich, isn’t he?”

“We could get more money out of him. Maybe we wouldn’t even need to rob the bank.”

“Then we take a boat somewhere no one knows us. Tahiti. Grow mangoes…”

Arthur hadn’t finished when Dutch cut him off sharply.

“Arthur, what are you saying? Do you even hear yourself?!”

“You want to turn us into kidnappers? Have you abandoned our ideals?”

Dutch was a man of belief. He worshipped the image of Robin Hood—robbing the rich, never preying on the poor.

He committed crimes for money, yes—but kidnapping?

That was something he despised. Loathed. Considered beneath them.

It sounded contradictory, but that was the creed Dutch believed in—the line the Van der Linde Gang had drawn between themselves and other gangs all these years.

Arthur fell silent.

Hosea, who had meant to speak up as well, remained quiet.

Dutch held his cigar and let his gaze sweep over every man on the boat.

One by one, they lowered their heads.

Dutch was satisfied.

He was still the undisputed leader of the Van der Linde Gang.

He took another drag from his cigar—then gave Bronte a shove.

The unconscious man slipped into the dark water.

The ripples caught the attention of nearby alligators.

The boat drifted farther away.

Soon, a scream cut through the night—then stopped abruptly.

The pain must have woken Bronte as the alligators tore into him, dragging him beneath the surface.

Under the moonlight, the water briefly bloomed red before the blood thinned and vanished into the swamp.

“Alright, boys. Take it easy. Our enemy’s paid what he owed.”

“Now we move on to the final plan.”

“The last one. I promise.”

“I’ve already arranged a ship. Once this job’s done, we’ll have enough money to pay for passage—and start a brand-new life.”

Under Dutch’s speech, the Van der Linde Gang seemed to pull together once more.

...

Bronte had disappeared.

The news sent ripples through Saint Denis.

Early the next morning,

Martelli arrived at the Land mansion.

“I’m sorry, sir is still resting. You’ll have to wait a moment,”

the maid, Elisa, said calmly, as if she didn’t notice the anxiety on Martelli’s face.

Martelli was in a hurry, but he didn’t dare rush matters. He forced a stiff smile.

“My apologies, Miss Elisa. Please don’t disturb Mr. Land’s rest. I’ll wait in the sitting room.”

Elisa smiled. This time, she didn’t bother explaining that she was only a maid.

As Mr. Land’s personal maid, people treated her with a certain respect.

And explaining herself over and over again was exhausting anyway. No matter how many times she clarified, visitors still addressed her as Miss Elisa.

“Would you like some coffee or hot tea, Mr. Martelli?”

“Thank you, I’ll just wait.”

Martelli had no mind for tea.

Only two words filled his thoughts—take over.

Of course, that depended on Bronte being confirmed dead—or never reappearing.

For that, he needed Davey’s help.

About half an hour later—

Ding.

The bell rang.

Elisa came over and said, “Mr. Land should be awake now.”

She went upstairs to assist him with washing and dressing.

The mansion came alive.

The chef began preparing breakfast.

Freshly baked brioche, sliced and spread with a thin layer of foie gras.

Honey-brushed croissants. Perfectly poached eggs. Yorkshire ham.

Someone hurried off to bring in freshly drawn milk to serve with oats imported from Provence.

Upstairs,

Davey had already been awake for some time.

He hadn’t come down earlier because he was on the telephone with Abbas, discussing what had happened the night before and the current situation in Saint Denis.

Even though Davey already knew that Bronte—now in Dutch’s hands—was most likely dead.

After washing up with Elisa’s assistance and getting dressed, Davey finally came downstairs.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Martelli.”

...

Chapter 283: Dividing Bronte’s Empire

“Mr. Land.”

The moment he saw Davey, Martelli stood up straight, posture rigid, his expression full of respect—just as he used to stand before Bronte.

Davey smiled faintly, walked over, and sat down on the sofa, gesturing for Martelli to take a seat as well.

Elisa stepped into a discreet corner of the living room and gently pulled a cord.

Ding.

Three maids entered carrying breakfast.

“Martelli, have you eaten?”

Davey knew Martelli was anxious, but breakfast was not something to be skipped. Skipping it too often led to stomach problems.

“Mr. Land, I’ve already eaten.”

In truth, Martelli had no appetite at all. Since Bronte was attacked and abducted last night, he hadn’t slept.

Mafia members had been searching everywhere, but they had found nothing.

