Negotiation

Ms. Camille settled gracefully onto the living room sofa, guided by a subtle gesture from Dutch. Her posture was impeccable, radiating an innate composure.

Mr. Henry's living room, despite the chaos it had endured, was still luxuriously decorated; while perhaps not as grand or sprawling as Mr. Brown's own mansion, its meticulously chosen decor and rich furnishings were by no means inferior, speaking of old money and established taste.

After Dutch and his immediate circle were comfortably seated, the freshly prepared coffee, its rich aroma filling the air, was served at precisely the appropriate time, appearing as if by magic.

"Oh, Ms. Camille, you've come a long way, indeed." Dutch leaned forward slightly from his position on the main sofa, a wide, genial smile gracing his lips. He gestured with an open hand, invitingly, for Ms. Camille to taste the coffee, a subtle hospitality. "How about I host you today? Consider it me fulfilling my duty as a gracious host, a small token of welcome."

Before arriving at the manor, Ms. Camille's face had still shown some faint traces of impatience, a subtle furrow in her brow. But now that she was here, seated in the opulent room, there was no trace of it whatsoever. Her demeanor and composure seemed to rival Dutch's own, a remarkable feat, even though she had, in essence, come to offer a veiled apology and a proposition.

The immense status of the Morgan Family, a titan of industry and finance, made it impossible for her to overtly curry favor with Dutch, even though he had achieved such astonishing success in these two states. Her power was of a different, more subtle, but ultimately far greater, kind.

"No, Mr. Van der Linde. While I appreciate the offer, I've been in Saint Denis for quite some time now, and it's truly time for me to return to my affairs." Ms. Camille's voice was crisp, elegant, her tone unwavering. With a fluid, practiced movement, she crossed her left leg gracefully over her right, a sitting posture that in that era represented the epitome of female elegance and decorum, a subtle power play. "However, before I leave, I wanted to meet you personally and resolve what appears to be a regrettable misunderstanding between us."

As she spoke, her expression grew a little more somber, a subtle shift in her features, and then her gaze, sharp and pointed, shifted abruptly to Mr. Brown, who stood rigidly beside her, already looking uncomfortable.

The pressure on Mr. Brown immediately intensified, becoming almost unbearable. He visibly flinched, then instantly shuffled forward, his movements stiff, and walked in front of Dutch, bowing deeply, his head almost touching his knees, a picture of abject humility.

"Mr. Van der Linde… I, I sincerely apologize for my previous actions, sir!" he stammered, his voice choked with fear, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Then, with trembling hands, he reached out and placed the small, heavy, wooden box he had been clutching in front of Dutch, setting it carefully on the ornate coffee table.

As the box opened, its lid revealing its contents, it displayed a neat stack of crisp U.S. dollars, a substantial sum, alongside a formally executed land deed, gleaming white.

"Mr. Van der Linde, Mr. Brown's previous actions, his regrettable oversight, were not authorized by us, not in the slightest." Ms. Camille's voice was smooth, apologetic, yet with a subtle note of practiced detachment, as if distancing herself from a minor inconvenience. She stood up from the sofa, gracefully, her apology etched on her face, and bowed slightly to Dutch, a formal gesture designed to show her utmost sincerity. "We are very sorry for the cooperative agreement he so mistakenly mentioned, for the misunderstanding."

She gestured towards the box. "This box contains five hundred thousand U.S. dollars, a substantial sum, deposited by the Morgan Family in Saint Denis, plus the deed to Mr. Brown's personal residence, to serve as a humble compensation for Mr. Brown's unfortunate offense, his egregious error."

Her subsequent words, however, delivered with an almost imperceptible shift in tone, subtly revealed the ultimate, true purpose of her visit, the real reason she had come all this way. "We hope you can accept our apology. And, Mr. Van der Linde, we would be honored if we could sign a new, comprehensive contract to help you develop Lemoyne and New Hanover, to harness this incredible potential."

