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The capitalist society of America teemed with an unbelievably vast number of hidden fortunes. A mere department head in Saint Denis could, with a few well-placed threats and carefully orchestrated bribes, extort and accumulate a truly scandalous pile of wealth.

Under the insidious spell of Dutch's membership drive and the dazzling, revolutionary clothing styles, the Saint Denis 'VDL' Clothing Store, open for barely a morning, had already netted a staggering sixty-eight members. And the kicker? Sixty of these memberships were consecutive numbers.

This meant a full six wealthy individuals had, without batting an eyelash, shelled out a breathtaking sixty thousand dollars to secure these sixty contiguous slots. Their sole, burning desire? To have a clothing design etched with their name, a desperate bid for overseas immortality, a whisper of fame in the winds of time.

If not for today's ludicrous outcome, Dutch, despite his lofty ambitions, would never have believed Saint Denis harbored such an obscene number of rich people!

And Dutch's very first batch of seven exquisite ladies' clothing sets, twenty pieces per set, totaling a hundred and forty garments, had all vanished. Utterly, completely sold out. A grand total revenue of approximately 4200 dollars flowed into their coffers.

At this very moment, the entire street outside the 'VDL' Clothing Store was a snarling, jostling mass of humanity—a chaotic blend of those desperate to buy and those already swaggering in their new acquisitions. Dutch's store, ever practical, boasted three single changing rooms. And now, the ladies who had emerged, transformed and radiant in their new finery, stood on the street, their faces alight with charming, self-satisfied smiles.

They strolled back and forth, affecting an air of nonchalant ease, declaring they were "going home," only to circle back and forth,like peacocks, pausing to greet every person they encountered, their eyes silently screaming, Look at me! Look at my beautiful clothes!

Their ostentatious displays sent fresh tremors of restlessness through the other noble ladies of Saint Denis. Even ordinary family women with modest savings found themselves gripped by an unbearable temptation. Their eyes constantly darted towards these peacocking noblewomen, then back to the gleaming entrance of the 'VDL' Clothing Store, a profound hesitation warring with an even profounder desire.

The one hundred and forty pieces from those initial seven sets weren't all sold to one hundred and forty different individuals. Oh no. Many noble ladies, caught in the throes of fashion hysteria, had directly purchased entire sets of seven garments at once. And several families were, rather suspiciously, the same ones who had bought out those consecutive membership slots. This peculiar behavior, Dutch noted with a mental smirk, explained why the overall number of membership cards sold wasn't higher. The actual number of members who simply bought a card for personal use, without any speculative or fame-seeking motives, was a paltry four. Of these, three were, predictably, contributed by Dorothea and her two equally zealous associates. The last, utterly unexpected, card belonged to Rhodes Brown. Yes, the impeccably dressed president of the Saint Denis Commercial Bank, Miss Camille's personal emissary.

By noon, the 'VDL' Clothing Store remained a chaotic beehive. People constantly surged in, their faces contorted with urgency, inquiring about membership prices and the dwindling number of slots. Many ladies, their eyes wide with desperation, badgered Avril about the arrival time of the next batch of clothing.

"Oh, Miss, when exactly will the next batch of clothing arrive?" a gaggle of ladies wailed, crowding the front desk, their voices laced with an almost frantic anxiety. "We're simply dying of anticipation!"

Avril, her own eyes wide with the sheer madness of the day, tried to retain her composure. "It might be until evening, ladies. It's expected on tonight's train. You can always come back tomorrow."

"Nononono!" a woman shrieked, clutching her chest as if in physical pain. "I want it today! I'll wait here all day! Please, you must save one for me when the clothes arrive!" They had initially planned to buy tomorrow, but witnessing the noble ladies flaunting their new styles on the street, the bitter tang of envy and jealousy in their hearts made sleep an impossible luxury until they, too, could don the coveted garments.

After a single morning of baptism by fire, Avril and her two colleagues were already handling the chaotic demands of the clothing store with surprising efficiency. Dutch had completely relinquished control, confident in their newfound, profit-driven competence. They simply needed to hand over the day's earnings to the Van der Linde gang member delivering the next batch of clothes.

