Titan

Rhodes Brown. The very name whispered of titans and untold riches. As the formidable president of Morgan Bank in Saint Denis, he wasn't just part of the Morgan Family; he was a carefully cultivated scion, a 'Reserve Cadre' in the modern parlance.

A chosen talent, dispatched into the chaotic wild West to accrue invaluable "experience" before being inevitably recalled to the very heart of the Morgan Company's central management. Otherwise, the legendary Camille Morgan herself would never have bothered to endorse his fleeting presence here.

This, of course, meant Mr. Rhodes Brown didn't just have power; he had an entire, unfathomable ocean of influence behind him, at the very least, holding considerable sway within the monolithic Morgan Company.

And this, Dutch Van der Linde knew, was his golden opportunity. Such a man could be leveraged, a precise, devastating weapon against the irritating gnat known as Mr. Cornwall.

It sounded almost blasphemous to suggest Mr. Cornwall's power wasn't to be underestimated, but the Morgan Family was a titan, a hegemon. Comparing the two was like comparing a particularly small rat to a raging leviathan. And as for the absurd whispers that Mr. Cornwall was somehow comparable to the true titans of this era? Pure, unadulterated nonsense. The game itself provided irrefutable proof of Mr. Cornwall's true, pathetic stature.

When Dutch, in his moments of glorious, magnificent madness, had dragged Arthur and Mac to Annesburg with the express purpose of putting a bullet through Mr. Cornwall's undoubtedly bloated head, the reason for Cornwall's personal appearance there was utterly telling: to deal with the paltry issues concerning a failing Annesburg mine he had personally purchased. His exact words, etched into Arthur's memory, were: "I bought this failing mine, and I plan to succeed with it, at all costs."

In the game, his "personal touch" was needed because the workers, bless their rebellious souls, had dared to strike, whining about their 'too low' wages. Adding insult to injury, he'd had the audacity to demand that an American soldier pay for his own shipping costs. Coming in person for such a pitiful, insignificant mine, and then scrutinizing shipping costs with the zeal of a miserly squirrel guarding its nuts, highlighted two glaring truths:

First, Mr. Cornwall was the quintessential capitalist, a caricature of exploitation, squeezing every last drop of blood from his workers and dispensing benefits with the generosity of a parched desert.

Second, Mr. Cornwall's actual scale was, frankly, minuscule. He might be a household name in the Wild West, but he couldn't hold a candle to the ancient, deeply entrenched financial empires of the East. According to Dutch's shrewd estimation, Mr. Cornwall at this moment probably only clung to a handful of oil fields and a meager collection of mines.

Even his much-vaunted title of "sugar magnate" was, in reality, a flimsy façade, achieved only through a reluctant, opportunistic cooperation with the warlord Mr. Fusal.

In stark, glorious contrast, the Morgan Family, with its dizzying total assets exceeding 12 billion US dollars, would undoubtedly be a dimensionality-shattering strike against such a provincial pittance.

As time slowly dripped by, marked by the steady rhythm of hooves, Dutch and his formidable entourage arrived at Mr. Rhodes Brown's utterly opulent manor. A perfectly poised, middle-aged man, whose very posture screamed 'butler', glided forward.

He led Dutch and his men into the sprawling mansion nestled within the manor's manicured grounds, where, true to the butler's word, Mr. Rhodes Brown was already ensconced on a plush sofa, awaiting their grand arrival with the anticipation of a predator.

"Oh ho ho, Dutch, my dear Mr. Dutch Van der Linde!" Rhodes Brown boomed, rising to his feet with an almost theatrical flourish, his eyes twinkling with a blend of genuine curiosity and thinly veiled assessment. He extended a hand, a smile as smooth as polished marble gracing his features. "I recall you, sir! Most distinctly! Miss Camille, bless her soul, spoke of you as a truly… interesting individual! And oh, you truly are interesting! In all my years, traveling from the gilded cages of the East to this delightful frontier, this is the very first time I've encountered such a... remarkable specimen!"

"Oh, I scarcely dared to dream Miss Camille would even notice a humble man such as myself, Mr. Brown! It truly flatters me beyond words!" Dutch exclaimed, grasping Mr. Rhodes Brown's hand with an almost startling intimacy. His face was a masterpiece of feigned apology and wistful humility. "And I am truly sorry for not rushing to congratulate you upon your arrival in Saint Denis. It's just that we've just… navigated a rather tempestuous transition, and it's been, shall we say, a veritable headache." He squeezed Brown's hand, a silent promise in his grip.