Dutch Van der Linde was simply a genius, she inwardly mused, a financial savant capable of developing a mere ranching town like Valentine to another level of prosperity and integrating two entire states into his burgeoning empire in just half a year! It was an astonishing, unprecedented feat.

The Morgan Family, being titans of capital, inherently adept at recognizing and seizing profitable investment opportunities, how could they possibly not invest when facing such a visionary genius, a man who transformed everything he touched into gold?

Originally, their strategic purpose in opening the Morgan Commercial Bank in Saint Denis was precisely to seize undeveloped resources in the vast, untapped West, aiming for an early, decisive advantage over their rivals. Mr. Brown's previous inability to find suitable, large-scale investment targets had caused their ambitious plans to be frustratingly shelved here, remaining dormant.

But now, this perfect, lucrative target had emerged on its own, practically presenting itself on a silver platter—this was simply a heaven-sent opportunity, an alignment of the stars!

They could completely rely on Van der Linde, on his unique methods and his loyal following, to step boldly into the West, effectively taking over the entire region before other capital could even make significant moves, before their rivals could even react!

This was her true, ultimate objective, the prize she coveted.

As for the audacious Saint Denis coup and the forced integration of the two states into Dutch's dominion, these were not issues, not impediments. As long as the Morgan Family could participate, could get their foot in the door, it wouldn't be long, she knew, before the middle-level figures and leaders of various small departments in this newly controlled area subtly changed, becoming their pawns, their operatives. Then, no matter how much territory Mr. Van der Linde conquered, no matter how vast his empire, they, the Morgan Family, would gain that much Western resources, their profits soaring exponentially.

After all, public opinion, raw power, intricate backroom dealings, and subtle coercion—these were precisely what capitalists like the Morgan Family were best at. Ms. Camille didn't believe for a second that anyone, even a charismatic leader like Dutch Van der Linde, would refuse readily available, immense profit merely for so-called loyalty, for abstract ideals.

Of course, they wouldn't easily or overtly oppose Van der Linde; that would be foolish. This cooperation was merely a layer of crucial insurance for themselves, a way to control the unpredictable.

After all, such masters of making money and strategizing, true financial architects, do not appear so easily, not every day.

The subtle meaning embedded in her few, carefully chosen sentences further highlighted one crucial point: she knew, with an unsettling certainty, that the Van der Linde Gang's current influence now extended across two major states, a vast, undeniable power.

Dutch's brows furrowed slightly, a subtle shift in his expression, as he looked at the neat stacks of U.S. dollars and the formal land deed lying open in the box before him. The furrows then slowly smoothed, a slight, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips, and then his gaze, calm and assessing, shifted from the box to Ms. Camille, who stood gracefully, expectantly, before him.

"Hahaha, Ms. Camille, truly a woman who rivals men in intellect and ambition!" Dutch chuckled, a low, resonant sound, seemingly amused. "However, your approach is perhaps a bit too… distant. Cooperation with the esteemed Morgan Family is something I eagerly desire, something I seek; there's no need to interrupt it, to cast a shadow over its potential, over a small misunderstanding caused by Mr. Brown's unfortunate lapse in judgment. We can move past that."

Dutch leaned forward, his voice taking on a surprisingly accommodating tone. "How about this, Ms. Camille? I will take out another substantial loan of ten million U.S. dollars from the Morgan Family to purchase your invaluable railway technology and the necessary equipment and personnel support for its implementation. I will also purchase your advanced steel smelting technology and its essential equipment and personnel support, and, crucially, purchase a large amount of raw materials to vigorously develop New Hanover and Lemoyne. After all, as you wisely said, the rapid development of these two major states requires massive human and material resources! This substantial money can still be repaid starting three years from now, giving us ample time for growth. I guarantee you will definitely make a huge profit from this loan, possibly even millions of U.S. dollars in interest. How does that sound, Ms. Camille?"

Dutch's face was full of wide, genial smiles, but there was no genuine mirth in his eyes, only a calculating coolness.

How could he not understand what Ms. Camille's carefully worded offer truly meant? The unspoken intentions behind her politeness? But it wasn't unexpected; it was merely the predictable maneuver of her kind.

