Chapter 287 - 291

Chapter 287: The Irish Mob

At last, the Saint Denis newspapers published the news of Bronte’s disappearance.

As the story spread, the entire city was thrown into turmoil.

The wealthy had known for some time. The real unrest came from Saint Denis’s various gangs.

Until now, the Italian Mafia had dominated the city. Through ruthless methods, Bronte had secured the largest share of the gray-market pie.

Now that Bronte was dead, every gang began to stir.

In Saint Denis, aside from the Italian Mafia, the most powerful forces were the Irish gangs and the Mexican gangs.

The United States was a nation of immigrants; the indigenous population was already small.

Many immigrant groups had settled across this land. The largest were the British. In the early days of the country, three-quarters of the population had been of British descent. Even now, most of the upper class remained British.

Next came the Germans. Yet German immigrants had rarely formed large criminal organizations. Most possessed skilled trades and craftsmanship, quickly rising into the middle class. The conditions simply hadn’t favored large-scale gang formation.

After them came the Irish, African Americans, Mexicans, and others.

As the third-largest ethnic group, the Irish supplied the largest pool of manpower within Saint Denis’s underworld.

But numbers did not mean dominance.

Unlike the Germans, Irish immigrants had fled hardship. In the mid-19th century, the Great Potato Famine devastated Ireland. Millions were forced to leave due to hunger and poverty. The United States, with its vast land and growing industries hungry for labor, became their primary destination.

Most Irish immigrants came from the poorest southern and western regions of Ireland—largely illiterate farmers with few skills. They could only take the lowest-paying jobs.

By the 1890s, as industry shifted and positions grew scarce, a flood of new immigrants forced the Irish to compete with African Americans and other newcomers for the worst wages.

For many, joining a gang became an alternative. Even a small cut from gang activity paid better than honest labor.

Mexicans were fewer in number. Many crossed over due to proximity, and while they were more concentrated in the poorer western regions, Saint Denis still had its share.

The Italians were fewer still—but the Mafia operated as a structured organization. They were the regular army of the underworld, far more disciplined than the loose networks of impoverished immigrants.

Bronte had built the Italian Mafia in Saint Denis precisely because of that structure—clear hierarchy, ambition, and connections to the Eastern Mafia. Even limited support from the East was more than the lower-tier gangs could ever hope for.

When a king falls, the vultures circle.

By all rights, Bronte’s death should have meant everyone dividing his empire.

But because of Davey, that was unlikely.

...

Land Manor.

Davey listened quietly as Trappett of the Saint Denis Police Department reported over the telephone.

“Mr. Land, as instructed, I’ve deployed all officers to protect your properties.”

“This may be the largest disturbance Saint Denis has ever seen.”

“There are too many of them—the Irish gangs, the Mexican gangs. They’ve mobilized large numbers to cause trouble.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Land, we will protect your assets. There will be no losses.”

“I’ve ordered that any illegally gathered gang members may be shot on sight.”

“Chief Benjamin is unhappy with me. But the officers understand he won’t be chief for much longer. They’d rather follow my orders—no, your orders, Mr. Land.”

As Davey held the receiver, sporadic gunshots echoed from outside.

Though the gangs had gathered in large numbers, once the officers began firing, they quickly scattered.

Davey smiled.

“Congratulations, Officer Trappett. I’m sure the City Council will appreciate your contribution. Saint Denis maintains order because of you.”

On the other end, Trappett stood straight.

“Thank you for the praise, Mr. Land.”

“I won’t forget your assistance, Officer Trappett. I imagine before long I’ll be calling you Chief Trappett.”

“It is my honor to serve you, Mr. Land.”

Davey hung up.

Elisa immediately brought him a lit cigar.

These gangs were nothing more than rabble. Most of them barely had a revolver between them. They stood no chance against trained officers—especially with Davey’s own men already guarding the premises.

The unrest rose quickly.

And it faded just as quickly.

...

That evening, Mac brought someone to see Davey.

“Davey, this is Callum O’Sullivan, head of the O’Sullivan gang. He wants to talk.”

Callum stood stiffly and bowed.

“Mr. Land.”

Davey frowned slightly. He glanced at Callum but said nothing, turning instead to Mac.

