Deal

But Arthur's baffled, concerned gaze was utterly useless; both Dutch and Mr. Rhodes Brown were far too deeply immersed in their own distinct, yet equally potent, brands of joy. Their conditions, now comfortably warmed, led them into a heady discussion of deeper, more intricate matters. Arthur simply slumped, resigned, watching the two sharks circle each other with polite, deadly smiles.

"So, Mr. Van der Linde," Mr. Brown began, leaning forward, a new, almost paternal warmth in his voice. The two had, it seemed, transitioned into strategic partners, and this, indeed, was their most delicate, most profitable honeymoon period. "I believe you can now, with utmost candor, state your true objective. I imagine a cool million dollars and the bounty of three burgeoning mines, all exchanged for the unparalleled influence of the Morgan Family, should prove to be of rather significant use to you, no?"

His question, though cloaked in geniality, was a necessary probe; he couldn't, after all, allow Dutch Van der Linde to simply run rampant, tarnishing the pristine, gold-plated reputation of the Morgan Family. What if the rogue dared to rebel, all under the illustrious banner of the Morgan Family itself? Unthinkable!

"Of course, Mr. Brown. Of course." Dutch purred, a predatory smoothness in his voice. He reached out, his hand unerringly finding a bottle of exquisite red wine, and with a flourish, poured a fresh glass for Mr. Brown. "What I truly, truly want… is Guarma!"

Mr. Brown's hand, halfway to his own glass, paused. His brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his usually impassive features. "Guarma? The… the remote island where that scoundrel Mr. Alberto Fussar resides? Ah, yes, I know him. He dabbles in the rather lucrative sugarcane business on Guarma, and, if memory serves, maintains a rather… informal partnership with a certain Mr. Leviticus Cornwall. Oh," he added, a dismissive wave of his hand, "I recall there are no so-called mines on Guarma, and the entire island is pitifully small, a mere speck on the map. Do you, by some chance, also wish to cultivate sugarcane on Guarma, Mr. Van der Linde? The sugarcane business, that is indeed quite… sweet." Mr. Brown finally lifted his wine glass, clinked it against Dutch's with a polite clink, and then, with deliberate slowness, sipped the red wine, his eyes still studying Dutch.

"Yes, Mr. Brown, precisely!" Dutch declared, setting down his red wine glass with a decisive click. He leaned forward, his face a mask of earnest, almost vulnerable sincerity, voicing his carefully constructed "concerns." "As you are, no doubt, acutely aware, our Van der Linde Gang's… reputation... hasn't exactly been stellar in the past, and we still harbor a healthy, gentlemanly fear of the inevitable reckoning of American law. So, my primary desire, my profound hope, is to send our beloved people to a secluded haven, a place where they can finally live carefree, unburdened by the relentless pursuit of justice. Guarma, you see, is perfectly, ideally suitable – it's tiny, offering unparalleled concealment, it won't attract any undue attention, and crucially, it boasts no cumbersome regulatory bodies!"

He paused, sighing dramatically, as if bearing the weight of the world's entrepreneurial woes. "Furthermore, the Van der Linde Gang, in its current state, has simply exhausted all further avenues for expansion within our existing industries. All other emerging industries, you understand, demand a vast influx of specialized talents and arcane technologies, making it terribly difficult for simple folk like us to learn and expand. The sugarcane business, however, requires no advanced technology whatsoever and practically guarantees a steady profit! That, Mr. Brown, is why I am so ardently driven to occupy Guarma and replace Mr. Fussar!"

Dutch finished, a picture of a reasonable, deeply concerned businessman. At the very least, these "concerns" sounded remarkably plausible, and both reasons, he knew, were rock-solid. At least, Mr. Brown pondered for a long, calculating moment, swirling the wine in his glass, and still, to his immense frustration, he couldn't find a single, solitary flaw in Dutch's impeccably spun narrative.