This was a common ailment among capitalists; they claimed to be doing legitimate business, but what they really wanted, their ultimate goal, was to seize wealth by cunning and, when necessary, by sheer force, exploiting every loophole. Otherwise, how could they possibly accumulate their vast capital so quickly, building empires in mere decades?

Mr. Brown's clumsy methods, his crude attempt at coercion, could only be described as those of an immature robber, openly declaring, 'I'm going to rob you, so what? What are you going to do about it?'

Ms. Camille, on the other hand, was far more sophisticated. She was like a friend who ate, drank, laughed, and joked by your side, seemingly sharing camaraderie, all the while subtly, expertly figuring out your bank card PIN and the deeds to your house, extracting every piece of vital information. And then, suddenly one day, you inexplicably found yourself a pauper, stripped bare, your fortune mysteriously vanished.

It was like playing the stock market; robbery cleverly disguised as a pleasant, mutually beneficial way to get you voluntarily involved, tangled in a web from which you were unable to extricate yourself. But in reality, whether to short or not, whether you won or lost, was entirely at someone else's whim, someone else's control.

These, Dutch knew, were all methods of robbery, refined, insidious. And they were the most fundamental methods of this capital, the very essence of its operation. Otherwise, how many honest lifetimes, how many generations, would it truly take for someone to honestly do business, building wealth penny by penny, and achieve such a massive, astronomical scale? It was impossible.

Listening to Dutch's counter-offer, a faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on Ms. Camille's face, a flicker of satisfaction.

"Oh, you are truly a joker, Mr. Van der Linde." Ms. Camille's voice was light, amused, but her eyes held a serious intensity. "In fact, we have a much better way to cooperate than that, a far more synergistic approach. The Morgan Family can fully assist you in developing New Hanover and Lemoyne, pouring our resources into your vision, and during the cooperation period, all directions, all strategic decisions, will be decided entirely by you! We only need to take a forty percent share of the profits. In addition, we can help you clear all routes, securing your passage, ensuring you can travel unimpeded across all U.S. states, and even overseas, reaching global markets. Indeed, globally, we have unique, unparalleled connections!"

She paused, allowing her words to sink in, emphasizing the sheer scale of their influence. "How do you feel about this cooperation plan, Mr. Van der Linde?"

Ms. Camille quietly watched Dutch, her expression serene, her eyes sharp, analytical, unwavering. And Dutch, even more quietly, watched Ms. Camille, his face unreadable, neither speaking nor moving, a silent battle of wills.

'Damn it,' Camille thought, a flicker of irritation, 'what exactly is this Van der Linde fellow? Who acts so impolitely during a conversation, engaging in such a prolonged staring contest? It's utterly barbaric!'

She knew Dutch wouldn't easily agree to such cooperation; he was too shrewd, too experienced. They were both old foxes, masters of deception and negotiation; she didn't think Dutch was unaware of the deeper, self-serving motives behind her generous offer. He would see right through it.

It wasn't until Ms. Camille felt a distinct chill, a subtle shiver, running down her spine from Dutch's prolonged, unnervingly intense stare, that a wide, unexpected smile suddenly appeared on his face. He extended his hand, a gesture of finality.

"Hahaha, then… a pleasant cooperation, Ms. Camille!" Dutch boomed, his voice warm, disarmingly cheerful. "I think you can have your people start drafting the contract immediately! Let's get this done!"

"Uh…" Ms. Camille, who had been about to continue explaining her next, even more intricate, contract, a layered proposition, was utterly stunned by Dutch's sudden, unequivocal agreement. Her words caught in her throat.

No, he just agreed? Just like that? Without a single counter-demand?

Ms. Camille looked at Dutch with a profoundly puzzled gaze, her carefully maintained calm expression almost faltering, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her features.

No, what did this mean? Why did he suddenly agree? Without even mentioning any conditions, any demands for himself?

