The Mafia Empire

Dumas shook his head and placed Julian and Mason's clothes at the top of the production line. Gentlemen differed from "thugs" like Julian. A gentleman wouldn't excessively blame others' foolishness for mistakes, but a thug would never admit his own errors, so Dumas knew what to do.

Fortunately, the strict system allowed sufficient leeway between orders, so having someone cut the line wouldn't delay the following deliveries—a small blessing amidst the challenge.

"Why didn't you come to warn me?" At this moment, Mr. Dumas looked up at the girl. "You should've informed me immediately, instead of waiting until trouble was at my doorstep, young lady!"

After leaving Paul's Tailoring, Julian got into the car and simply said, "District police station," before falling into contemplation. Any enterprise needed both lawful and unconventional aspects to sustain itself. Certain gray industries, like the illegal alcohol business, could serve as quick, lucrative cash cows.

However, for wider societal recognition, respect, and a place of status, one needed a legitimate identity and lawful businesses.

The clothing industry was one of Julian's considerations. In another world, the clothing industry was highly developed, especially in "luxury" and "world-renowned brands." Garments with mere tens of dollars in production costs could sell for thousands or even tens of thousands. In Julian's understanding, apart from branding, what real difference did these clothes have from ordinary clothes?

There might be some differences in fabric, as major brands had their own research facilities to create unique materials, but aside from that, there was mostly just design. They would send materials and styles to factories for processing, then re-import them to resell at massive markups, reaping hundredfold or thousandfold profits.

In this world, fabric and design posed no issues at all. To this day, while the capitalists' official spokespersons fervently advocated for "innovative knowledge like recipes to be protected and legislated," the Empire's response remained sluggish.

The reason lay in the New and Old Parties' mutual exploitation of these recipes for profit, with no plans to relinquish this massive source of revenue anytime soon.

Setting aside the issue of materials and design references, the remaining issue was production. The lack of mechanized production posed a significant challenge, but labor here was incredibly cheap. In some impoverished areas, as long as they provided food and paid a small wage, many would readily work under capital's influence.

Julian thought he could attempt to incorporate standardized clothing production as the first project for East Star and put it into action. His target wasn't high-society big shots; instead, it was the middle and lower classes.

Although selling clothes to them might not yield the same profits as custom-made clothes for elites, the middle and lower classes were the mainstream consumers, while the elite were only a small minority.

Once they made a strong initial impact, such success would inevitably be replicable. They could quickly replicate this model across various regions of the Empire, seizing the market in a short time. By the time competitors reacted, Julian would have already cornered the market, firmly establishing an unassailable position whether through transformation or price wars.

A sudden jolt as the car stopped snapped Julian out of his thoughts. Looking out of the window, he realized they'd arrived at the district police station, where Pronto was already walking out, holding his belly with a smug expression.

Julian opened the door, his face beaming with enthusiasm as he stepped out and walked up to him. After a brief handshake, they headed inside. As they walked, Pronto asked, "What brings such an important figure like you here?"

Julian didn't hide his intentions. He raised his thumb and pointed behind him, "My brother, Mason—I intend to set him up with a legitimate job. I heard a station chief is about to retire; it seems like a good opportunity." As they slowed for a moment, Julian gestured politely to a passing officer. "Excuse us," he said, slightly stepping aside as they continued inside.

"I understand this might put you in a difficult position, but I assure you, I'll make my intentions clear."

He had a premonition!

So, when he heard Julian bring up "sincerity" again, it made him uncomfortable. For the first time, he was genuinely afraid of accepting a bribe—it was an unprecedented feeling!

"This has nothing to do with sincerity!" Pronto pushed open his office door, holding the doorknob as he stepped inside. He waited for Julian and Mason to enter, then shut the door firmly. This was a signal to the secretary at the door: anyone visiting should notify Pronto first. Inside the director's office, there was an inner room, a lounge for private moments when guests needed to step aside.

He moved over to the bar and took out three glasses, intending to pour some liquor, but found the bottle empty. Glancing at the glasses in his hands, he resigned himself to moving to the coffee machine, where he poured three cups of coffee instead.

Mason stood up and took the coffee Pronto handed over. Though he acted cautiously, he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride—after all, the district police chief himself was pouring him a coffee. Turning his head slightly, he noticed Julian hadn't even bothered to stand, and Pronto willingly set the coffee down in front of him.

The three of them settled back down.

"Yes, there is a director retiring soon," Pronto admitted, "but you should understand that I can't just casually place a newcomer, someone without any foundation, into a substation chief position based on my personal preferences. The officers might not say anything directly, but internally, it could create turmoil. If their morale wavers and they turn away from me, that would be a huge loss.

So, I say again, this has nothing to do with money." He lifted his glass and took a small sip of coffee, casting a glance at the earnest-faced Mason, wondering how these two could possibly be related by blood. He continued, "But if it's for a sergeant position, that I can guarantee—there will be no issue whatsoever. Anytime, anywhere, even right now, I can arrange it."

Julian, however, remained silent, reaching out to pinch the rim of his glass, rubbing it slowly as if he hadn't heard Pronto's reasoning at all.

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