Real

Time, continued its slow, stately flow. And with each tick of the gilded clocks in their mansions, more and more of Saint Denis's finest – and most conspicuously wealthy – arrived at the ferry terminal, each stepping aboard the grand vessel with an air of calculated importance.

One couldn't help but ponder, with a wicked little twist of the imagination, the sheer, utter catastrophe that would engulf Saint Denis should this magnificent vessel suddenly decide to perform an impromptu fireworks display tonight. The city would simply implode from the sheer weight of lost capital and even heavier egos. Ah, but such delightful chaos was, alas, impossible. Why? Because the only man capable of orchestrating such a spectacular demolition was none other than the charming, impeccably dressed Dutch Van der Linde himself – and he, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, was the evening's most gracious host. One simply doesn't blow up one's own party, now, do they?

This cruise, my friends, was no mere gathering; it was an unapologetic, glittering monument to excess, far surpassing the rather staid Lemieux Family banquet. That earlier affair had been a simple, if grand, welcome for Mr. Rhodes Brown, strictly limited to Saint Denis's local luminaries. Tonight, however, the floodgates were open!

Distinguished families from other states, like the formidable Joneses, mingled freely. Merchants, their eyes gleaming with avarice, who yearned to clasp hands with the burgeoning Dutch Clothing Store, rubbed shoulders with the true darlings of the evening: the very first, exclusive members of the 'VDL' Clothing Store.

Yet, among this swirling tapestry of ambition and silks, only a select few truly held Dutch's undivided attention, their usefulness shimmering like rare jewels amidst common pebbles.

Foremost among them were the venerable Saint Denis councilor families: the Lemieuxs, the Heidis, the Wicklows, the Smiths, the Browns, the Millers, and the Williams.

At present, only a scant three of these formidable dynasties found themselves entangled, however subtly, in Dutch's intricate web via the burgeoning women's rights movement. The others? Well, they remained largely uncharted territory, their allegiances yet to be properly seduced.

These families, bless their aristocratic hearts, possessed names that were practically historical documents in themselves. The William Family, for instance—a surname so quintessentially English you could practically smell the tea and biscuits! Smith and Miller, too, practically screamed of their geographical origins, rooted firmly in the familiar soil.

Now, while Europe might have been diligently (if rather quietly) leading the charge for women's rights, its ripples hadn't exactly caused a tidal wave in these parts. The William Family, for example, viewed the entire 'women's suffrage' hullabaloo as nothing short of utterly preposterous, a theatrical absurdity.

And honestly, at this particular juncture in history, before the grand, cataclysmic churn of World War I dramatically altered the male labor landscape, before women truly began to ascend the societal ladder with earnest, their rather traditional mindset was, regrettably, the norm.

Indeed, Saint Denis, and by extension, all of Lemoyne, was effectively governed by a handful of truly powerful families. These bloodlines, having intermarried with the zealous dedication of a well-oiled machine, were subtly, almost imperceptibly, beginning to coalesce into a structure disturbingly akin to a syndicate – a powerful, interconnected web of wealth and influence.

However, for years, they had remained largely discreet, their immense power suppressed under the boot-heel of Signor Bronte. He, with his loyal cadre of armed thugs, was essentially a local warlord, capable of stifling their complaints with a chilling, midnight visit from his "enforcers." It was a stark reminder that in this era, cold, hard cash sometimes bowed to cold, hard steel.

Only with a significant leap in weapon technology, truly, would the status of these merchant princes truly ascend. But now, with Dutch having so thoroughly clipped Bronte's wings, they were seizing their moment, their influence expanding with the quiet, relentless force of a rising tide.

These were the very individuals, Arthur, who would form the bedrock upon which Dutch would officially plant his flag in Guarma.

Beyond these local potentates, only one other soul truly captured Dutch's calculating gaze: Alberto Fussar. Ah, Fussar! The much-beleaguered governor of Guarma himself, a lingering shadow of the Spanish colonial forces, soon to be the rather unfortunate star of Chapter Five in Dutch's unfolding drama.

This chap, being Spanish, was blessedly unprotected by American law – though one couldn't entirely discount the rather inconvenient presence of the Cuban naval forces stationed nearby, lurking like uninvited guests.

Tonight, Dutch's dance card was rather… stuffed. He had a monumental task ahead of him. First, the delicate seduction of the merchants eager to order from, or outright join, his glorious clothing store. Then, the intricate, often frustrating, negotiations with the grand families. Should those polite discussions, alas, falter, he would then embark on a "friendly discussion" with our dear Alberto Fussar, a discussion that promised to be anything but friendly. And should that still fail to yield the desired results, well, then it would be a rather candid chat with Signor Bronte, followed by the meticulous preparations for a grand "headhunting operation" right here in Saint Denis.

Because, as Dutch would often philosophize with a wolfish grin, if you cannot win with a charming smile and a silver tongue, then, my dear boy, you win with the persuasive eloquence of a loaded gun.

The ship, a veritable beacon of glittering light against the inky canvas of the night, slowly, majestically, pulled away from the harbor, leaving the mundane world behind. The sea, a vast, shimmering expanse, seemed to swallow the light, its surface a shifting tapestry of black, save for the dancing reflections from the ship.

