Davey found Kieran's nervousness a little amusing.
"Kieran, there's no need to be so tense. Just treat this place like home."
"I heard you're pretty good with horses, right?"
Kieran still couldn't hide his anxiety. "Yes, sir, I know a bit about horse care."
Davey nodded. "Good. There's a stable on my farm, but there aren't any fine horses in it right now."
"I'm planning to buy a few quality ones soon—think you could help me with that?"
"If you can, I'll put you in charge of managing the stables from now on."
Kieran quickly replied, "Of course, sir. I'd be honored to serve you."
After a brief pause, he hesitated and asked timidly, "Sir, would it be alright if I stayed in the small house near the stable?"
"This place feels too grand. I'm afraid I might dirty something."
Davey never compromised on comfort. After buying the farm, he'd had the main house completely redone.
Old furnishings—sinks, carpets, lamps, nearly everything that could be replaced—were swapped out for new ones.
Naturally, the new furniture was the most luxurious that Valentine had to offer.
He'd spent eight hundred dollars on the upgrades alone.
Even the beds and furniture in Kieran's own quarters were expensive, so the poor lad was almost afraid to touch anything. He was terrified of making a mess or breaking something.
So when Davey mentioned putting him in charge of the stables, Kieran immediately volunteered to live out there.
"Oh, Kieran, you don't have to do that. These rooms are sitting empty anyway," Davey said with a chuckle.
"Arthur told me you once saved his life at Six-Point Cabin. That makes you my friend too."
"You might feel out of place now, but trust me—you'll grow to love it here."
"Alright, go find Donal and ask him about buying horses. I'm counting on you to handle it well. Don't let me down, Kieran."
Kieran bowed slightly. "Yes, sir. I'll see to it right away."
...
After Kieran left, Davey sat on the sofa, thinking about future plans.
Beside him, the maid Elisa immediately brought out a cigar for him and lit it.
Davey now had nearly forty thousand dollars in cash—an astonishing sum, especially since most of it was in small bills. It could fill an entire sack.
If Dutch decided to rob him, he could skip the struggle and buy his way straight to Tahiti.
Of course, Dutch already had money. He could've gone to Tahiti anytime—he just preferred living the outlaw life.
Davey didn't like sitting on piles of cash. Hoarding money made no sense.
As the United States developed, the dollar would only keep losing value. Spending it to build assets and power—that was the smart move.
Originally, Benedict was supposed to get a ten percent share.
But after receiving his first cut, he got scared.
It was simply too much—so much that he didn't even dare to take it.
He started worrying someone might kill him in his sleep.
Money was great, but you needed to stay alive to enjoy it. And since Davey already had the formula, Benedict wasn't irreplaceable anymore.
He could be swapped out anytime.
So Benedict approached Davey himself and refused further profit shares.
After some negotiation, Davey agreed to pay him a fixed salary of twelve hundred dollars a month.
That finally put Benedict at ease.
After all, twelve hundred dollars a month was a huge salary in the current United States—even in the big eastern cities.
...
That night, Mac and Uncle still hadn't returned.
Davey knew that if he didn't intervene, those two could easily disappear for weeks.
So he sent someone to drag them back.
When they finally returned, both looked unhappy.
"Davey, my brother," Mac complained, "didn't you know I was just discussing the beauty of life with a lady? Why'd you have me hauled back here?"
Uncle grumbled too. "Davey, I just got here! You should at least let me enjoy myself a little."
Seeing their reluctance, Davey cut straight to the point.
"Mac, I've already spoken to Donal. From now on, you won't be getting a single cent from him."
"I'm building a shooting range behind the farm. You're going to start training again."
"I don't want the Mac who once took down fifteen sailors in the Caribbean to turn into someone who can't even handle a woman."
"And you, Uncle—at your age, aren't you afraid of dying on a woman's belly?"
"You don't need to worry about farm work. I've got men who'll be training at the range. Your job is to teach them—show them how to handle a gun."
"Every three days, I'll let you both go into Valentine for some fun. As for today, just get some rest."
Uncle, though always drunk, once had the nickname "One-Shot Kid."
So when it came to teaching a few rookies how to shoot, he was more than qualified.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser