Davey looked at the brandy manager, Seymour, with keen interest.
Vaguely, he sensed that Seymour was different from the other four managers. When the others spoke, there was always a trace of arrogance and contempt in their tone, but Seymour alone remained humble and respectful throughout.
Clearly, he understood exactly what kind of situation he was in.
Facing Davey's question, Seymour gave a bitter smile.
"Mr. Land, I offer you my sincerest apology for the mistakes I made in the past."
"Of course, an apology shouldn't be limited to words alone. I'm willing to offer twenty thousand dollars, along with an apartment and a shop in Saint Denis, as my ransom."
"If Mr. Land has any other requirements, I will do everything in my power to fulfill them."
Compared to Caris and the others, Seymour's attitude was genuinely sincere.
Twenty thousand dollars was an astronomical sum for ordinary people, but distillery managers like them earned far more than most. On top of that, there was also property in Saint Denis—a city apartment and a commercial storefront.
The other managers glared at him angrily. Even though they had been captured, they had no intention of paying such an enormous ransom. In their eyes, a few thousand dollars was already an outrageous figure.
Despite their high incomes, twenty thousand dollars amounted to nearly half of their total wealth.
Sensing their stares, Seymour ignored them completely. He knew very well that the connections and backgrounds Caris and the others were boasting about were largely meaningless here. They might have carried weight in the East, but this was the West—a place where civilization had yet to fully take hold.
The infamous federal bootlegging agents who were so feared in the East were practically useless here. The incident in Strawberry had already proven that.
Now that even Bronte was cooperating with Davey, the distillery owners backing these men simply didn't possess comparable influence.
If he wanted to survive, the only option was to show enough sincerity.
"You're impressive, Mr. Seymour," Davey said. "That level of sincerity is enough to make me change my original plan."
"I like dealing with smart people—especially those who know how to read the situation—rather than idiots who don't realize what's happening until death is staring them in the face."
"Did you really think I went through all that trouble to have Bronte hand you over just for a few thousand dollars?"
"We're all in the same line of business. You should know my moonshine operation well enough. As for me, you people once got my men killed—and coincidentally, I don't care much about a few thousand dollars."
"Mr. Seymour, you're quite interesting. Let me ask you something—are you willing to work for me? If you are, we can wipe the slate clean. Of course, before that, I'll need a pledge."
Davey had originally planned to kill all five of them. He had never intended to spare anyone. But Seymour had piqued his interest.
Davey could have chosen cooperation from the start, but what happened at Emerald Ranch—and the death of Levin Kam, the son of one of his subordinates—demanded an explanation.
More importantly, this was about uniting people's hearts, not just money.
Still, Seymour's performance stirred a sense of appreciation in him. People who knew when to submit were rare in the country.
"Mr. Land, I would be honored to work for you," Seymour said. "I just don't quite understand what you mean by a 'pledge.'"
Naturally, Seymour had no reason to refuse. Rejecting Davey's demand would be the same as gambling with his own life.
Davey explained, "You can think of a pledge as proof of loyalty when joining me. Not in words—but through action."
"You see, Mr. Seymour, I'm a wanted man myself. A killer. If you want to join me, the first thing you need to learn is how to kill. It may not be very dignified, but it's the fastest way to show loyalty, don't you think?"
As he spoke, Davey signaled to one of the employees beside him. The man drew a revolver from his holster, stepped forward, and handed it to Seymour.
Seymour accepted the revolver stiffly, his expression dazed and uncertain.
The meaning was obvious—Davey wanted him to kill the others as his pledge.
"Seymour, you can't do this!!!"
Seeing Seymour raise the revolver and slowly aim it at him, Caris shouted in panic.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have a choice, Caris," Seymour said softly.
Then he decisively pulled the trigger.
With a gunshot, Caris collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain.
Immediately afterward, Seymour fired at the remaining managers, emptying all six rounds of the revolver.
Unfortunately, his marksmanship was poor. Only three shots hit, and none were fatal.
The Guarma rum manager stood there in a daze—he was too far away, and Seymour's last shot missed him entirely.
Davey had no intention of forcing Seymour to finish the job. He waved his hand, signaling the employees to drag the men away and deal with them.
Then he turned to the stiff, uneasy Seymour.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Seymour," Davey said calmly. "Trust me—this is the right choice."
...
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