"Mr. Land."
"Please, spare me."
"Spare me, and I can give you important information."
"It's about Mr. Grand."
"And Bronte—yes, Bronte. They're joining forces to deal with you."
"And the mayor."
Avery begged loudly, choking out the words as seawater poured from his mouth in broken spurts.
Davey was surprised—but not because Grand Corrigan had teamed up with Bronte and the mayor against him. What surprised him was Avery's stamina in the water.
After being tossed into the sea for so long, he could still shout with such strength.
Davey couldn't help but laugh as he said to Kerry, "Looks like Mr. Avery still isn't sober. He's already started talking nonsense. His drinking habits are truly awful."
"So keep helping him out."
Kerry replied calmly, "Of course, Mr. Land."
Avery screamed in terror. "No—don't do this, Mr. Land! Everything I said is true!"
Davey didn't react. He led Arthur and Javier Escuella over to the dining table and instructed the waiter, "I have friends here. Bring us some more dishes."
The waiter answered with a trembling voice, "Y–yes, sir," before hurrying away.
Arthur watched the scene. Though he didn't understand what Davey was planning, he burst out laughing.
"Davey, I thought you'd turned into a civilized man."
"Looks like we were wrong. You're still the same as ever."
Arthur liked this version of Davey. It felt closer, more familiar.
That earlier version—dressed like a gentleman, holding a wine glass, pretending to be some city aristocrat—had always rubbed him the wrong way.
So when he saw Davey punishing people in the old, familiar way, it finally felt like the Davey he remembered.
"Does a wolf in sheep's clothing really become a sheep?"
"Arthur, I've told you before—you should read more books. History books, preferably."
"If you've read the history of the United States, you'd know that civilization is built on barbarism."
"And the so-called civilized world of America was built on the corpses of the Native Americans."
"Some wolves put on sheep's skin and truly start believing they're sheep."
"But not me, Arthur. I'll always remember—I'm a wolf."
Arthur and Javier Escuella exchanged looks.
They didn't really understand what Davey was saying, but it somehow sounded profound.
"Have you been reading philosophy lately, Davey?"
"I take back what I said earlier. You're completely different now. Hearing you talk like this, it feels like you've become a poet—or a philosopher."
Davey smiled. "Alright. If that's how you want to see it."
Arthur glanced at the casino manager who was still being lowered into the sea and asked, "So, Davey… are you planning to rob this cruise ship?"
Davey didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "Arthur, would you rob Cornwall's train?"
Arthur looked confused. "Didn't we already rob Cornwall's train?"
Davey shook his head. "I mean the train itself, Arthur. Not what's on the train."
Arthur fell silent. "Of course not. What would be the point of robbing a train?"
Davey replied, "Then why would I rob this cruise ship?"
Arthur was even more speechless. Talking to Davey now felt like they weren't on the same wavelength at all. He couldn't make sense of it.
Just then, Avery was hoisted back up.
Unlike before, he was now barely alive, completely unable to speak. Seawater gurgled nonstop from his mouth. He had clearly swallowed plenty down below.
"Kerry, help him."
"If he doesn't make it, I suppose the sharks will be getting an extra meal tonight."
Hearing this, Avery's eyes flew wide open, a desperate will to live surging through him.
Kerry pressed on his chest, forcing the seawater out of his body. After a long while, Avery finally managed to breathe again.
But he was shaking all over, his face deathly pale. The suffocating terror from the depths still clung to him.
"Mr. Avery, I think it's time we had a proper conversation."
"You have three minutes to tell me everything."
"Otherwise, the sharks really will be eating well tonight."
"So, begin your performance, Mr. Avery."
Davey's tone was calm, but to Avery it sounded like a devil whispering in his ear.
Just moments ago, he had nearly died—had even felt himself slipping away.
Only someone who has truly faced death understands how terrifying it is.
It's like someone who attempts suicide: once they survive a single attempt, they'll never want to try again.
"It was Mr. Grand," Avery gasped. "He contacted the mayor—the mayor of Saint Denis, Henri Lemieux."
"He learned about your situation, Mr. Land—about the moonshine."
"The mayor told Mr. Grand that someone has already figured out your moonshine formula, and that they can crack it quickly as well."
"Once they have it, they'll join forces to deal with you."
"The mayor has also introduced Mr. Grand to Bronte—the Italian."
Davey listened without surprise, and without anger.
His relationship with Bronte had always been one of mutual exploitation. The mayor was no different.
For greater profit, it was only natural that once they obtained the moonshine formula, they would work together to eliminate him.
The formula itself wasn't particularly complicated. No one had bothered to analyze it before.
Send the moonshine to a few research institutes in the East, and its components could easily be identified. With a few trials, they could recreate a drink almost identical in taste.
"Would you be my friend, Mr. Avery?"
Avery answered immediately, "Of course, Mr. Land. I'll be your loyal friend. I can do anything you ask."
When his life was at stake, loyalty came cheap—though it would likely last only as long as the danger did.
Davey didn't mind. "Perhaps you can tell me more about Mr. Grand."
"He brought his beloved cruise ship all the way to this poor, backward, and barbaric western region. He must have run into trouble."
"What kind of trouble did Mr. Grand face?"
Avery forced a bitter smile. "It started with the economic crisis seven years ago—in 1893."
"Mr. Grand invested heavily in the steel market, railway companies, and European agricultural export firms."
"That depression caused many foreign investors to lose confidence in the American market, leading to mass withdrawals."
"Major rail companies like the Northern Pacific and Union Pacific collapsed or shut down, wiping out Mr. Grand's investments."
"European agricultural prices fell, banks failed, and his loans were squeezed from all sides."
"This ship wasn't originally a gambling vessel. It was converted after that. But business in the East became too difficult, so Mr. Grand brought it west."
The economic depression of 1893 led to widespread bankruptcies, stock market crashes, bank failures, and massive unemployment.
The East was hit hard, while the West was barely affected.
That was why western development had accelerated in recent years—many businessmen saw opportunity there and rushed in to invest, speeding up the development of the entire western United States.
"Davey, if you want to take down Bronte, maybe I can help."
"And the mayor—lately I've been handling some matters for him. It might be useful to you."
Arthur spoke up immediately.
"I'll help too, Davey," Javier Escuella added.
"Thank you, Arthur. Thank you, Javier Escuella," Davey said.
"But taking out Bronte isn't simple, and it doesn't mean much to me personally."
"As for the mayor, I've already made arrangements. Arthur, you might be able to help in certain areas, but we'll need a plan. Now isn't the time."
Davey certainly wanted Bronte dead.
But he couldn't be the one to do it.
Saint Denis was full of gangs, and there were unspoken rules—you didn't casually assassinate gang leaders. Everyone lived in the same city. There had to be order.
If gang bosses were killed off at random, no one would feel safe.
Of course, someone like Dutch—a true outlaw, unbound by such rules—was perfectly suited to take care of Bronte.
...
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