Chapter Nineteen: Such a Lively Scene

It wasn’t until Ethan descended into the basement of the Belle Bay Hotel that he finally understood why the Corleone family insisted on acquiring this rather unremarkable establishment in the northern district.

It was far more than a mere opportunistic grab.

Before Ethan lay a massive counterfeit liquor production facility.

The Poletta family had long been involved in the production of fake alcohol, previously perhaps only to pass off inferior goods for profit.

Now, this factory had become the very heart of the illicit liquor trade.

A continuous stream of bootlegged alcohol was being manufactured here.

No wonder the Corleone family coveted it so much.

Having established themselves in Wenster for years, the Corleones had somewhat rehabilitated their image, abandoning many shady dealings—counterfeit liquor among them. Their upscale hotels prided themselves on serving only genuine, premium spirits as their hallmark.

Now, however, there was a tinge of regret.

No one had anticipated the sudden enactment of Prohibition.

After Francis was eliminated, control of this operation fell to Viron.

Already involved in tavern businesses, managing this venture was a natural fit for him.

As for the docks, he intended to oversee them personally for the time being.

In this era, the docks were the golden gateway; whoever controlled them could reap immense wealth from the wave of bootlegging.

“How much do we have in the accounts now?”

After the bloodshed and turmoil, practical matters took precedence.

And at the core of it all was money.

Producing illicit liquor required funds, smoothing over various relationships demanded money, and arming more gunmen required money—there were endless expenses.

“One million three hundred thousand gold Ryens. We can hold on short term, but if production and distribution ramp up, it might get tight.”

The Ryens were the official currency of the Antustat Kingdom, named after the kingdom’s first monarch, whose image adorned the gold coins.

“My father still owns several properties in the capital, doesn’t he? We can liquidate them all. As long as we move the first batch of goods, money will flow continuously.”

Ethan pondered. He wouldn’t be heading to the capital anytime soon; leaving those properties idle was wasteful. Selling them now would allow him to buy back more later.

While inspecting the bootleg liquor factory, Ethan casually sipped a freshly produced drink.

The taste was indescribably vile—like poison.

He spat it out immediately and asked, “Are you sure this stuff won’t kill anyone?”

“Don’t worry, Lord Poletta, absolutely not,” replied a middle-aged man with a somewhat disreputable appearance—thinning hair, large teeth, and a gaunt frame—who smiled obsequiously while rubbing his hands. “I swear on my mentor’s name, at worst it’s just awful tasting. Years ago, no one would touch this, but now, as long as it’s liquor, someone will pay for it, right?”

This man was Walter Jones, the factory supervisor. Despite his unremarkable looks, he was highly skilled in counterfeit liquor production, once reportedly a top student at a prestigious university.

“Is there no way to improve it?”

“At this cost, this is the best we can do. To make it taste better, we’d have to spend more.”

“Work harder, Walter. As long as you can improve the taste without raising costs, I’ll give you three percent of the profits from each batch.”

For now, any liquor would sell. But as more players entered the business, flavor would become crucial. Good taste and low price would be the ultimate formula.

Ethan had no better ideas himself—not being a brewing expert from his previous life—so he pinned his hopes on this unsavory counterfeit expert.

“Of course, of course, Lord Poletta, thank you for your generosity. I will give it my all!”

Walter’s eyes gleamed as he rubbed his hands eagerly.

After leaving the factory, Ethan headed to the docks by car.

The docks had remained idle since Tony’s death; today’s visit was for that very reason.

He had already gathered all the dock workers and issued an edict; now it was time to show goodwill.

“Is the money ready?” Ethan asked, gazing out the window.

“Four hundred thousand. It’s all prepared—enough to pay their salaries for a year,” Anya replied without hesitation.

She was an exceptionally competent assistant, executing any task Ethan assigned with remarkable speed and excellence.

“How do you feel? Any insights?”

Ethan’s question concerned her true name—Black Butler.

Anya understood immediately. After a moment’s thought, she said, “My speed and reflexes have improved, my strength too. Most importantly, many techniques I previously didn’t understand have become clear. I could now easily defeat ten versions of my former self.”

“Keep analyzing. I need more precise information.”

Ethan himself knew little about true names, so having Anya as a reference was invaluable.

Soon, they arrived at Pier 13.

A crowd had already gathered on the docks, and people automatically stepped aside upon seeing Ethan’s car.

His vehicle had gained some notoriety; a popular Wenster newspaper described it as “the car like a spear—the arrival of Ethan Poletta.”

When Ethan stepped out, the previously boisterous crowd quieted, many lowering their heads instinctively.

His fearsome reputation was well known.

Just days ago, their old boss Tony had died before their eyes.

No one knew what this new leader would do to them.

Fortunately, they soon found out.

Upon entering the largest dock warehouse, the city’s most influential new boss opened a crate filled entirely with money.

“Everyone, first I must apologize. The family had some issues recently which halted operations here, causing losses for all. That was our fault. Thankfully, those problems are resolved. Now, better days have returned. I promise to resume work today and compensate everyone for their losses. Come forward and take your pay.”

Ethan emptied the contents of the crate onto the table, then shockingly stomped on the table with a roughness that exuded gangster bravado.

This unexpected display immediately eased the dock workers’ nerves and relaxed the atmosphere.

One man stepped forward, took the money Ethan handed him, and gasped, his breath quickened—it was more than he earned in an entire year.

Unable to contain himself, he raised the money and shouted, “We’re back to work!”

Ethan joined in the chorus.

Soon, the whole warehouse echoed with their shouts.

“Back to work! Poletta! Long live!”

Cheers and cries filled the air, the spirit electrifying.

Just then, the warehouse door was violently broken down.

A voice sneered sarcastically, “What a lively party.”