In Davey's eyes, Milton was a good man.
Even back when he was playing the game, he'd never felt any particular dislike toward him. From the standpoint of justice, Milton had given the Van der Linde Gang more than a few chances. He also stuck firmly to his own principles.
With Milton's strength and resources in the West, wiping out the Van der Linde Gang wouldn't have been difficult. Perhaps influenced by Dutch's conduct, Milton had extended leniency time and again. After all, a gang that took in the elderly and women was a rare sight in the West.
"Long time no see."
"Mr. Milton. Mr. Ross."
"I imagine you noticed quite a few familiar faces on your way in."
Davey smiled.
Among his employees were several former Pinkerton agents. After Pinkerton lost its law enforcement authority, some had been laid off.
As Pinkerton's chief officer in charge of the West, Milton had spent most of his life with the agency. He knew nearly every agent by face.
"Thank you, Mr. Land, for giving them work," Milton said sincerely.
Work meant everything to an American. It was how a man fed his family.
After being laid off, former Pinkerton agents had a hard time finding suitable employment. Most could only enlist in the army, but military pay was pitifully low. Many were forced to seek entirely new trades.
Hearing that, the tension in Ross's expression eased slightly.
"If Mr. Milton were willing to join me instead, that would truly be my greatest honor," Davey said frankly.
He wasn't joking. He meant it.
For someone to serve as a senior agent in Pinkerton spoke volumes—not about raw shooting skill, but about management, investigation, intelligence gathering, and coordination. Pinkerton's senior agents were elite professionals in every sense.
Take his deputy Ross, for example. In the future, he would become Director of the Western District of the Federal Bureau of Investigation—a man of enormous authority.
Ross's tone turned sharp. "I suggest you abandon that ridiculous idea, Mr. Land."
He deliberately stressed "Mr. Land," making it clear Davey shouldn't indulge in fantasies.
Davey didn't take offense. He simply smiled.
"Mr. Ross, this is our second meeting."
"The first was a few months ago in Valentine. You remember."
"At the time, you swore there was no possibility of cooperation between us."
"And yet—here we are."
Ross was left speechless.
Seeing that, Davey added, "I'll repeat what I told you then, Mr. Ross."
"You should learn from Mr. Milton. Whatever happens, don't rush. Stay calm."
Milton said nothing.
Ross was indeed too impulsive. The young man he held in high regard still needed tempering. Too upright. Too quick to divide the world into black and white. A setback now might do him good.
"Perhaps we should discuss the employment matter, Mr. Land," Milton said at last.
Davey nodded.
"It concerns my factory equipment. The price isn't the issue—I simply need it resolved quickly."
"Our cooperation with Pinkerton is only the beginning. I trust you've already reviewed the intelligence. I'm preparing to establish more factories."
"Future distribution alone will require a great deal of manpower."
"At present, my Land Security Company doesn't have the capacity to handle all of that."
"So our cooperation is mutually beneficial. Wouldn't you agree?"
Milton replied evenly, "Mr. Land, I should remind you that Pinkerton doesn't enjoy a good reputation among labor unions."
In labor disputes, Pinkerton agents were often hired by factory owners to monitor workers. Sometimes they protected strikebreakers, posed as them, or even directly participated in suppressing strikes. Among workers, Pinkerton's name carried little goodwill.
Even so, employers continued to hire them. In fact, much of Pinkerton's funding came from industrialists.
In Milton's view, Davey would likely be no different—another capitalist squeezing labor for profit. After all, could a former robber and killer suddenly become a defender of workers' rights? That sounded naïve.
"No, Mr. Milton, you misunderstand."
"I'm not asking you to suppress strikes. My needs are primarily in transportation."
Davey straightened slightly, a spark of anticipation in his eyes.
"Mr. Milton, the West holds enormous untapped potential. My goal isn't to open a handful of factories—I intend to turn this place into a true industrial center."
"Saint Denis has a natural advantage in maritime trade. Through it, we can connect to markets across the world."
He walked to the window, looking out at the busy scene beyond.
"As the number of factories grows, so will employment."
"Immigrants who come here won't just find jobs—they'll settle down."
"We'll build proper infrastructure. Schools. Hospitals. Shops. A complete community."
"In all of this, workers will be our most valuable asset."
"I will ensure fair wages and decent working conditions. Only then will they give their full effort—and help drive the West forward."
"So, Mr. Milton… what exactly is there to worry about?"
"What I need from Pinkerton is simple: ensure the safety of my shipments and their timely delivery."
"That is my sincerity."
Milton was momentarily stunned.
The words sounded like a campaign speech—yet they had come from the mouth of a former outlaw.
Still, he couldn't deny that the blueprint Davey described was plausible. And if realized, it would mean extensive cooperation with Pinkerton.
Pinkerton had over two thousand agents to support. If Davey's factories reached that scale, he would become their largest client.
After a long pause, Milton said slowly, "Mr. Land, your vision is impressive."
Davey smiled. "Then, Mr. Milton, it's time for Pinkerton to demonstrate its capabilities."
Milton glanced at Ross.
Ross took a contract from his briefcase.
"Within twenty-four hours of Mr. Land signing this agreement, the missing equipment will be returned."
It was a quiet display of Pinkerton's power.
They ran the largest private intelligence network in the United States. Tracking down a robbery crew was only a matter of how many resources they chose to deploy.
At this point, Milton had developed genuine respect for the man before him—a former outlaw turned industrialist, perhaps even a future magnate.
After all, Davey had risen from a wanted fugitive to his current position in just a few months.
The United States had never lacked for legends.
And Milton had the distinct sense he might be witnessing the birth of another.
If Davey truly delivered on his promises—creating vast employment opportunities and building comprehensive infrastructure—then he would become a figure of real consequence in the West.
The kind whose slightest move could shake the entire region.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Milton."
Davey skimmed the contract and signed without hesitation.
The retainer fee was modest—just one thousand dollars.
A very fair price. The case itself wasn't particularly large.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Land."
Milton stood and shook his hand.
"I suspect this won't be our last cooperation."
At that moment, Ross inclined his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his earlier attitude.
There was no denying it—Davey's speech had impressed him as well.
These were not the words of an ordinary man.
Ross even found himself wondering—if Davey ever ran for office with a speech like that, how many workers would cast their votes for him?
...
If you'd like to support my work and unlock advanced chapters, you can follow me on p-@-treon.
p-@-treon/GhostParser (40 Chapters Ahead)
You can also follow as a free member to read a few advanced chapters.