Free Real Estate

Sunlight, a benevolent, golden stream, poured into the opulent room through the second-floor window, illuminating the polished tabletop. The scattered papers on the table shimmered, almost alive, in the sunlight, and even the formidable pistol resting beside them seemed to gleam with a sunny, almost innocent hue.

"I hear Signor Bronte of Saint Denis is doing very poorly lately," Dutch mused, sprawling comfortably on the sofa, his eyes casually scanning the papers, a faint, almost predatory, smile playing on his lips. "Is the Federal Government suing him, indeed?"

"Yes, Dutch." Hosea, impeccably dressed in the Van der Linde Gang's latest men's wear collection – a subtle, stylish plagiarism of Prussian military uniform designs, yet distinctly civilian – sat on the other side, calmly puffing on a fine cigar. The new garment, all black with touches of white lace on the collar and cuffs, and a cross-like pendant, made him look devastatingly handsome.

Two cloak buttons adorned the shoulders, and it came with a matching full-body cloak, making it suitable for both everyday wear and a luxurious, dashing formal attire. Especially when worn with the cloak, it was incredibly dashing, a garment almost no man could refuse.

With Hosea's inherent aristocratic temperament, this outfit transformed him into an even more elegant nobleman. This handsome old man's charm, already considerable, increased by several notches with the addition of this fashionable raiment. Not to mention, some of the most discerning noblewomen in Saint Denis, Dutch had heard, might be very fond of Hosea, drawn to his refined aura.

The palpable progress of the gang brought about very obvious, almost miraculous changes. Even old Hosea, a man of simple tastes, had started to embrace a newfound sense of style, a clear testament to how profoundly money could elevate a person.

"Yes, Dutch," Hosea continued, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him. "But it seems Signor Bronte can still hold on, because the lawsuit is for alleged human trafficking, which shouldn't fundamentally harm Signor Bronte. At most, he'll pay some money and get out. However, his reputation has been completely ruined recently. Without a proper group of loyal subordinates to control, Signor Bronte's grip over Saint Denis has significantly weakened. Some people even dare to openly discuss Signor Bronte's scandalous misfortunes in taverns, by God, without fear!"

Listening to Hosea's words, Dutch nodded slowly, a look of profound, almost weary understanding on his face. "Ho ho ho, it seems Signor Bronte does possess some strength, after all. To survive the encirclement of the Saint Denis powerful, to evade utter destruction and not even suffer truly serious losses... he hasn't wasted these thirty or forty years, after all."

Arthur, who sat in a nearby chair, puffing on a cigarette, was a little puzzled by Dutch's casual dismissal of Bronte's apparent downfall. He looked at Dutch, a question mark on his face. "Oh, Dutch. What does that mean? From what Hosea said, Signor Bronte's situation shouldn't be good, should it? He sounds like a goner."

"It's an exchange of interests, child," Dutch explained, shaking his head with a slight, almost dismissive smile. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the tabletop, analyzing Signor Bronte's current, desperate predicament for Arthur's benefit.

"Slavery is now openly prohibited, yet there are still many influential bastards involved in this nefarious trade behind the scenes. And it's utterly impossible to completely stop it. So, there have long been various clandestine ways to escape this crime, to obfuscate the truth. And Signor Bronte, the cunning fox, would completely erase any direct connection to him when conducting the trade. The reason the Federal Government, those damned gentlemen of the upper class, are suing Signor Bronte with this particular charge, besides not having the absolute confidence to take him down entirely right now, is also to send him a very clear message: to make concessions. To make Signor Bronte spit out the obscene income from his slave trade over these years and hand it over to them."

Dutch leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "This money, Arthur, is a lot, a truly staggering sum. But it won't fundamentally harm Signor Bronte, because all his illicit businesses are no-cost operations, pure profit. And now, his subordinates have been almost completely wiped out by us, so his expenses will certainly decrease accordingly, generally maintaining a state of twisted balance.

Although I don't understand the full intricacies of their corrupt game, it's clear that Signor Bronte still possesses some hidden strength, some leverage. Otherwise, the charge against him would have been murder, a far more damning accusation."

Dutch puffed on his newly lit cigar, a faint, victorious smile playing on his lips. "But even so, Signor Bronte's life will not be easy from now on. We've destroyed his accumulation of over thirty, even forty years of ruthless power, in one fell swoop.

He personally lacks true business acumen and grand development plans, so even if he doesn't completely collapse after this devastating blow, he will never reach his previous level of unassailable power. Moreover, he can't even leave Saint Denis now, the poor caged bird. So Signor Bronte is completely no longer a threat to us. He's finished."