Damn it, she thought, a cold wave of apprehension washing over her. Ms. Camille's heart suddenly dropped, plummeting like a stone. She strained to look at Dutch's still smiling face, scrutinizing every line, every subtle twitch, trying desperately to analyze his inner thoughts, to decipher his true intentions, but she simply couldn't make sense of it. His face was a perfect, infuriating mask.

Damn it, why did he suddenly agree? What's the catch?

Ms. Camille, who should have been overjoyed, ecstatic, about Dutch's immediate agreement, couldn't feel happy at all. This was precisely what she feared most: being unable to understand her opponent.

Others, lesser minds, could understand her thoughts, her strategies, her predictable moves, but she, the master manipulator, couldn't figure out what the other party was planning! This was the most distressing, most terrifying thing for capitalists like them, for the architects of grand schemes!

Once an information gap arises, once one party operates in complete secrecy while the other is exposed, it means you are very likely to be devoured by others, consumed by the unknown.

Miss Camille was slightly stunned, her composure momentarily shattered. She looked at Dutch with a new, serious expression, her previous flirtatious air completely gone, and then spoke earnestly, a genuine plea in her voice. "Oh, Mr. Van der Linde, you don't need to be so tolerant of me, sir. Please, if you have any requests, any conditions, please feel free to make them, after all, contract negotiations are always a give-and-take, a careful balance of interests."

Dutch shook his head, a simple, firm gesture. "No, Miss Camille, I have no requests." His voice was calm, utterly unwavering.

"How can you have no requests?!" Miss Camille exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief. She gestured animatedly, encompassing the entire scope of the deal. "Regarding profit distribution, personnel arrangements, and section divisions, these are all critical matters that can and must be discussed thoroughly, negotiated! If you feel that forty percent of the profit is too high for us, we can even go down to thirty-five percent! Personnel can also be completely handed over to you for command, full autonomy." Miss Camille's heart grew even more anxious, a frantic beating in her chest. His lack of demands was terrifying.

"No! There's no need for such trouble, Miss Camille, not at all." Dutch waved his hand dismissively, his expression completely unconcerned, almost bored. "Just sign it."

She looked at Dutch, who sat on the sofa with an utterly unreadable, emotionless expression, his gaze distant, and felt her heart pounding erratically, a frantic rhythm.

She didn't know why she would say something that lowered her own interests, that diminished her family's profit, but Dutch's current, inscrutable demeanor made her feel profoundly insecure, an unsettling vulnerability she rarely experienced.

She wondered what crazy, unprecedented plan this former desperado, this enigmatic leader, was concocting now, hidden behind his blank stare.

Wait… desperado?

Miss Camille's brow suddenly furrowed slightly, a sharp crease appearing between her elegant eyebrows, as she recalled Dutch's former profession, the simple, brutal truth of his past.

According to the intelligence she had received at the time, Dutch Van der Linde and his gang were apparently nothing more than common robbers who specialized in robbing capitalists, systematically stripping them of their wealth!

So now…

Miss Camille's brow furrowed even deeper, her gaze fixed intently, suspiciously, on Dutch sitting calmly on the sofa, a faint, chilling suspicion already forming, solidifying, in her astute mind. The pieces were beginning to align in a terrifying pattern.

The polite smile on her face slowly receded, replaced by a grim, thoughtful expression, and she settled back onto the sofa, her posture rigid. She began tapping her fingers rhythmically on the armrest, a nervous habit, slowly, deliberately saying, her voice low, laced with a new understanding, "Alright, Mr. Van der Linde, I think I know what you're up to. I believe I understand your game."

She paused, her eyes locking onto his. "However, I think I need to make one thing crystal clear: my Morgan Family is not as weak and easily bullied as these unfortunate families in Saint Denis, whose power you so swiftly dismantled. Given your past, your history as a robber, I know you may not truly understand the immense, global power of our Morgan Family. You may underestimate us."