After a moment of deeply theatrical thought, Mr. Brown finally broke the silence, a sudden, almost performative realization dawning on his face. He snapped his fingers, as if a brilliant insight had just struck him.

"Oh! Now that you mention it, Mr. Van der Linde," Mr. Brown exclaimed, his eyes widening with feigned shock, "I suddenly feel there's a truly massive problem with Guarma! A glaring, unconscionable issue!" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Mr. Fussar, you see, is a Spanish man who brazenly remains within what is, by all legal definitions, our American colony! This, sir, is not merely illegal, it is a flagrant, unpardonable disregard for the legitimate authority of the Cuban government! It is, in fact, a very, very serious violation!" He shook his head, a look of grave disapproval. "Also, I am reliably informed that the barbaric practice of slavery still exists on Guarma, which, I might add, is an even greater, more outrageous provocation to United States Federal Law!"

He then delivered his final, damning verdict with a flourish of his hand. "Mr. Alberto Fussar's actions, Mr. Van der Linde, are a blatant disregard for United States Federal Government law and a major, unforgivable provocation to Cuba's territorial integrity! I believe his actions should be most severely judged!" Mr. Brown's face now shone with the righteous indignation of a true patriot. "Mr. Van der Linde, I can, with the formidable influence of the Morgan Family, help you suppress the inevitable objections of the United States Federal Government and the fledgling Cuban government. But as you know," he cautioned, a subtle warning entering his tone, "America is a federal country, and the power of the Lemoyne State Government is, locally, far greater than that of the United States Federal Government. The Morgan Family's influence might be absolute in the East, a veritable juggernaut, but in the untamed West, it might not be quite as… effective."

He was intimately familiar with both Mr. Alberto Fussar and Mr. Leviticus Cornwall. As prominent figures in Saint Denis's intricate web of power, he possessed detailed, meticulously compiled information on every single one of them. There wasn't much to say about Mr. Fussar; he commanded several hundred subordinates, brazenly occupied seventy percent of Guarma's meager land, ruthlessly exploited slaves to cultivate sugarcane, processed it into raw sugar, and then conveniently sold it to Cornwall for secondary processing and sale of the finished product.

Mr. Cornwall's enterprise, in contrast, was considerably larger; he owned several scattered mines, a sprawling coal tar plant, and even operated a burgeoning steel mill, while simultaneously maintaining his dubious status as a sugar merchant. In the West, he could, indeed, be said to wield immense, almost undisputed power. However, in the vast, unforgiving landscape of the East, he was utterly insignificant, a mere gnat that could be easily crushed beneath the heel of a true titan.

In this chaotic era, the concept of legality or illegality was fluid, a mere suggestion, as regulation was so laughably weak it was almost nonexistent. The only reason these two individuals were usually ignored was that their scale was simply too small to warrant serious attention, and they were considered minor figures in the West, operating under the flimsy, yet effective, protection of the Lemoyne State Government, which meant the Federal Government often couldn't be bothered to control them.

But now that there was a desire to deal with them, now that a path to profit had been illuminated, there were indeed perfectly valid, politically expedient reasons to suppress the inevitable, indignant voice of the United States Federal Government. This particular problem was, in truth, not difficult at all; Guarma was not large, in fact, it was pitifully, insignificantly small, a tiny, malaria-ridden place with absolutely no practical use whatsoever. So, getting the Federal Government and the Cuban government to acknowledge this "matter" was, astonishingly, easy.

However, dealing with the subsequent, inevitable protests from the powerful Lemoyne State Government, or navigating the labyrinthine customs issues, or even facing the wrath of Mr. Cornwall himself, using the Lemoyne State Government to hold Dutch Van der Linde accountable—that would be truly tricky. It could even escalate, leading to the Lemoyne State Government beginning to actively target the Van der Linde Gang, prohibiting their customs access, crippling their trade, and even, God forbid, confiscating the Van der Linde Gang's rapidly growing property.