Dutch took a long, contented sniff of the cigar's rich aroma, savoring the victory. "Signor Bronte won't have the courage to burn his bridges with us, not entirely. From the last time I insulted him, mocked him to his very face, and he didn't make a move, it seems that although Signor Bronte has improved over his many years in the city, learning its treacherous ways, he clearly lacks the impulsiveness, the reckless abandon of a young man." Dutch's eyes hardened, a sharp, analytical glint in their depths.

"He is now in a cunning, calculating state, Arthur. He is a smart man, full of calculations from beginning to end, every move meticulously planned. And such a calculating person will have a huge drawback, his fatal flaw, which is the loss of the courage to go all in, to risk everything. So after he didn't make a move against us last time, he will never easily make a move against us again, not directly. He's been broken."

Dutch exhaled a plume of fragrant cigar smoke, analyzing Bronte's very human nature. As a gang leader, one not only needs astute future planning, a broad, strategic view, and absolute control over subordinates, but also the uncanny ability to discern the true hearts of men, to read their weaknesses.

Signor Bronte, as someone who had been deeply involved in the intricate, cutthroat society of the city for many years, was now utterly consumed by calculations. This was his strength, yes, but also his greatest, most crippling weakness.

Arthur and Hosea, their faces reflecting a deep understanding, both nodded in agreement with Dutch's shrewd analysis. In fact, they agreed with everything Dutch said now, their faith in his wisdom absolute.

"Hosea," Dutch began, turning his gaze to his old friend, "how is the construction of Hope Ranch coming along?" He had previously instructed them to build a new batch of houses, and the factory needed to start recruiting more people again. The clothing store's business, unexpectedly, was booming, a veritable goldmine, but the demand from the clothing factory was even more enthusiastic, a roaring torrent of orders.

Many merchants even traveled thousands of miles from surrounding states, wanting to wholesale clothes from Dutch's factory, eager to sell them in their own territories. These orders far exceeded the income from the clothing store itself. However, due to severe production capacity issues, it had not been launched before, so Dutch desperately needed to expand production, to seize this opportunity.

And pirated clothing styles had even appeared on the market, insidious copies attempting to seize the share they couldn't handle, so the expansion of the clothing factory was also an urgent matter, a race against time.

"It's completely built, Dutch." Hosea nodded, a tired but satisfied smile on his face. "Still ten residential wooden houses and two huge sheds. It's completely enough for us to recruit two hundred more workers. And a batch of newly ordered sewing machines has also been delivered during this time. I think we can start new recruitment in the next two days, Dutch."

Hosea had been unbelievably busy lately, a whirlwind of activity, traveling constantly between Valentine and Saint Denis, responsible for both the urgent construction of Shady Belle and ensuring the continuous development of Valentine. This was, indeed, a bit hectic for a man in his fifties, a task that would break a lesser man. However, he was willing to endure this relentless busyness, especially seeing houses rise from the ground, seeing the gang's physical presence expand. He would feel a profound sense of joy, a deep satisfaction that the gang was growing vigorously, thriving against all odds.

"Very good, Hosea, very good!" Dutch declared, standing up, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Arthur, come with me to Van Horn Trading Post this afternoon, child. I think we should first figure out the various channels of the arms industry, their very arteries."

He then looked at Hosea, his voice softening. "Hosea, you can go back to Valentine first, old friend. After we return from Van Horn Trading Post this time, we will go directly back to Valentine to recruit workers. As our base, Valentine must be consistent with our interests, just like the Gray Family, infiltrating the entire Valentine until it's Vanderlinde-Burg!"

"Alright, Dutch." Hosea nodded, a deep empathy in his eyes. Dutch's brutal decapitation plan for Rhodes had been meticulously agreed upon with Hosea, Arthur, and Davey, so Hosea had, in this tumultuous period, learned more about the intricacies of Rhodes, its dark secrets and deep-rooted power structures.

It could be said that Rhodes belonged entirely to the Gray Family; the entire town's populace worked, in one form or another, for the two major, warring families. Compared to Signor Bronte, Rhodes was a far harder nut to crack because they were unified, fiercely exclusive, deeply entrenched for many years, with informants everywhere, and Gray Family members lurking in every shadow.

This, precisely, was why Dutch wanted to similarly infiltrate Valentine, to weave his influence into its very fabric. This, too, was why the Rhodes plan could only be a brutal, surgical decapitation plan; only when these corrupt leaders died, and no one paid these desperate villagers, would they finally accept reality and welcome Dutch's entry as their new, benevolent overlord.