Meanwhile, within the grand belly of the cruise ship, the banquet roared to life, a symphony of light and laughter. Clusters of high society, bedecked in their finest, circulated with practiced ease, their voices a polite murmur of delightful chatter, punctuated by bursts of genuine, or perhaps feigned, amusement.

This, my friends, was no mere dinner; it was a societal ritual, a carefully orchestrated dance of power and pleasure. In this glorious era, it was utterly unsurprising for gentlemen and ladies, their hormones swirling like champagne bubbles, to discreetly vanish into a private cabin should the spark ignite. And of course, as the discerning host of this floating bacchanal, Mr. Dutch had thoughtfully arranged for a discreet, yet delightful, cadre of "ladies of the night" to ensure every guest's particular tastes were… catered to.

In essence, tonight was a celebration of pure, unadulterated indulgence. It would continue its hedonistic voyage until the first blush of dawn touched the horizon, signaling the ship's return to the ferry terminal.

Since this was not a raucous gang affair, Dutch saw no need to mount a soapbox and deliver a grand, booming speech. Indeed, his current, rather unconventional status, made such a public display entirely unsuitable. So, after boarding, everyone was simply expected to surrender to the evening's delights, to enjoy themselves with abandon.

For the truly blue-blooded aristocrats, tonight's affair was simply another tedious social obligation, a box to be dutifully ticked. But for the eager, sweating merchants, those who had practically mortgaged their souls to purchase a coveted Van der Linde Clothing Store membership card solely for this opportunity, tonight was their golden ticket. This was their chance to grovel, to flatter, to imprint themselves upon the notice of the upper echelons.

Some, bless their desperate hearts, even brought their wives and daughters, their faces painted with hopeful smiles, explicitly to catch the discerning eye of a certain gentleman of high society, eager to forge a connection, however fleeting or scandalous.

However, at this very moment, on the second deck of the magnificent cruise ship, a select group of clothing store merchants had already been carefully herded together by Dutch's impeccably trained attendants. These were the true stars of this particular segment of the evening, the plumpest pigeons for the plucking.

And there, at the very heart of their expectant gathering, stood Dutch Van der Linde. He surveyed the eager faces surrounding him, a sea of obsequious flattery, with a calm, almost predatory assessment. Then, a relaxed, utterly infectious smile spread across his face, a smile that seemed to promise untold riches and effortless charm. He even gave a little, almost imperceptible, nod of acknowledgement to a particularly enthusiastic merchant.

"Hahahaha, gentlemen! And of course, my most esteemed ladies!" Dutch's voice boomed, full of a theatrical bonhomie. He spread his hands wide, a welcoming, all-encompassing gesture.

"I am Dutch Van der Linde, and it is my singular pleasure to be the humble proprietor of the esteemed 'VDL' Clothing Store!" He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Now, I am a man who appreciates directness, and I daresay, we all know precisely why you've graced us with your presence tonight, don't we?" He winked, a conspiratorial gesture that instantly endeared him to the hopeful crowd.

"So, I shall spare us all the tedious pleasantries. I shall cut directly to the chase! I present to you, right here and now, three distinct avenues by which we can forge a mutually beneficial… partnership! You, my discerning friends, have the glorious freedom to choose which path best suits your ambitions!" He clapped his hands together, a sharp, decisive sound.

"Firstly," Dutch began, holding up a single, elegant finger, "we have the classic franchise model. For a modest investment of, shall we say, a mere ten thousand dollars – a pittance, truly, for the empire you shall build! – I shall grant you the esteemed privilege of bearing the 'VDL' Clothing Store signboard and name! You shall become a certified, legitimate branch of our burgeoning brand, complete with official documentation, suitable for framing! All our exquisite garments shall flow directly from our factories to your shelves, wholesaled at a tantalizing fifteen dollars per piece! And as an added bonus, you, my friends, will be among the very first to lay eyes upon our latest, most cutting-edge designs! A true fashion vanguard, wouldn't you agree?" He gave a knowing smile, his eyes sweeping over the eager faces.

"Secondly," he continued, holding up a second finger, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes this time, "for those of you who prefer a simpler transaction, we offer a supplier cooperation. I can wholesale our fine garments to you at a reasonable twenty dollars per piece. However," his voice became slightly firmer, "you are, regrettably, not permitted to sully our esteemed store's signboard or name with your own sales. A necessary distinction, I trust you understand?" He gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, 'business is business.'

"And finally," Dutch announced, his voice imbued with a newfound gravitas, his gaze now commanding attention, "for the truly visionary, the truly ambitious, for those who truly wish to ascend to the very pinnacle of fashion empire… an investment of fifty thousand dollars!" He paused for dramatic effect, letting the sum hang in the air.

"For this, my friends, I shall bestow upon you the veritable holy grail: all of our meticulously crafted design plans for every single garment! You will not only be able to open your own branch stores, proudly displaying our coveted 'VDL' signboard and name, but you will also possess the sacred blueprints, allowing you to produce these very garments yourselves! Furthermore, every single new design, every revolutionary style that springs from the brilliant minds of our designers, will be preferentially unveiled to you, and you will have the exclusive, unprecedented opportunity to acquire these cutting-edge blueprints at a truly negligible price, allowing you to ride the very first wave of fashion popularity!" He finished with a grand, sweeping gesture, as if presenting the future itself.