Bringing someone unannounced was disrespectful.

Mac quickly explained, “Callum’s from the south too. Our fathers might’ve come from the same place.”

That reminder stirred something.

The Callander brothers’ father had emigrated from southern Ireland.

Still, Davey himself had no memory of Ireland. The brothers had been born in the United States.

“Mac. Come upstairs.”

“Elisa, see to Mr. Callum.”

...

Upstairs. The study.

Davey looked at his brother.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Mac scratched his head, a little embarrassed.

“Davey… I met Callum at the Saint Denis Casino. He’s there often. When the gangs started planning trouble, he tipped me off early.”

“Have you forgotten? We’re Irish too.”

“Saint Denis is a big city. We need manpower. There are a lot of Irish here—they’re natural allies.”

“Just like the Italian Mafia. Same blood sticks closer, doesn’t it?”

“We don’t have to push them away.”

Davey studied him carefully.

“Hearing that from you surprises me, Mac. So… Callum put those words in your head, didn’t he?”

Mac gave an awkward grin.

“Alright, you caught me. But he’s not wrong.”

In 1899, Irish gangs were the largest criminal force in the United States. Not just in the West—also in the East.

There were over ten million Irish Americans nationwide—around fourteen percent of the population. Nearly twenty percent of Irish men were directly or indirectly involved in gang activity.

Far beyond any other group.

As Davey considered this, a new possibility began to take shape in his mind.

And for the first time that evening—

He felt tempted.

...

Chapter 288: The Irish Brotherhood

Land Manor.

Callum waited anxiously.

He knew very well that whether he could attach himself to Davey was crucial.

As the head of a small gang, Callum had a bit of spare cash and often gambled at Saint Denis’s underground casino. He had recognized early on that Mac was Irish.

At this time, the Irish had not yet gone through generations of intermarriage, making them relatively easy to identify—light hair, pale skin, light-colored eyes. And then there was the unmistakable Irish accent.

The Callander brothers had grown up in an Irish community and naturally spoke Irish.

After a brief exchange, Callum confirmed Mac’s background.

As the second-in-command of the Italian Mafia, Martelli was already well known. Davey’s reputation was even greater because of his bootlegging.

Mac had little sense of caution. Once he became familiar with Callum, he quickly let slip that Davey was his twin brother.

That was when Callum began to form his plan—though he lacked the right moment to act.

That opportunity came when Bronte disappeared. Every gang in Saint Denis wanted a piece of Bronte’s gray-market empire. Callum realized this was his chance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want his own gang to grab a share. But through Mac, he learned that Davey had already made arrangements.

So he tipped Mac off about the other gangs’ movements. “Betrayal” might not be the right word—there was plenty of noise already—but the meaning was clear.

Still, Mac couldn’t make the final decision. Everything depended on Davey.

Callum had said many things to Mac, and their time gambling together had built some trust. That was how he ended up here.

But Davey was not someone easily fooled.

Upstairs, Davey had spoken only briefly with Mac. To Callum, however, it felt like an eternity.

Finally, Davey and Mac came downstairs.

“Mr. Land.”

Callum immediately rose to show respect.

Davey gave a small nod. So far, the man understood manners.

“I hear you’re from the south, Mr. Callum.”

This time, Davey spoke in Irish.

Callum’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, Mr. Land. I left the south ten years ago, made my way to the United States by stowing away, drifted through the West, and only came to Saint Denis four years ago.”

The first major wave of Irish immigration had come around 1850—nearly fifty years ago.

Davey continued, “I must admit, I never paid much attention to these matters before. Tell me—how are our people faring here in Saint Denis?”

It was an obvious question, but Davey needed an opening.

Callum answered frankly.

“Not well, sir. We take the lowest wages and the most dangerous jobs—hauling freight at the docks, laying railroad tracks, working in slaughterhouses.”

“The factory owners treat us like animals. Fourteen hours a day, and we can barely afford proper bread.”

“Most of our people live in the slums in South Saint Denis. Ten or more packed into a leaking shack.”

“Disease spreads often. Many children don’t live past five.”

He spoke faster and faster, emotion rising—perhaps remembering his own early days after arriving in the United States.

