Chapter 49: Davey’s Replica
Benedict hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his expression.
He knew exactly how much money his refined moonshine formula could bring in.
This was the result of countless sleepless nights, endless trials, and meticulous adjustments.
Over the past few weeks, he’d felt like he was back in school again—stuck in those damned chemistry labs, mixing and testing formulas day after day.
Back then, his family had been well-off enough to afford an education.
But stories like his were common across the country. His father’s failed investments had sent the family’s comfortable life spiraling into hardship.
Benedict had no head for business, and his academic talent was mediocre at best. In the end, he’d drifted west, reduced to selling fake medicine just to survive.
These days in the cellar, working on the moonshine recipe, he could swear to God he’d never worked harder in his entire life.
His life literally depended on it.
If he failed to come up with a brew that satisfied Davey, he had no doubt the man would put a bullet in his head.
He had to prove his worth.
If only he’d worked this hard back when he was studying, maybe he could’ve been a respected professor by now.
But perhaps God had finally shown him some mercy—because after all this time, he’d done it. He’d created something truly remarkable.
In truth, the flavor differences came down to a matter of ingredients and precision in the brewing process.
Making proper moonshine wasn’t as simple as dumping in alcohol, flavoring, and coloring.
It required timing and technique—adding colorants when the alcohol reached the right proof, gradually increasing the concentration, and only then introducing the flavoring to achieve perfect layering.
There were countless steps, and a single mistake could ruin the flavor completely.
Yet when Benedict saw the faint smile on Davey’s face, he knew resistance was pointless. Reluctantly, he prepared to demonstrate the entire process before him.
“Mr. Callander, I’d like to step outside for a smoke. Would that be alright?” Donal asked suddenly as Benedict began setting up.
Davey nodded. He understood—Donal was being discreet, stepping out so there would be no misunderstandings later.
Once Donal left, Benedict began his demonstration.
‘Foolish man,’ he thought, glancing at Davey. ‘An uncultured brute like you could watch me all day and still never understand.’
‘This perfect method belongs only to the great Benedict Allbright.’
He kept a flattering smile plastered on his face, but inside, his pride simmered.
What he didn’t realize, however, was that the man standing before him carried a soul from the future.
Davey might have long forgotten most of his school chemistry, but he still understood the fundamentals—certainly more than Benedict would’ve guessed.
As Benedict worked, Davey quietly took notes, comparing the formula and asking sharp, focused questions about each step.
When Benedict finished the first batch, Davey took a small sip and nodded approvingly.
Then he calmly asked him to make another.
‘He thinks he can learn my process? Delusional fool,’ Benedict scoffed inwardly, though he dared not say it aloud. He started a second batch anyway—mostly because of the revolver hanging at Davey’s side.
When the second round was done, Davey rolled up his sleeves and decided to try it himself.
Benedict stood nearby, looking smug when Davey wasn’t watching—but the moment Davey turned, his scowl flipped into a servile grin.
He was convinced Davey would fail miserably. Once the man realized how complex the process truly was, he’d understand Benedict’s brilliance.
But as the minutes passed, Benedict’s arrogance began to crumble.
To his disbelief, Davey was replicating his method step by step, hitting every critical stage flawlessly.
When the bottle was finally filled, its color and clarity nearly identical to his own batch, Benedict couldn’t hold back—he rushed forward, uncorked it, and took a sip.
“This… this is impossible! Absolutely impossible! How did you do this? How could you possibly do this?”
In that instant, Benedict felt his whole world collapse.
What had taken him weeks of painstaking work, Davey had duplicated in less than an hour.
It reminded him painfully of the prodigies he’d once envied back in school—the ones who’d always been a step ahead of him.
Davey took a sip of his own batch. The taste wasn’t a perfect match yet, but it was close enough.
A few more tries, and he’d have it down exactly.
“Excellent work, Mr. Benedict,” Davey said with a satisfied smile.
“Your recipe truly exceeds expectations.”
“I can already imagine how much people will love this once it hits the market.”
“And who knows—once we’ve made enough money, we might even build our own moonshine brand.”
He paused, then added with a hint of pride,
“Benedict, your contribution is invaluable. From this moment on, you’ll receive ten percent of all profits from my moonshine sales.”
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