She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a low, chilling, almost threatening tone. "Let me put it this way, Mr. Van der Linde: if you foolishly try to use the same crude methods you used against the Saint Denis families to contend with us, if you try to 'rob' the Morgan Family, then you will not only face the full, unyielding targeting from the United States Government, but also from the United Kingdom, France, Germany, and even Spain—all the great empires of the world will directly intervene, uniting their forces to uphold justice for our Morgan Family, to crush you without mercy."

Her voice was cold, unwavering, radiating an immense, silent power. "Right now, sitting in front of you is not some small Western entrepreneur, not some regional magnate as you might mistakenly think. I am a direct, senior member of a top-tier global family, someone no country, no empire, dares to easily offend! The combined power of a hundred Mr. Cornwall is merely a drop in the ocean to us, a negligible sum! Do you understand the scale of what you are dealing with?"

"So I hope you don't harbor any inappropriate thoughts, any foolish, suicidal intentions," she concluded, her voice laced with a final, chilling warning.

Miss Camille had still shown some semblance of courtesy with these words, a veneer of civility, otherwise she would have directly thrown them in Dutch's face, a crude, open threat.

However, despite the polite framing, the words themselves were profoundly impolite, incredibly arrogant, a blatant display of raw, overwhelming power.

Dutch merely smiled and nodded, his expression utterly unperturbed, without the slightest hint of anger, as if he had anticipated every word.

"Sure, Miss Camille, of course!" Dutch's voice was calm, almost soothing, a disarming tone. "I know the true scale of the Morgan Family, its vast global influence, and I truly don't harbor the kind of thoughts you mentioned. My intentions are pure, I assure you."

He paused, then leaned forward, his voice taking on a cooperative, almost empathetic tone. "Oh, how about this, Miss Camille, let's start our cooperation in Lemoyne first, a pilot project, to show you my absolute sincerity, to prove my honest intentions. I think this way you won't have any lingering concerns, any doubts about my commitment."

Dutch was remarkably understanding, his attitude incredibly accommodating, almost bafflingly so. His demeanor made Miss Camille raise her head, her brow furrowing deeply in confusion.

Damn it, she thought, a surge of utter frustration, she really couldn't figure out Dutch's intentions now! She had thought of every possible idea Dutch Van der Linde could have, every cunning scheme, every hidden motive, but why was he still like this? Why was he so utterly… compliant?

Does he really have no other ideas? No hidden agenda, no trap? The thought was as unsettling as any threat.

Looking at the confused, almost flustered Miss Camille, Dutch smiled, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, Miss Camille, don't have any more psychological reservations, madam. There's no need for such worry."

He spread his hands wide, a gesture of open, honest invitation. "As you said, you don't need to fear any unusual actions from me, any treachery, so why are you constantly worrying about my thoughts, dissecting my every word? I'm not afraid of you, so what are you afraid of?" His gaze was direct, a challenge.

What Dutch said was indeed correct; at the very least, Miss Camille's inner reservations were somewhat, reluctantly, dispelled. His logic, though simple, cut through her complex suspicions.

Just as Dutch said, she truly didn't need to fear Dutch playing dirty tricks, not after her explicit warning, so thinking it over and over, agonizing about his hidden motives, was truly pointless, a waste of her valuable time.

"Alright, Mr. Van der Linde," Miss Camille finally nodded, a decisive movement. She stood up from the sofa, her posture regal, and offered a faint, almost imperceptible bow, her expression regaining its professional composure. "I express my sincere apologies for the offense just now, my uncalled-for suspicions! So it's settled, we'll start a pilot project in Lemoyne to initiate our cooperation! I will have someone come over later to sign the contract with you, and of course, we will help you resolve all logistical issues and clear any channels. Happy cooperation, Mr. Van der Linde!" Her voice was firm, resolute.

She extended her hand, her movements fluid and confident, to shake Dutch's.

"Happy cooperation, Miss Camille!" Dutch replied, his smile wide and genuine, radiating warmth. He extended his hand and shook Miss Camille's firmly, a clasp of alliance. "I believe our Van der Linde Gang will have an excellent, incredibly fruitful cooperative relationship with the formidable Morgan Family!"