After what felt like an unbearably long wait to Martelli, Davey finally finished breakfast.

The maids quickly cleared the table.

Davey gave a small wave, and Elisa led the servants out.

What came next was not for their ears.

“What is it you want, Mr. Martelli?”

Davey’s tone was calm, as if discussing something trivial.

Martelli swallowed, slightly tense.

“Mr. Land… may I ask—will Mr. Bronte be coming back?”

Davey smiled.

“That’s a very smart question. And I can tell you with certainty—Mr. Bronte will never return.”

Martelli visibly relaxed.

Davey’s assurance meant that even if Bronte were still alive at this moment, he would not remain so for long.

He did not suspect deception. Word had already spread that it was the Van der Linde Gang who had abducted Bronte.

And as someone who had once come from the Van der Linde Gang, Davey clearly still maintained contact with them.

“So,” Davey continued, “since you came to see me, what exactly are you looking for?”

The question might have sounded redundant, but the pressure behind it was unmistakable.

Greed flickered in Martelli’s eyes.

“Mr. Land, I need your help. I want to become the boss of the Saint Denis Mafia.”

Davey smiled lightly.

“If that’s all, I don’t believe you need my help. As the second-in-command of the Saint Denis Mafia, with Mr. Bronte missing, the men should naturally follow you. Shouldn’t they?”

Martelli lowered his head, his tone even more respectful.

“Mr. Land, I hope to have your protection.”

Strange as it sounded, it made perfect sense to anyone who understood the situation.

As the former “second boss,” Martelli could legitimately take over Bronte’s operations. Whether or not Bronte had arranged proper transfers of his legal assets before his death, the Mafia had its own methods.

But legal assets were only one part of the equation.

The gray businesses were another matter entirely.

Bronte had controlled vast interests in Saint Denis—gambling, prostitution, loan sharking, labor brokerage, protection rackets, smuggling, and more.

In the original storyline, one could even find Bronte’s ledger at his home, listing protection fees and the names of the merchants paying them—businesses that could all be located throughout Saint Denis.

Protection money was the most basic income stream for any gang. But just because Bronte could collect it didn’t mean Martelli could.

The Mafia was not the only gang in Saint Denis.

Bronte had expanded the Mafia’s dominance through sheer capability, suppressing rival factions.

Besides the Mafia, there were Irish gangs, Jewish gangs, and over a dozen smaller outfits of various kinds. Even those ethnic gangs were not unified—they were fragmented into their own factions.

Through various means, Bronte had ensured that the Mafia—the Italian gang—stood at the top, overshadowing the others.

Simply put, when gang fights broke out, Bronte could use his connections within the Saint Denis Police Department to pull his own men out of jail while ensuring rival gang members stayed locked up.

But now that Bronte was gone, would Police Chief Benjamin do the same for Martelli?

In the later game storyline, Charles eventually ends up fighting in underground boxing matches run by Martelli. If one looked closely, the crowd around the ring was almost entirely Italian.

That meant that after Bronte’s death, the Italian gang’s gray assets in Saint Denis had gradually been swallowed up by other factions. In the end, they were reduced to scraps like underground boxing.

But now, Martelli wanted more.

And he understood clearly—if he wanted to hold on to Bronte’s businesses, he would need Davey.

Davey considered this, then asked,

“How much do you want, Mr. Martelli?”

Martelli lowered his voice.

“If Mr. Land is willing to provide protection, I am prepared to offer half of the assets.”

It sounded generous.

Davey simply smiled without responding.

What a joke.

He had spent so long laying the groundwork in Saint Denis to take over Bronte’s empire—and now Martelli wanted half?

That wasn’t Martelli’s half. That was Davey’s half.

Seeing no reaction, Martelli raised the offer.

“Sixty percent, Mr. Land.”

Davey calmly lifted his Earl Grey and took a sip, as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Seventy percent, Mr. Land. Seventy percent of all Italian gang assets.”

Martelli nearly gritted his teeth as he said it. The pain in his voice was obvious.

Davey set down his teacup.

Seventy percent.

Not bad.

But not enough.

He fixed Martelli with a steady gaze.

“Eighty percent. I don’t want Bronte’s legal assets. And you will stop dealing in bootlegging, labor brokerage, and smuggling.”

It wasn’t a negotiation. It was an order.

He didn’t want the legal assets for two reasons. First, they weren’t worth much. Second, transferring them would leave an obvious trail.