Davey didn’t share the emotion. Such hardship was common across the country.

Still, he waited patiently until Callum finished.

“Apologies, sir,” Callum muttered, realizing he had said too much.

Davey waved it off.

“You’re right, Mr. Callum.”

“I suppose I should do what little I can for our countrymen. Offer some help.”

Callum stiffened.

He had hoped to use sympathy as a way into Davey’s organization.

But Davey showed no intention of absorbing him. Instead, he shifted the focus entirely toward charity.

That was not what Callum had expected.

“My factories need workers,” Davey continued. “I’ll offer our people proper employment. Same wages. Same treatment as anyone else.”

“They may lack skills, but that’s fine. We can train them.”

Then he turned to Mac.

“After this, go with Mr. Callum to the Irish neighborhoods. Spread the word.”

He paused, reconsidering.

“Five hundred… no. Eight hundred positions. Two hundred of those reserved for women.”

“I’d like to help everyone, but I can’t.”

“Mac, when selecting people, prioritize those in good health, free of disease, and with families.”

Mac nodded firmly. “Understood.”

Callum felt a twinge of disappointment. Many Irish would celebrate this—but what did it do for him?

Davey, of course, saw straight through him.

After finishing his instructions, he looked at Callum again.

“Callum. How many men do you have?”

Callum straightened at once.

“Three to four hundred, Mr. Land.”

That surprised Davey. The O’Sullivan gang wasn’t even one he had heard of.

“Can they fight?”

“Of course, sir.”

It seemed Davey had underestimated the Irish presence in Saint Denis.

“How many of our people are there in this city?”

Callum hesitated.

“…A great many, sir. They’re everywhere. Tens of thousands, perhaps more.”

Officially, Saint Denis had just over two hundred thousand residents. In reality, with immigration at its peak and countless stowaways slipping in, the true number was far higher—three hundred thousand, four hundred thousand, maybe more.

And that didn’t even count the many African Americans living there.

Davey realized he needed to rethink his approach.

This might be the twilight of the cowboys.

But it was not the end of gangs.

From this point on, gangs would only grow stronger, continuing well into the next century. Across the United States—East and West alike—they would remain powerful forces.

Land Security Company was designed to be elite and specialized. Its numbers would always be limited.

But a gang?

A gang had no such limits.

Thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands.

Perhaps even more.

Davey felt his ambition expanding.

“Elisa. A cigar.”

She hurried over and lit one for him.

After a slow drag, his expression steadied.

He looked at Callum and Mac.

“I’m going to establish the Irish Brotherhood.”

Both men’s eyes lit up instantly.

Mac had long wanted to build a gang of his own. Without Davey’s approval, he could do nothing.

Callum was equally thrilled. This was exactly what he had hoped for.

Davey turned to Mac.

“Go. In my name, begin recruiting our countrymen into the Irish Brotherhood.”

...

Chapter 289: Gang Expansion

Establishing a gang was no simple matter.

Especially for a large-scale organization, a strict and well-defined structure was essential.

Davey had originally considered modeling it after the Mafia, but after some thought, he decided to design his own system instead.

The Irish Brotherhood would operate under a tiered chain of command.

At its core would be the Family Council, responsible for personnel appointments, finances, and industrial assets. The highest leader would be the President—a position held by Davey himself.

In Davey’s vision, each council member would oversee an entire city or a sizable region.

Major gang decisions would be settled through a vote within the Family Council. However, the President retained veto power and the authority to appoint council members.

Below them would be District Managers, responsible for specific areas within a city.

Supervisors would manage individual neighborhoods or even a single street.

Then came the Enforcement Squads: a Battalion Leader, Team Leaders, and armed gang members. Ten men formed one squad; five squads made up a battalion. Their direct superior was the Supervisor.

At the bottom were the regular members—full members and probationary members.

Then there was the matter of pay.

Compensation for the higher ranks was easy enough to arrange. The real difficulty lay with the rank-and-file members.

After some consideration, Davey decided on a living allowance: three dollars per week, plus one bottle of moonshine.

The moonshine cost just over twenty cents to produce, but to the gang members, it was worth at least a dollar.

Monthly salaries were out of the question. If paid monthly, most would likely spend it all in the first few days.

