Chapter 20: Expanding the Winery
Over the next week, George accompanied Ryan as he familiarized himself with his newly acquired powers.
Until now, George hadn't had a concrete measure of his strength or combat capabilities. Before acquiring Deadshot's sharpshooting and combat skills, he could only rely on his formidable physical prowess to suppress enemies. But with these new abilities, he had closed that gap completely.
He was confident that even if he faced Captain America, he could hold his own.
The two had just finished training when a servant announced John's arrival.
George had a glass of wine prepared for John and asked him to wait in the reception room while he showered and changed.
When he returned, John and Ryan were already chatting happily.
"Hello, John."
"Hello, Mr. Orwell."
"So, you're here early. Any updates on the matters we discussed?" George asked, eyeing the documents John had laid on the coffee table.
"Yes, Mr. Orwell. Due to Canada's prohibition over the past three years, many wineries in this town have faced operational difficulties. They've heard that wages at your PL Winery are high. If you acquire their wineries, they hope you can prioritize keeping their workers on—and at the same pay rate."
John spoke candidly, knowing that the owners were genuinely looking for a buyer. Of the town's original thirty wineries, nearly twenty had been converted into farmland during Canada's four-year prohibition.
The remaining wineries had aging grapevines, which couldn't be easily replaced or converted to other crops without heavy losses. Replanting would require soil conditioning, fertilization, and significant time and investment.
Now, with a serious buyer like George, the owners were eager to negotiate.
"Everything can be discussed. As long as their requirements are reasonable, I don't mind retaining their workers. So, did you finish the plan I asked for?"
"Yes, it's right here," John said, spreading out a town map and a detailed proposal.
George first read through the plan, then studied the map carefully. Closing his eyes, he began visualizing the layout.
According to John's plan, acquiring the town's sixteen remaining wineries and some adjacent land would form a concave-shaped estate that semi-encircled the town. Adding the outward-facing PL Winery at the base of this formation, the total area would exceed 8,000 acres. The land was ideal for cool-climate grape varieties like Riesling, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Cabernet Franc.
At full capacity, the estate could produce over six million liters of wine annually.
If the wineries remained separate, the impact would be limited. But merged into one contiguous estate, the operation would be substantial.
Surprisingly, the asking price was modest.
George recalled that his own U.S. farm had sold for over $400,000. Yet here, including inventory, land, and facilities, the total cost was only $1.2 million—far below his estimate of $1.5 million.
He currently had about $300,000 in cash. By next month, once his dividends came in, he would have enough to cover the purchase.
Still, integrating 11,000 acres would require ongoing investment.
Summer was approaching, and with it, the first tremors of an economic crisis. George wanted to prepare.
He needed fast cash.
After thinking for a moment, George turned to John. "I can purchase all the land, and the benefits will match those at PL Winery. But there's room to negotiate the price. Go talk to them."
As always, he gave John an incentive: $1.15 million was the base, and John would receive a 3% bonus on any amount negotiated below that.
John agreed and left. He had a busy schedule ahead.
After he was gone, Ryan asked, "George, you're buying a huge amount of land. Do you have the funds?"
George chuckled, sipping his wine. "Don't worry, Uncle Ryan. I have a plan."
He had already figured out how to get the money.
Robbery was too risky and might not even yield that much cash. Plus, spending it openly would raise questions.
So George chose gambling.
The next day, George bid Ryan farewell.
Reno, Nevada.
Today, Las Vegas is synonymous with gambling, but decades ago, Reno was the original hotspot.
Legend had it that wealthy investors once tried to turn Reno into what Las Vegas would become, but public opposition shut down the idea. As a result, Vegas flourished while Reno stagnated.
George checked into the Silver Legacy Hotel in downtown Reno.
In the center of the casino lobby stood a massive silver-plating machine from the gold rush era, a tribute to Nevada's mining history. The ceiling played an endless loop showcasing the silver-mining process.
But George wasn't there for history.
A hotel attendant approached. "Welcome to Silver Legacy, sir. Will you be checking in or trying your luck first?"
"Chips," George replied curtly.
He was led to the main hall by a striking woman named Emma. At the chip counter, he exchanged $10,000 for chips.
Within minutes, ten more people entered, each exchanging about $5,000. They were all George's Shadow Clones—his secret weapon.
They would dominate the poker tables.
In games like Texas Hold'em, played by 2 to 10 players, George had a unique advantage: his clones shared his senses and strategy.
He walked away with $500,000.
Tipping Emma generously, George converted the chips into cash and deposited them into a nearby bank.
Just as he was about to leave for another casino, he noticed something: he was being followed.
His enhanced senses made him hypersensitive to danger. Those predatory stares felt like needles on his skin.
George didn't panic. Instead, he wandered into darker streets and alleyways, luring his pursuers.
When he reached a dead end, five men stepped forward, guns drawn.
"What do you want?" George asked, pretending to panic.
"Relax," the leader sneered. "We saw you win big. Just want to invite you somewhere... private. Maybe borrow some cash."
The others laughed, flashing rotten teeth.
"Well, in that case..."
"What? You stupid or something?" One thug cackled.
George smiled, and then another figure appeared behind them.
In an instant, four of the five dropped, their throats slashed. The last man looked down to see his severed hand on the ground.
The real George stood behind him. The one they threatened had only been a clone.
No room for theatrics. No interest in getting hurt.
George stepped closer to the last thug.
"I ask. You answer. If you lie, I'll make sure you envy the dead."
The thug trembled, clutching his stump. "Y-You can't kill me. I'm with the Jewish Gang! You mess with us, you're done!"
"Still bluffing?" George crushed the severed hand underfoot. The man screamed.
"I'll talk! Please, just don't kill me!"
The thug spilled everything. The Jewish Gang ran the hotel and another casino, plus a loan business and over 200 prostitutes. Their headquarters were above the loan office, and their vault was on the top floor.
In three days, they would hold their monthly accounting to divide profits.
George glanced at the bodies.
He'd intended to make money legally. But some people just didn't learn.
He gathered their weapons: four Colt M1911s, one British Webley Mark VI, and several magazines.
As he stepped onto the main road, two panicked men ran past, pursued by armed thugs shouting, "Catch those two yellow-skinned pigs!"
George frowned and stepped aside. One thug bumped into him and nearly fell.
Too focused on their prey, they ignored him.
George took out his M1911, turned, and followed them into the alley.
— End of Chapter 20 —
📝 Translator's Note
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