What Davey wanted was control of the Italian gang from the shadows. After all, the Mafia’s real power base was in the eastern United States, not just Saint Denis. And the legal businesses were publicly known as Bronte’s.

The bootlegging share Bronte once held would naturally be reclaimed.

Smuggling was something Davey intended to monopolize in the future.

As for labor brokerage—his blueprint for a “world factory” did not allow gangs to dominate labor intermediaries or exploit workers through extortion.

The remaining gray income streams could stay under Martelli’s name. Davey would collect from behind the scenes.

“I will follow your instructions, Mr. Land.”

Though his heart ached, Martelli also felt a sense of relief.

He knew his own limits.

Twenty percent of the gray income might not seem like much—but without Davey’s protection, he would get nothing at all.

...

Chapter 284: Temporary Law Enforcement Authority

Bronte’s disappearance hadn’t caused much of a stir yet.

The newspapers in Saint Denis were published semiweekly—only twice a week.

Following Davey’s instructions, Martelli immediately began arranging manpower to safeguard his businesses.

Land Manor.

Mac strode in, practically glowing with excitement.

“Davey! Davey!”

Elisa hurried over to stop him.

“Mr. Mac, Mr. Land is upstairs on the telephone. Please don’t disturb him.”

Mac sighed. “Alright, Elisa. Get me a cup of Earl Grey.”

Elisa sent a maid to prepare it.

Upstairs.

Davey was on the phone with Catherine.

Because of Davey, Catherine had always kept a close eye on news from the West.

Bronte’s disappearance hadn’t been reported yet in Saint Denis, but it had already appeared in the newspapers back East—though only as a small column.

Even back East, Bronte was considered a wealthy man.

The newspapers there reported that in Saint Denis, in the West, a wealthy man’s estate had been attacked and he had been kidnapped.

That kind of sensationalized portrayal of the West’s “savagery” always found an audience.

“The so-called wealthy man who was attacked is a gang leader.”

“Those media people back East don’t understand a thing. They just love painting the West as barbaric.”

“This is a dispute between gangs.”

“And it has nothing to do with me. I’m a legitimate businessman, Catherine.”

“I’m perfectly safe. I even have my own security company.”

Hearing that, Catherine finally relaxed.

“I think I hear someone calling your name.”

Davey chuckled. “That’s my foolish brother, Mac. He’s always shouting.”

“You’ll meet him when you come to Saint Denis.”

After a few more sweet words, Davey hung up and went downstairs.

Mac had already grown impatient in the living room. He’d finished three cups of Earl Grey.

“Davey, don’t phone calls cost money? You were talking forever.”

Davey ignored the complaint.

“So, Mac. What dragged you off a woman and over here?”

“Davey, isn’t this my home too?”

These days, Mac was the only one who dared speak to Davey like that.

Davey smiled. “Oh, so you remember this is your home? Think about it—how long’s it been since you actually came back?”

Mac looked a little embarrassed.

He practically lived in the top-floor suite of the Saint Denis Hotel now.

Every day he either watched the gambling operations with Martelli or drank hot coffee.

“Alright, Davey. I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“I heard you’ve taken over Bronte’s businesses. Is that true? A lot of them?”

Mac finally got to the point, his excitement returning.

His partnership with Martelli—gambling and the adult trade—was only a small slice of the whole operation.

“That’s right,” Davey said. “So what are you getting at?”

Mac rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Give them to me, Davey. You know I’m already handling this kind of business.”

“Give them to you?” Davey shot back. “You’ve got the nerve to say that? You can’t even balance the books. Do you have any idea how big those operations are?”

Mac had no reply. Because it was true—he couldn’t manage accounts at all.

And in truth, it wasn’t just Mac. Most gangs were the same. Their books were a complete mess.

It wasn’t that Davey didn’t want to hire an accountant. The problem was that with gang accounts, loyalty mattered more than skill. If the accountant couldn’t be trusted, they’d sell you out, cheat you, or pocket the money before you even realized it.

Davey already had someone in mind.

Strauss—the man who had been tortured to death without betraying Dutch—was undoubtedly the best candidate.

Strauss understood gang operations inside and out. Davey had worked with him many times before. Back when the Van der Linde Gang handled debt collection, the Callander brothers had carried out the work.

“I’ll bring Donal over,” Davey said at last. “I’ll put Bronte’s businesses under your name, but Donal will handle the actual management. All you need to do is lead your men and keep other gangs from causing trouble.”