In the West, a few dollars was enough to eat well, and even with lodging included, monthly expenses rarely exceeded ten dollars.

Ultimately, a gang member’s primary income would come from participating in operations and taking a share of the bonuses.

In addition, the gang should eventually provide free medical care, a pension system, and other benefits—but those could be introduced gradually.

With the framework in place, all that remained was to fill it out.

“Elisa, have Donal come over.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mac was unreliable. Davey would grant him a council seat in name, but in practice, he would serve only as an enforcement commander.

What Davey urgently needed now was a capable deputy.

He already had someone in mind—Hosea, who in the original timeline would have been killed by Milton.

Hosea was the perfect candidate. As a co-founder of the Van der Linde Gang, he had always been its strategist and chief adviser.

As for the fact that Hosea was of English descent rather than Irish—that was a minor detail.

It would be enough to say his ancestors had some Irish blood.

And who would dare question Davey’s decision?

On the surface, it was the Irish Brotherhood. In reality, as long as someone was of European descent and had talent, they could be recruited. There were plenty of mixed-heritage people in the United States; European features were common enough. Adding a bit of Irish ancestry to their background would be perfectly believable.

Half an hour later, Donal arrived.

In the living room, Davey spoke plainly.

“I’m establishing a gang—the Irish Brotherhood. This is the organizational structure. Take a look.”

Donal accepted the document and read it carefully before asking, “Sir, my father was Irish. May I join?”

As the second-largest ethnic group in the United States, the Irish were especially prominent among cowboys and urban gangs.

“Of course, Donal. You’re welcome to join.”

“I’m appointing you as District Manager. Your immediate task is to find Mac and Callum, recruit enough members, and organize them according to my plan.”

“There are many Irish gangs in Saint Denis. Speak with their leaders and persuade them to merge into our Irish Brotherhood. If they refuse, they become our enemies.”

“For enemies, have Officer Trappett arrange for their arrest. A jail cell is the best place for them.”

“Select one hundred strong young men and send them to Valentine for a week of armed training. At the very least, they must know how to use a gun.”

Donal bowed respectfully. “I will follow your orders, sir.”

Davey smiled. “Perhaps you should address me differently, Donal.”

Donal paused for a moment, then bowed again. “President.”

...

The Irish Brotherhood expanded far more easily than Davey had expected.

Whether it was the basic living allowance or the factory job quotas,

for Irish people living at the bottom of society, it felt like the Lord’s blessing.

After all, the Irish had another nickname in the United States—the “blacks among whites.”

Donal’s negotiations went smoothly. Aside from a few major Irish gang leaders who refused, the smaller gang bosses were more than willing to follow Davey.

With just the weekly bottle of moonshine as a subsidy, they already understood that the man backing the flourishing moonshine trade in Saint Denis was Davey. Not to mention that all of Bronte’s gray industries were now under his control.

In just two days, the Irish Brotherhood had grown to several thousand members.

The exact figure was still being counted.

Following Davey’s instructions, every member had to complete identity registration. Only those officially registered would be recognized as full members of the Irish Brotherhood.

Davey also needed to recruit a large number of financial personnel. The living allowance would not pass through the Supervisors. Instead, it would be distributed directly to individual members through the gang’s treasury. This was to prevent supervisors from skimming off the top.

With several thousand members, Davey would be spending at least tens of thousands of dollars per month on living allowances alone. But it was worth it.

In theory, once the management structure was fully operational, revenues would far exceed these expenses.

In practice, the number of recruits would likely grow even larger.

On the morning of the third day,

the elected Supervisors—including Callum—arrived at the Land mansion.

For now, it was still a makeshift arrangement. The Supervisors had been elected by the official members—essentially the former gang leaders.

This meant that Davey’s Irish Brotherhood had already absorbed seven gangs outright, bringing total membership to three thousand.

At Davey’s instruction, the Irish Brotherhood temporarily halted further expansion.

The numbers were already too large; internal management needed to be stabilized first.

“President!”

The seven men were extremely respectful. They considered it an honor to share lunch with President Davey.

Davey exchanged a few brief words before instructing them to focus on completing member registration.