"Of course, Mr. Van der Linde! Since that's the case, we'll be leaving now." Ms. Camille confirmed, her smile now genuine, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.

Miss Camille left Henry Manor with Mr. Brown, walking with a renewed sense of purpose. Notably, they did not take the five hundred thousand dollars and the property deeds laid out conspicuously on the floor, a blatant display of their vast wealth and their disregard for such a petty sum.

Dutch sat back on the sofa, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow as he looked at the money scattered on the floor, an almost dismissive gesture. He then looked at John, who stood nearby, waiting for instructions, and said, his voice low, "John, find two reliable people to collect this money and deposit it immediately in our bank. Damn it, the Morgan Family is truly powerful; five hundred thousand dollars is nothing to them! A mere trifle! Oh, in Saint Denis, having this five hundred thousand dollars in cash would be enough to make you a top-tier family, one of the elite!"

Dutch was filled with a mixture of emotion and subtle satisfaction, then stood up from the sofa and walked purposefully towards the study, his mind already turning to his next task.

He still had to continue his writing, his ideological groundwork.

Ideology, he knew, was the fundamental condition for true, lasting rule; he wanted to instill one deeply ingrained idea in the minds of the people in these two states: that the money of the rich, the vast fortunes accumulated by exploitation, inherently belonged to them, the common people!

When these powerful ideas became deeply ingrained in their minds, when they truly believed this fundamental truth, a very strange, utterly powerful reaction would occur.

That is, when this group of people, once impoverished and pliable, tried to bribe them with money, they would not be bought off by it. Instead, they would become extremely angry, enraged by the perceived insult!

'F*ck!' Dutch imagined their internal outcry. 'Using money obtained from oppressing us, from stealing our labor, to then bribe us? Isn't that like stealing a dog's meat and then throwing it a mere bone, expecting it to guard the very house from which its meal was stolen? It's an insult!'

Do not underestimate this powerful, righteous mentality; that was the insidious method the old man (Mao) used against the old oil (imperialists/capitalists) to incite public hatred and rally the masses.

Ultimately, it would completely evolve into a simple, powerful, unshakeable belief: my taking money from you is not robbery; it is simply because it was originally my money to begin with! It is just recompense for past wrongs!

Of course, this was just the initial ideological consolidation, the planting of the seed.

Watching Dutch's retreating back, John, who was already diligently tidying up the scattered money, his movements efficient, turned to Arthur, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"Arthur, are we really going to cooperate with the Morgan Family? I feel this cut is a bit too high, forty percent. Sh*t! I feel like we can handle these two states entirely by ourselves; there's no need for cooperation at all, not with such a large share!" John protested, his voice low, tinged with suspicion.

"Oh, Marston, can't you think carefully about what we do? Damn it, we're robbers! And robbers who only rob the rich!" Arthur retorted, his voice sharp, changing his usual questioning style and instead beginning to explain, patiently, to John. "I think Dutch must already have a plan, a cunning strategy behind this apparent concession."

"Don't forget your roots, John, damn it, I see you've started to act like a lord now! You've immersed yourself in your identity and started to set arbitrary rules for yourself, losing your edge!" Arthur grumbled, scolding John, though his words were laced with an underlying affection. He didn't show at all that this was a lesson Dutch had taught him long ago, a core tenet he had kept firmly in mind.

"Yes, John, Arthur is right. Besides, Miss Camille signed the contract with our Van der Linde Gang; what does that have to do with the Lemoyne State government? Nothing. Mayor Henry Lemieux hasn't agreed to any of it. He's just a puppet."

Dutch's voice, calm and authoritative, echoed from the stairs, confirming Arthur's explanation. John, convinced by the combined logic of his two mentors, rubbed his head, a thoughtful expression on his face, feeling a bit emotional, a renewed sense of awe.

Damn it, John thought, a dawning realization, Dutch is Dutch after all; he's always so cunning, so far ahead of everyone!

Of course, now he also has the formidable power and the unshakeable confidence to be truly cunning, to play the long game. His empire was growing.