Mac immediately threw his arms around Davey in a tight hug.

“You really are my good brother, Davey. This is perfect.”

Davey pushed him away with a look of exasperation. “Get lost, Mac. And I’m warning you—watch your health. And don’t forget what you promised me.”

Mac’s patience wore thin at that.

“Davey, I swear, you’re starting to sound like our late father. And our late mother.”

With that, he hurried out.

He truly couldn’t understand why Davey had suddenly started urging him to get married.

He almost said Davey wasn’t married either—but then remembered Davey already had a girlfriend, and thought better of it.

Davey watched him leave and let out a quiet sigh.

As the business grew larger, the lack of reliable, loyal people became more and more obvious.

In places like the United States and the West—where betrayal and deceit were everywhere—finding someone you could truly trust was no easy task.

Counting carefully, Davey could name the people he trusted on one hand.

Take Bronte, for example. Martelli had followed him for years, yet given enough profit, he would sell him out without hesitation.

Mac was an idiot, his head full of muscle and hot coffee—but he was Davey’s twin brother. That alone set him apart from everyone else.

Why had Davey tried to poach people from Dutch? Because the Van der Linde Gang, whatever their other flaws, had a natural strength when it came to loyalty and bonds.

Those drunken old “uncles” who did nothing but drink—if something ever happened to Davey, they would step forward without hesitation.

John was the same.

As for later additions like Donal, they were more like Martelli—capable, yes, but loyalty was another matter.

Many bosses, even generals, favored appointing relatives and close associates. Not because they were blind—but because in critical positions, you needed people you could trust. Even if they had flaws, that was fine, so long as they weren’t complete fools or ungrateful traitors.

Just then, the upstairs telephone rang again.

Elisa answered and called out to Davey.

“Mr. Land, it’s Mrs. Berry.”

Davey went upstairs to take the call.

Mrs. Berry delivered the news: earlier that day, the City Council had passed a resolution. Citing the inaction of the Saint Denis Police Department, the council proposed granting Pinkerton temporary law enforcement authority in Lemoyne.

The decision had now been submitted to the State Legislature for ratification.

Although the State Legislature held legislative authority, Saint Denis was the only city in Lemoyne, and the City Council’s proposals were rarely rejected.

After hanging up, Davey didn’t leave. He immediately placed another call.

A voice answered from the receiver.

“Hello, Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

“This is Davey Land. Please inform Senior Agent Andrew Milton that I’ll be waiting for his call.”

...

Chapter 285: Pressure from Davey

Shady Belle.

After killing Bronte, Dutch and the others began preparing to rob the Saint Denis Bank.

“Dutch, maybe we shouldn’t move so fast. I went into Saint Denis today—the streets are crawling with police. Bronte’s death has people on edge.”

Hosea laid out what he’d seen in town and offered his opinion.

Dutch shook his head. “You’re wrong, Hosea. Think about it—precisely because they’re hunting for us, this is our opportunity. Their eyes will be searching the crowds. They won’t expect us to hit the bank right now, will they?”

“What about you, Arthur? What do you think?”

Arthur answered casually, “Seems to me we don’t have much choice. The longer we stay around here, the more dangerous it gets.”

Hosea fell silent for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Maybe you’re right.”

“Let’s go over the details.”

Pointing at the map, Hosea continued, “I’ve confirmed it with the girls several times. There’s only one armed guard inside the bank. That’s good news.”

“The patrols usually pass through here. Once Karen and I cause a distraction, that’ll be our opening.”

Dutch nodded. “Sounds promising. Arthur, you got anything to add?”

Arthur thought for a second. “We’ve got plenty of men. We know how to fight. Those city police don’t look too tough. If we move fast, we can handle it.”

“If that’s the plan Hosea’s laid out, then I think it’s a good one.”

He added, “Might even be easier to distract them during the day.”

Dutch hesitated, then said, “I agree!”

Hosea replied, “We move at night. Like in a stage play—slip into the bank. If we can’t keep it quiet, they’ll gun us down.”

Dutch felt a little embarrassed and quickly added, “I know… I was just confirming.”

Hosea went on, “Any plan can work if it’s executed properly. Every problem we’ve faced came from not acting the right way.”

“In my opinion, even what happened in Blackwater was the same.”

At the mention of Blackwater, Dutch’s eyes grew distant. “You’re right, Hosea.”

...

Lamarque Café.

One of the businesses that used to pay protection money to Bronte.