After lunch, he ordered his security captain, Kerry Laval, to deploy company employees to fortify the high-rise buildings near Saint Denis Bank.

Although Milton would no longer kill Hosea due to Davey’s intervention, Lenny’s death had involved too many unpredictable factors.

Davey intended to prevent that accident from happening and maintain tighter control over the situation.

As for Dutch, he estimated the action would likely begin tomorrow.

Davey did not want to interfere too much with Dutch’s plan. At this stage, most members of the Van der Linde Gang had not yet grown disillusioned with Dutch.

Even if Hosea were rescued, he might not necessarily leave Dutch’s side.

...

Chapter 290: The Great Robbery of Lemoyne National Bank

Shady Belle.

After several days of reconnaissance, Dutch decided that today was the perfect opportunity.

Hosea sat in the carriage.

“Are you ready, Arthur?”

“Of course.”

A trace of worry flickered in Hosea’s eyes. “So we rob a bank, and within six weeks we’re off to some tropical paradise to start a new life? Plant bananas and spend the rest of our days there?”

“Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

Bill, Javier Escuella, and Micah Bell were all brimming with excitement.

Dutch laid out his plan. “It’s time, gentlemen. The last job.”

Arthur asked, “When do we set sail?”

He wanted to find a comfortable place, maybe get in touch with Mary, and live a steady, peaceful life.

Dutch replied casually, “Once the route’s set, we sail. First we head south by ship to Argentina, then change vessels at Cape Horn.”

Micah Bell grew impatient. “What about the money in Blackwater? We’re just leaving it there?”

Dutch clearly understood what Micah was getting at. “Stop thinking about it. That money’s gone. The way you talk, you’d think it was the only money we ever had.”

“Anyone who dares take our money will pay it back double.”

“This isn’t some backwater town job for a few hundred dollars. This is Saint Denis. Lemoyne National Bank.”

“Hosea’s already scoped it out. We’ve discussed the plan. I’ll go over it one last time.”

“Hosea and Molly will draw the police away. We move in fast.”

“Sean and Lenny cover the front entrance. Javier Escuella takes the side door. Bill, Micah Bell, and Charles control the crowd.”

“Arthur and I handle the bank manager and the vault.”

“Everyone clear?”

The gang answered with eager voices.

Dutch continued, “You all know what to do. We walk straight in and stay calm.”

“No one’s expecting this.”

“If anything goes wrong, fall back to camp.”

“We’ll be leaving in a few days.”

“You good, Bill?”

Bill sounded confident. “Of course.”

Arthur added, “Then stick with Charles. Stay close to him.”

He didn’t mention Micah Bell. Arthur knew that if something went wrong, Micah wasn’t someone you could rely on.

As they neared Saint Denis, Dutch raised his voice. “That’s enough talk, cowboys. Let’s do this one more time!”

“Move out!”

...

Near Lemoyne National Bank.

Inside a second-floor room.

Ross reported to Milton, “Sir, just as you predicted, they’ve left Shady Belle.”

“They should reach Lemoyne National Bank within an hour.”

Milton smiled broadly. “It seems our Mr. Van der Linde hasn’t disappointed us, has he, Ross?”

Ross flushed with excitement. “Sir, perhaps we should use this opportunity to deploy more men and wipe them out in one sweep.”

“They’re hardened outlaws from the West. Several of them are expert marksmen. It won’t be easy for our men to take them down.”

Milton shook his head slightly. “No. Too many men will spook them.”

“You should trust our agents, Ross.”

Ross hesitated. “But… sir, isn’t this deployment a bit too simple?”

“We could surround them the moment they enter the bank. I’ve reviewed the area—it would be easy to trap them.”

“We could station men in the nearby high-rises and on balconies. That way we could—”

Milton sighed and cut him off. “You know, Ross, I received a call from Mr. William last night.”

Ross’s eyes lit up. “Did Mr. William give instructions?”

That was their superior.

Milton gave him a long look. “Mr. William reminded me to avoid excessive hostage casualties. He’s already spoken with Mr. Zack.”

Ross sounded dissatisfied. “But this was our secret plan. How could Mr. William tell Mr. Zack?”

Zack was a board director at Lemoyne National Bank’s headquarters.