"Hahahaha, no need for such apologies, Mr. Van der Linde!" Rhodes Brown laughed, a dry, rustling sound like banknotes in the wind. He waved a dismissive hand. "I understand your situation completely. And precisely because of that, I find you to be all the more remarkable! To be able to shepherd your… people... through such a tumultuous transition in a mere two months, and then, inexplicably, leap to become such a formidable presence in Saint Denis? That, sir, is not the accomplishment of an ordinary man! Not by a long shot!"

His gaze then shifted, settling with an almost unnerving intensity on Arthur, who stood awkwardly behind Dutch. "Oh, and this must be Mr. Arthur Morgan?" Rhodes Brown inquired, a predatory gleam in his eye. "Please, sit, Mr. Morgan, please! I've heard tales, whispers even, that you are an exceedingly skilled marksman. Might I be so incredibly fortunate as to bear witness to your… gunmanship?"

Mr. Rhodes Brown showed no hint of neglecting Dutch Van der Linde; someone even noticed by Miss Camille was certainly no common ruffian, and thus, he would treat him with the utmost, albeit calculating, respect. He gestured grandly for Dutch and Arthur to settle onto the sumptuously upholstered sofa.

Listening to Mr. Brown's effusive compliments, Arthur felt a hot flush creep up his neck. He was completely unaccustomed to such polished flattery, and it made him feel profoundly, ridiculously shy. He shifted his weight, hesitating slightly, then mumbled, "Oh, hello, Mr. Brown, um… I'm fine with that, I s'pose." He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing the floor would simply swallow him whole.

"Hahahaha, that's simply excellent, Mr. Morgan!" Rhodes Brown chuckled, leaning forward, his eyes alight with genuine, if somewhat morbid, curiosity. "I am exceedingly curious how formidable a man with a five-thousand-dollar bounty can truly be!"

Listening to Mr. Rhodes Brown's utterly undisguised, almost cheerful, declaration of his bounty, Arthur could only rub his nose, a nervous habit. He felt profoundly uncomfortable, fidgeting on the ridiculously soft sofa in the center of that ostentatiously decorated hall.

This, he thought with a private sigh, was entirely Dutch's fault. The man had raked in so much money, supported so many people, even sent them a tidy two thousand dollars each month, yet their living conditions hadn't improved one whit! They still lived like glorified hillbillies in wooden cabins, utterly devoid of any concept of their current astronomical worth. This gross oversight also meant they were hilariously unaccustomed to such high-end, suffocatingly luxurious venues.

Seeing Arthur's discomfort, Dutch smoothly took control of the conversation, a charming smile blossoming on his face. "Hahaha, I assure you, Mr. Brown, I certainly won't let you down!"

"That's simply wonderful, Mr. Van der Linde! Oh, I do hope you don't mind my candor, you know, my primary purpose in venturing to this… fascinating part of the world is, naturally, for experience, and to expand the family's market." Rhodes Brown leaned back, lacing his fingers over his chest, his voice taking on a slightly lamenting tone. "Only when my contribution to the family reaches a certain, rather lofty level, can I be granted the glorious transfer back East. But alas, the business opportunities in the West are truly… despairing."

He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "It is precisely because of this profound disappointment that my attention has, quite unexpectedly, shifted more towards these legendary gunmen. Damn it, before I ever set foot in this untamed West, I frankly didn't believe for a moment that any so-called 'legendary marksmen' actually existed in this world! Even if some ruffian could shoot fast and accurately, I dismissed it as merely a practiced reaction, a parlor trick! I never, ever expected that after coming to the West, I would truly, truly bear witness to the raw, visceral power of a marksman!"

He paused, a glint entering his eye. "Especially Signor Bronte's rather… colorful subordinates, Mr. Francisco and Mr. Martelli! Both of them are truly excellent shots and remarkably capable fighters! Oh, Mr. Morgan," Rhodes Brown mused, turning his gaze back to Arthur, his head tilted inquisitively, "do you, in your esteemed professional opinion, consider them truly formidable?" It was clear that Mr. Rhodes Brown was genuinely, almost academically, curious about this topic.

But what he said was also exquisitely interesting. He absolutely did not have to reveal his true, cynical purpose for coming West! Yet he did, and in painstaking detail, even confessing that due to the lack of "business opportunities," he had shifted his attention to these gunslingers. Clearly, his entire verbose, seemingly rambling speech was a meticulously crafted hint, a subtle signal to Dutch about precisely what kind of "gift" he was expected to deliver.