Davey was waiting for Milton.

Before long, Milton arrived with Ross.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Milton. Mr. Ross.”

“Likewise, Mr. Land.”

It was obvious both Milton and Ross were in high spirits.

Once seated, the waiter brought coffee.

Davey smiled faintly. “Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted, didn’t you? Temporary law enforcement authority in Lemoyne.”

Milton wasn’t surprised Davey knew. He was well aware of Davey’s connections in Saint Denis.

“It hasn’t been finalized yet, Mr. Land. The State Legislature is still reviewing it.”

Davey took a sip of coffee, clearly unimpressed with the taste. “Saint Denis is a mess. The Saint Denis Police Department has made themselves look incompetent. I’d wager by this afternoon—or tomorrow morning at the latest—the State Legislature will approve it.”

Ross suddenly cut in, his tone sharp.

“Let’s not pretend, Mr. Land. We all know why you asked to meet. You came out of the Van der Linde Gang. You’re still in contact with them.”

“But you need to understand—they’re criminals. We won’t compromise.”

“And don’t think going to Mr. Grayson will change anything. The senior leadership takes this matter very seriously. This is the will of Pinkerton as a whole. No one can stop it.”

Davey set down his coffee and looked calmly at Milton.

“Is that your position as well, Mr. Milton?”

Milton answered evenly, “I apologize if Ross’s tone was harsh, but he’s not wrong.”

“Ever since we lost our law enforcement authority, we’ve been waiting for another opportunity. This temporary authority matters to everyone—including Mr. Grayson.”

Davey asked, “Does Pinkerton really believe that this temporary authority will return things to how they used to be?”

Milton shook his head. “You’re right. We can’t go back to the old Pinkerton era. But even temporary authority will bring us more contracts—and significantly higher fees.”

Davey fell silent. He knew Milton was telling the truth.

With business declining, Pinkerton would certainly publicize their temporary authority in Lemoyne. The moment the State Legislature confirmed it, the news would spread across the eastern United States.

That said, Davey had never intended to truly stop Pinkerton.

If Dutch pulled off the robbery smoothly, it would only raise his prestige within the Van der Linde Gang. Davey had no desire to help that happen.

After a moment, Davey lit a cigarette and spoke slowly.

“You know, Milton, I spent many years with the Van der Linde Gang. Even though I’ve left, in my heart, they’re still family.”

“I can’t stop Pinkerton’s actions. But I hope you’ll use your authority properly.”

“Arrest them. Interrogate them. Fine.”

“But no killing.”

His tone turned solemn at the end.

Milton remained silent, but Ross immediately snapped back.

“I need to remind you, Davey Callander—this is Pinkerton’s internal business. You have no right to interfere.”

Milton’s expression changed at once. He was about to smooth things over—

But Davey spoke first.

“You’re right, Mr. Ross. I have no authority to interfere in Pinkerton’s internal affairs. But if I’m willing to pay a high enough price, I doubt Mr. Grayson would refuse a small suggestion from me.”

“For example—having you dismissed, Mr. Ross.”

Milton immediately barked, “Apologize. Now. Apologize to Mr. Land immediately.”

He had no doubt about Davey’s capability. If the price were right, Grayson would not hesitate to sacrifice Ross.

Ross’s face went pale, but he stood and bowed stiffly.

“My apologies, Mr. Land. Please forgive my rashness.”

In that moment, Ross looked as if he’d swallowed something foul.

Davey didn’t even glance at him. He turned back to Milton.

“So, Mr. Milton… can we speak properly now?” 

...

Chapter 286: Milton’s Compromise

From the moment the Van der Linde Gang left the snowy mountains and departed Colter, Milton had already fixed his eyes on them.

Horseshoe Overlook. Clemens Point. Shady Belle.

Every time the Van der Linde Gang relocated, it ultimately ended with Pinkerton tracking them down.

Each time, Pinkerton managed to uncover their hideout.

Milton always appeared to be giving them a chance. In truth, the conditions he proposed were ones Dutch and the rest of the gang could never possibly accept.

He was driving them forward—step by step—pushing them toward Saint Denis.

Why the Van der Linde Gang?

Because the other gangs were too weak. They couldn’t create enough of a stir, and their members were too disorganized to control.

The Van der Linde Gang was different. They were tight-knit and relatively small. Old men, women, children—and several sharpshooter-level cowboys.

To Milton, they were the perfect target.