Nearly seventy thousand dollars had passed through their trembling hands this morning alone. It was a sum so utterly unimaginable for these three girls, who had clawed their way out of the slums, that their very souls were now numb with shock. They couldn't fathom that these wealthy 'gods', who could casually toss away ten thousand dollars for a fleeting promise of fame, lived in the very same city as their starving, desperate families.

If not for Dutch's terrifyingly good treatment, and the inescapable truth that they had absolutely nowhere to run, the income from this single morning would have been enough to tempt them to grab the money and vanish into the night. Of course, Dutch had seen to it that the money was swiftly returned to him that very day.

But even so, their individual share of the profits was indeed staggering. The commission from just one hundred and forty pieces of clothing, sold in a single chaotic morning, had already amounted to a jaw-dropping fourteen dollars, which translated to four dollars and sixty cents per person.

A Valentine farmhand, by comparison, now earned a measly eighty cents a day. This single day's income was equivalent to six days' wages for others, and they hadn't even broken a sweat! It was, quite simply, the best damned job in the entire West. Their current income, Dutch knew, had instantly catapulted them into a comfortable, almost luxurious, standard of living.

And in the clothing store, beyond the clamoring customers, all eyes were drawn to the plush lounge area near the left window. Dutch, with his usual flair for convenience and subtle manipulation, had directly converted the entire left side into a comfortable resting place for customers and, more importantly, a prime meeting spot for women's rights gatherings.

At this very moment, Dorothea, Ann, and Miss Alice, resplendent in the latest 'VDL' styles, had summoned the most influential members of the Saint Denis Women's Rights Association. They sat, sipping free coffee, munching on free snacks, utterly comfortable in this revolutionary clothing store, their bosoms swelling with self-importance. This, undoubtedly, brought them immense prestige and a delicious sense of superiority, furthering Dutch's cunning agenda.

Of course, Dutch cared little for their feminist posturing now. The accumulation of wealth was happening so rapidly, so monumentally, it was almost beyond his own wildest imagination.

As the 'VDL' Clothing Store's brand reputation spread like a wildfire across Saint Denis, as more and more people came to know and aspire to own its miraculous garments, Dutch, with a satisfied smirk, had already retreated with the rest of the Van der Linde Gang to the dilapidated, but now much grander, villa provided for them by the Wicklow Family.

"Whew!" Dutch exhaled a long plume of cigar smoke, his expression unreadable, as he gazed down at the literal piles of crisp dollars meticulously stacked before him.

The members of the Van der Linde Gang, however, were not so composed. They hovered, their eyes wide with almost childlike wonder, excitedly staring at the sixty thousand dollars. Karen, utterly beside herself, giggled hysterically, then, with a dramatic flourish, pressed her ample bosom against the mountain of bills, nuzzling them as if they were long-lost lovers.

"Oh, Dutch! I've never, ever seen so much money in my life!" she squealed, almost weeping with joy. "You're absolutely amazing!"

Dutch had, wisely, never shown the gang members the dollars from Blackwater. That money had always been under Strauss's tight, albeit somewhat greasy, control. Had he allowed it to be visible, a few members would, indeed, have pilfered their fair share.

Mary-Beth, laughing, playfully swatted Karen's backside. "Alright, Karen," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you nursing these dollars? Are they baby bills?"

"Nasty, Mary-Beth!" Karen shrieked, bursting into even louder laughter, clutching the sixty thousand dollars in front of her like a priceless treasure, refusing to let go.

Hosea, a profound mixture of emotion and pure joy on his face, looked at the pile of money, then at Dutch. His eyes shimmered. "Oh, Dutch, you truly succeeded! It's unbelievable, we actually succeeded! Oh, this is… it's so surreal, like a dream. When I think about everything we've endured, all the hell we've been through… it feels like nothing more than a hazy nightmare, and this… this is the beautiful awakening!" Hosea's voice cracked, brimming with an overwhelming sense of triumph.