Camille

Unbeknownst to anyone, a formidable force of a thousand men had already assembled in New Hanover, a state just beginning its crawl toward civilization. The elite of American high society remained absorbed in their pursuits of worker exploitation and outward expansion. Even the most powerful senators had no time to spare for a backward Western region that couldn't even produce its own steel. Compared to the chaotic West, they preferred extracting wealth from established colonial empires like Spain; after all, what was plundered was always the most valuable.

Even the senators in Saint Denis, under the Van der Linde Gang's subtle yet effective blockade, remained utterly oblivious to Dutch Van der Linde's true scale of operations, knowing only of a "Veteran Club" and a clothing store. The inconvenience of information exchange in this era was precisely Dutch's advantage.

Following Dutch's impassioned speech, a thousand gunmen grandly boarded old-fashioned sailboats. These vessels were long outdated, yet from a gang's perspective, they remained remarkably useful. Dozens of these densely packed sailboats slowly unfurled their sails near the Shady Belle coast, then rode the wind and waves, charting a direct course for Guarma. On board, the gunmen vibrated with vigor, fanatically clutching their firearms, ready to dedicate their lives to Mr. Van der Linde at a moment's notice.

Meanwhile, far away in Mr. Brown's opulent Saint Denis mansion, Miss Camille, who had previously met Dutch, had arrived at some unknown hour.

"Tap, tap, tap…" The unhurried click of high heels echoed crisply across the polished marble floor. Her fair ankles, delicate and captivating, seemed to beckon a second, third glance—enough to make one lose all self-control. Miss Camille's face, though over thirty-five, remained captivating, yet it bore no expression as she followed Mr. Brown, who cautiously led the way towards the mansion's grand hall.

Of all Saint Denis, only Mr. Brown's mansion boasted such unparalleled luxury, its exquisite decorations exuding an air of true grandeur. Not only did it dwarf the small cabin Dutch currently inhabited, but it even overshadowed Signor Bronte's mansion, the epitome of lavish living in Saint Denis.

Miss Camille's gaze swept over the intricately carved murals surrounding them, and her long-silent red lips finally parted. "So, Mr. Brown, you already owned a mansion of this scale before you even achieved anything, is that right?"

That single sentence was enough to make Mr. Brown, still leading the way, break into a cold sweat. Damn it, he thought, why does this woman always seek trouble? She always likes to nitpick, and it's infuriating! Yet, he dared not voice any protest, only more cold sweat appeared on his forehead. He stammered, anxious and trembling, "Yes, yes, yes… I was wrong, Miss Morgan!"

Miss Camille offered no reply. She walked into the living room and settled onto Mr. Brown's plush leather sofa. On the table before her, Mr. Brown had meticulously arranged an assortment of exquisite desserts and various flashy decorations, all meant to please her. At the very center, however, lay a document—the most important item amongst the clutter.

This document contained the information Mr. Brown had gathered about Van der Linde during this period, along with the details of their supposed cooperation. Originally, he had merely intended to send a letter, reporting on the Van der Linde Gang's current growth and his own "achievements," hoping to maintain contact with Miss Camille. He hadn't expected that a single letter would prompt Miss Camille herself to visit. This was no longer a pleasant surprise; it was a shock.

Miss Camille sat on the sofa, not even glancing at the other trinkets. She directly picked up the carefully embellished document and began to read. Mr. Brown dared not sit, nor speak. He could only stand anxiously before the table, awaiting Miss Camille's review. He didn't even dare to look directly at her face, only stealing secret, occasional glances at her expression.

However, he was destined for disappointment; Miss Camille never betrayed her emotions, her expression remaining perfectly unreadable.

After Mr. Brown waited anxiously for what felt like an eternity, Miss Camille finally put down the document. She reached out, picked up a beautifully packaged imported British chocolate from the table.

"Rustle…"

The paper wrapping the chocolate was torn open. She stared at the chocolate in her hand for two glances, then placed it in her mouth. Mr. Brown, who had secretly glanced at Miss Camille, finally breathed a sigh of relief. Damn it, he knew women couldn't resist the temptation of snacks; he'd discovered this by observing his own wife.

However, just as he mentally relaxed, Miss Camille's voice, sounding gentle yet particularly distant upon closer listening, rang out.

"So, Mr. Brown, you've been in Saint Denis for six months. Besides learning flattery, swindling Mr. Van der Linde out of a million dollars, and accepting the orders he sent that were clearly gifts, you haven't done anything else, have you?"

As Miss Camille's pleasant voice resonated, Mr. Brown froze, then broke out into a cold sweat. Damn it, how was he supposed to answer that? He had indeed done nothing for these six months, mostly attending banquets or basking in the adulation of Saint Denis nobles. But he wasn't completely inactive! Damn it, had Miss Camille not seen that he had brought a million dollars and a mining business to the Morgan Family? Although the thought crossed his mind, he certainly couldn't voice it. Mr. Brown only grew more terrified. He clearly understood what Miss Camille's words implied: that if Mr. Van der Linde hadn't come forward to offer money, he probably would have achieved nothing.

"Ca... Ca…" Mr. Brown couldn't refute, nor did he dare to argue. He opened his mouth to speak but found no excuse.

However, Miss Camille gave him no chance to speak. "So, Dutch Van der Linde, a desperado, can build his enterprise to a scale where he doesn't even care about a million dollars in just six months, making it impossible for you to even collect detailed information about him. And you, Mr. Brown, backed by the Morgan Family, have made no progress. You even gloat over the million dollars you extorted and the gifts someone personally sent you, considering them your achievements, is that right?"

"I… I… I…" Mr. Brown was already flustered. Damn it, it's over, it's completely over now. Miss Camille always judges by strength, not by these so-called profits! He's walked right into a trap!

"And for a million dollars, you would offend a desperado who can build such a large enterprise in six months, suppress Signor Bronte, the low-lying snake of Saint Denis, and leave the nobles of Saint Denis helpless, Mr. Brown, do you think you've lived too long? Or have you been assimilated by these fools in Saint Denis? Does the Morgan Family lack money? Or has our Morgan Family fallen to a point where we can only survive by robbery and extortion?"