Having come up through Pinkerton’s golden age, Milton was a Senior Agent. Countless criminals had died, directly or indirectly, because of him.

It could be said that every Pinkerton Senior Agent was forged from piles of criminals’ bones.

As for using a band of robbers and killers to serve his purposes—Milton felt no guilt whatsoever.

And the facts proved he’d chosen well. The Van der Linde Gang had not disappointed him. His plan had worked.

But now there was an unexpected variable.

The Callander brothers.

More precisely—Davey Land.

Davey’s rise had been astonishing. In just over half a year, he had gone from a wanted criminal to a prominent figure in Saint Denis—the only truly civilized city in the West.

He now even had the leverage to speak directly with Pinkerton’s top leadership.

Over the course of his life, Milton had seen many such men—those who rode the tide of the times and, in a short span, amassed wealth and influence that ordinary men could never reach in a lifetime, becoming legends in the process.

Even now, the United States had no shortage of such figures.

And the Davey standing before him was about to become one of them.

So Milton treated him with proper respect.

“Mr. Land… what is it you want?”

After a long silence, Milton asked the question seriously.

Ignoring Ross’s apology, Davey looked at Milton.

“As I said before, the Van der Linde Gang is my family.”

“Once you obtain law enforcement authority, you may arrest them. You may interrogate them.”

“But you are not to take their lives. That is my only condition.”

“If anything goes wrong, I will hold you responsible, Mr. Milton.”

“And… Mr. Ross.”

Without waiting for a reply, Davey stood.

“Mr. Ross, no need to apologize. Just remember what I said.”

“Oh—and the coffee bill.”

With that, he walked out.

Outside the café, Kerry Laval was already waiting. The moment Davey stepped through the door, Kerry draped a coat over his shoulders.

At least ten security personnel followed close behind.

They were there to guard him at all times—alert, watchful, protective.

Inside the room.

As the sound of footsteps faded, Ross finally exploded.

“Sir, are we really going to let him—a robber and a murderer—pressure us like this?”

Milton gave a faint, bitter smile.

“Ross… do you really think we have the ability to defy him?”

“There are things you should know. Out here in the West, quite a few of our own agents are secretly working for Davey.”

“Our operations—even our intelligence—can end up on his desk the moment they’re produced.”

“Just like he said, if he’s willing to pay enough, Mr. Gray would dismiss you without hesitation. That’s not a threat. That’s reality.”

“And that’s not all. Through his connections, Davey could have us removed from overseeing this operation and replaced with someone willing to cooperate with him.”

“An hour before we set out, Senior Agent Bruno called headquarters, proposing that he take over temporary law enforcement authority in Lemoyne.”

“Fortunately, Mr. William rejected the proposal.”

Pinkerton Detective Agency had been founded by Allan Pinkerton.

After Allan Pinkerton’s death in 1884, his two sons—Robert Pinkerton and William Pinkerton—took joint control of the agency.

William Pinkerton remained at the Chicago headquarters, overseeing and directing all operations in the western United States.

Robert Pinkerton established an office in New York, supervising operations in the eastern United States.

Pinkerton had its own internal power struggles. The temporary law enforcement authority in Lemoyne was something other Senior Agents clearly wanted a share of.

Only then did Ross realize that not only he—but even Milton—was under Davey’s pressure.

“So we just give him what he wants, sir?” Ross asked unwillingly.

Milton answered calmly, “Why not? It doesn’t conflict with our objectives.”

“Killing them or capturing them makes no difference to us. Why provoke an enemy we can’t afford to offend over something so minor?”

“Our goal is simple. We need everyone to see that the United States needs Pinkerton. That’s enough.”

Compromising with a criminal left Ross feeling deeply stifled, but he had no alternative.

“…Understood, sir.”

Milton stood.

“Just as I expected—after killing Bronte, Dutch didn’t leave. They slipped into Saint Denis and have been lingering near the bank.”

“It seems they want one last big score before they go. The Saint Denis Bank is their target.”

Ross frowned. “They could’ve kidnapped Bronte for a ransom, taken a large sum of money, and then killed him. Instead, they killed him outright and still plan to rob the bank.”

Pinkerton had already recovered Bronte’s mutilated body from the swamp, but they had not made the death public—naturally, to strengthen their case for law enforcement authority.

Milton gave a slight shake of his head.

“Who knows.”

He paused.

“Oh—and Ross.”

“Don’t forget to pay the bill.”