Saint Denis Grand Hotel.
Davey was hosting Samuel Grayson, a senior executive of Pinkerton.
The man was in his fifties. Broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his tailored suit looked as though it might split at the seams at any moment. Nearly two meters tall, with a thick beard covering his face, he resembled a bear.
A gold cigar band gleamed between his fingers as he held a cigar.
A very refined bear.
"I'd like to hear your plan, Mr. Land."
"Your previous proposal interested me enough to come here in person to speak with you."
"I trust this won't turn out to be a wasted trip."
Grayson's tone carried a natural authority, faintly imposing but not impolite. It was simply the habit of a man long accustomed to power, not something directed at Davey personally.
"Ten factories. Twenty factories. Thirty factories."
"A thousand workers. Two thousand. Even tens of thousands."
"Saint Denis has a massive influx of immigrants—an abundant source of cheap labor."
"And it has a port capable of shipping goods across the world."
"This city will become the factory of the world, producing the finest goods at the lowest prices."
"And transporting those goods will require substantial protection."
"Mr. Grayson, our cooperation will be a win-win."
Davey spoke calmly, his voice steady.
His words unfolded like a grand blueprint before Grayson's eyes.
He spoke as though that future were already within reach.
And with it came an unmistakable confidence.
It was that confidence that moved Grayson.
Looking at Davey, he seemed to see his younger self.
He had once been the same way.
"I was right to come in person."
"You've got ambition, Mr. Land. I like that."
"Here's to a successful partnership."
"All Pinkerton resources in the West will be fully open to you."
"If you need anything in the East, I will give you my full support."
"I trust I won't be disappointed, Mr. Land."
Grayson set down his cigar, stood, and extended his right hand.
Major decisions often came down to trust in a person.
Before coming, Grayson had reviewed Davey's file countless times.
In just a few short months, he had gone from a notorious outlaw in the West to a business elite. A genius.
Seeing him in person only strengthened Grayson's conviction.
Partnering with a business prodigy like this was how Pinkerton would go further.
After all, hadn't he risen the same way?
"Trust me, Mr. Grayson. I won't disappoint you."
Davey reached out and gripped his hand firmly.
He couldn't help feeling stirred.
Grayson was the most powerful man he had met so far. No question.
Even a tycoon like Cornwall fell short compared to Pinkerton's top leadership.
It wasn't about money—it was about power and connections.
Pinkerton had once saved a president and still handled matters related to presidential security.
That meant access to the highest levels of the federal government.
The influence and invisible networks behind that were beyond anything a mere business magnate could match.
With Grayson's backing, it might not mean much in the East.
But in the West, it meant Davey now possessed enough political influence to shape the situation.
Milton stood behind Grayson.
A senior agent's status was worlds apart from someone like Grayson, who could dismiss him with a word.
Milton's feelings were complicated.
He had watched Davey's rise from beginning to end.
Once a notorious criminal tied to the Callander brothers and a major suspect in the Blackwater heist.
In just a few months, he had transformed into a leading figure in Saint Denis.
And now he had secured Mr. Grayson's support.
Ross felt even more conflicted.
The way he looked at Davey had changed.
Grayson's promise of full support meant that, to a certain extent, Pinkerton agents across the West would prioritize Davey.
It also meant that if Davey made demands of him, Ross would have only two choices—
Obey.
Or resign.
...
Meanwhile.
Dutch was still trying to convince Arthur.
"Trust me, Arthur."
"Bronte knows we got away. He'll guess we might come after him."
"But this time, we'll catch him completely off guard."
"He'd never expect us to strike right now."
"See? I can still think clearly, can't I?"
Arthur replied dryly, "I figured you must've knocked your head robbing that tram, Dutch."
...
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