Milton didn’t elaborate. Mr. William had no intention of arresting all the criminals in one go. If every outlaw were caught, how would the Pinkertons reclaim their law enforcement authority?

Zack already knew the Saint Denis branch of Lemoyne National Bank would be robbed. He had even sought out William for a private conversation, yet never once mentioned protecting the bank’s assets.

Milton understood exactly what that implied.

The robbers might walk away with a large sum, but the bank’s top executives certainly wouldn’t suffer losses.

In fact, the arrangements targeting the Van der Linde Gang had been personally orchestrated by Milton.

Enough pressure to be felt—yet never a complete dead end.

The public would see how formidable the outlaws were and grow more dependent on the Pinkertons. After all, who would place their trust in ordinary police officers who couldn’t get anything done?

“Stick to the plan, Ross. No unnecessary moves.”

“And I told you to instruct all agents—capture only. No killing. You made that clear?”

Milton’s expression turned stern.

Ross replied reluctantly, “Yes, sir. I’ve already passed it on.”

Milton nodded. “Good. Now we wait for the show to begin.”

...

When Dutch, Arthur, and the others entered Saint Denis,

Arthur felt a faint sense of unease.

It wasn’t imagination. Their movements were being watched.

Just as he was about to speak, Dutch said, “Relax, gentlemen. Act natural. No one will suspect a thing.”

Arthur held his tongue.

News of the Van der Linde Gang entering the city quickly reached Davey.

In a second-floor café across from the bank,

the entrance of Lemoyne National Bank was clearly visible through the window.

“Sir, they’ve arrived,” Abbas reported respectfully.

Davey turned to Kerry beside him. “Are our people in position?”

Kerry replied, “Yes, sir. As instructed, our employees are stationed in the nearby high-rises.”

Davey nodded slightly. “The Van der Linde Gang isn’t our enemy. Neither are the Pinkertons. I don’t want my friends dying.”

“I’ve already warned Milton. Let’s hope he listens instead of trying anything behind my back.”

Kerry answered respectfully, “As you wish, sir. Our men will keep a close watch.”

“If the Pinkertons break their promise, our people won’t give them the chance.”

It wasn’t that Davey distrusted Milton. But Lenny’s death, strictly speaking, had been an accident.

That was why he had deployed his security company’s employees—to maintain control over the situation.

Davey smiled faintly. “Now, let’s sit back and watch the great Saint Denis bank robbery.”

“The stars of today’s show should be stepping onto the stage any moment.”

...

Chapter 291: Ross: I Have a Plan

Boom.

An explosion rang out abruptly across Saint Denis.

Screams followed as the crowd scattered in panic. Patrol officers rushed toward the scene at once.

People in this day and age didn’t linger to watch the excitement. Stray bullets were far too easy to catch.

“Molly, go stir up some chaos in the crowd.”

Up on the rooftop, Hosea felt an uneasy weight in his chest.

“Alright… you know me, Hosea. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

Molly sounded reluctant. This was her first time taking part in a gang operation. In the past, she’d never involved herself in such matters.

Hosea couldn’t quite understand why Dutch would have a pampered young lady like her come out for this.

“It’s alright, Molly. Just act like anyone else. Show that you’re frightened.”

Molly nodded. “Okay… I’ll try.”

In truth, it wasn’t Dutch who had asked her to come. Molly had insisted on it herself.

What she wanted from Dutch had always been simple—his love. Her family wasn’t short of money.

But lately, she had felt more and more that Dutch no longer paid her much attention.

So she had gone to Arthur to talk about it.

In the original storyline, Molly had wanted to bring it up, but Uncle interrupted her before she could speak. Now Uncle had long since gone off to retire at the ranch in Valentine, enjoying his later years. There was no sudden interruption this time.

After listening to Molly’s troubles, Arthur hadn’t known what to say. In the end, he offered a vague response: Dutch cared deeply about the gang. If someone wanted his attention, they’d have to do something worth noticing.

That was why Molly chose to join this operation—to make Dutch see her.

She had just come downstairs.

The patrol officers hadn’t arrived yet, but a large number of Pinkerton agents had already surrounded the area.

Molly’s face turned pale with panic. She recognized Pinkerton agents on sight.

“Miss, this area is dangerous. Please leave immediately.”

The agent took one look at her frightened expression and elegant attire and didn’t suspect her of being a gang member. With her refined makeup and fashionable dress, she hardly looked like someone living rough. Assuming she had simply been startled by the explosion, he tried to reassure her.

“O-Okay… thank you.”

Terrified, Molly hurried away. However naive she might be, she understood what the presence of the Pinkertons meant.

She wanted to find Dutch and warn him, but Dutch was already inside the bank.

Overwhelmed, she couldn’t stop herself from crying.

“There’s no need to be afraid, miss. Just leave this dangerous area. We’ll handle the situation.”

Molly, raised in comfort and privilege, was strikingly beautiful. Her tears immediately caught the attention of a young Pinkerton agent.

Unfortunately for him, he was on duty.

Upstairs, Hosea had already noticed the commotion.

He had also seen the Pinkerton agents coming up.

If it were Arthur or someone else, they might have tried to escape at this moment. But Hosea couldn’t. He was old.

The Pinkerton agents soon reached the rooftop and spotted him.

They raised their guns. “Sir, you’re under arrest.”

Hosea lifted his hands calmly. “This is just a misunderstanding, gentlemen.”

One of the senior agents spoke up. “Mr. Matthews, this is no misunderstanding.”

Hearing his name spoken so precisely shattered Hosea’s last bit of hope.

It was a trap. A trap aimed at the Van der Linde Gang. And they had walked right into it.

“The Pinkertons no longer have law enforcement authority. You have no right to arrest me.”

Hosea’s voice remained steady. That was what Davey had told him.

The agents laughed.

The senior agent explained, “Which is why we have you to thank, Mr. Matthews. It was your capture of Mr. Bronte that granted us temporary law enforcement authority.”

“So yes, you are under arrest.”

Hosea’s heart sank with regret.

He hadn’t expected it to turn out like this. It was Bronte’s death that had restored the Pinkertons’ authority.

He never should have let Dutch seek revenge. He had opposed it from the beginning. But regret was useless now.

...

Lemoyne National Bank.

“Gentlemen, robbing thieves isn’t a crime.”

“These people have stolen this country’s future…”

Even at a time like this, Dutch insisted on delivering his philosophy.

When the explosion sounded in the distance, he burst into laughter. “I just love Hosea. The man’s a true artist.”

“Alright, gentlemen. It’s our turn.”

“Follow the plan. Move.”

The patrol officer at the bank entrance posed no threat.

Arthur knocked him unconscious with a single blow instead of killing him outright.

Gunfire now would draw too much attention.

Dutch called out, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery! Don’t do anything foolish—stay calm and you won’t get hurt!”

...

In a second-floor room nearby.

Ross reported, “Sir, they’re inside. Shall we proceed?”

Milton took a slow sip of coffee. “We should give them a little more time, shouldn’t we?”

Ross continued, “There’s more good news, sir. We’ve captured the man behind the explosion—Hosea Matthews.”

“He’s one of the leaders of the Van der Linde Gang. Perhaps we could use him as leverage. Make those outlaws hesitate.”

Milton felt a twinge of regret.

If not for Davey, he would have preferred to shoot Hosea in the street, right in front of the Van der Linde Gang.

First, it would demonstrate the Pinkertons’ strength—capturing a major gang leader at the very start of the robbery.

Second, it would enrage the Van der Linde Gang.

Hosea’s death would push them into madness.

And the more chaos they caused, the better it was for the Pinkertons.

When the public feared criminals, they would rely more heavily on the Pinkertons for protection.

“It’s pointless, Ross. You’ve forgotten—Davey’s people are watching us. As much as I’d like to kill them, that would only bring us bigger trouble.”

Milton’s tone carried a trace of helplessness. Davey’s presence forced him to act with restraint.

A thought suddenly struck Ross. “Perhaps we could talk to Davey.”

Milton frowned. “About what? You know he’s stationed plenty of security company employees nearby. They’re well-trained and capable.”

Ross replied, “Sir, I have a plan.”

“I want to speak with him about killing Hosea. Perhaps Davey would agree.”

“It would be more advantageous for us.”