The Mafia Empire

If Julian were prest, he would be shocked to see this man. This was the very person who helped Julian earn his easiest money ever.

His name was Ernst. He owned a wine cellar and a brewing company. Officially, he produced and sold low proof alcohol, but in reality, he was constantly producing high proof bootleg liquor. Since it was a family business, they had long since established the necessary connections. In fact, his father was a regular guest of the mayor.

Ev though the other two m at the table wanted to get rid of him, they had to admit they didn't have the guts to do it.

Wood picked up one of the bottles and glanced at the label on the back, letting out a cold chuckle. "I had already asked some federal suppliers about it, and of them had ever heard of the 'Dawn of Tomorrow' distillery, nor had they tasted such a drink."

Julian's plan to change the labels and manufacturing companies of the three suppliers had worked perfectly, leaving a false trail that was impossible to follow.

Ernst nodded but said nothing. He turned to the third man at the table, an old man named Carrell. Carrell had a head of silver hair, giving him a kindly appearance, but anyone who knew him was aware of how many crimes he had committed and how many people he had killed. He survived in this world because he was ruthless. Anyone who dared testify against him would soon find their tire family dead.

His cold blooded decisivess had led to situations where, ev wh prosecuted, there was no one left willing to testify against him.

Of course, Carrell had survived this long because he was willing to spd money. He had plty of it, and he oft said, "If you can't prove the value of money, th why be slaved by it?"

He had certainly prov himself right. From the mayor to the police chief, ev a nobleman, they were all his frids. He had bought his way into their homes and into their fridships, proving the power of money.

Carrell ran his fingers through his thinning silver hair—he was balding, so he needed to keep it curled. "There's only be one shipmt of low proof alcohol at the station rectly. No high proof stuff."

The other two exchanged looks. In their minds, low proof alcohol and high proof alcohol were two completely differt things. Low proof alcohol was mostly made from fruit, so it was cheap but had many flaws. For instance, it wasn't very clear, and you could still feel the grainy ure of the fruit pulp wh drinking it.

There was also the occasional sour taste, like that of rott fruit, which damped the drinking experice. But because it was so cheap, ev the lowest paid workers could afford it, so sales were dect.

High-proof alcohol, on the other hand, was a differt beast. It was made with dragonwood shavings, which couldn't just come from any tree. Only dragonwood aged at least 3 years could be used. After being dried naturally, the bark was removed, and the wood was sealed in a kiln at over 300 degrees Celsius. Once the temperature in the kiln cooled to room temperature, the wood would turn blood-red.

This blood-red dragonwood was th finely shaved into splinters, mixed with spices, and added to a composite bld of brewing materials.

These shavings helped purify the mash, and the higher the quantity, the higher the proof of the alcohol produced. Dragonwood splinters were single use and expsive, which kept the price of high proof alcohol consisttly high. Ev though countries had large dragonwood plantations, it was still far from ough to meet the global demand for alcoholic beverages.

To these m, low proof alcohol was low proof alcohol, and high proof alcohol was high proof alcohol. Low proof alcohol could never become high proof, though high proof alcohol could be diluted into low proof if watered down.

Since they couldn't trace the new competitor threating their profits, they had no choice but to use the most straightforward method.

"I remember the owner of Wild Rose is your nephew, right?" Ernst asked, turning to Wood. Wood's face twitched, and he reluctantly nodded.

He never liked to admit that Colt was his nephew, but he couldn't dy the family connection. Colt was a distant relative of Wood's wife who had come running to reconnect as soon as he heard that Wood had become a big shot. Somehow, through sweet talk, Colt had managed to convince Wood's wife, and now Wood had a nephew.

Wh his wife asked him to help Colt, Wood thought for a long time and finally decided to ld Colt some money to op a bar.

Since Wood was involved in bootlegging, he knew very well how profitable bars could be. Colt followed his advice and oped one. On the surface, their relationship should have be fine, but the problem was Colt's habit of taking advantage of others.

Whever Colt's bar ran out of alcohol, he would call Wood's wife. She, seeing Colt as family, thought it was only natural to help him out, so she would arrange for alcohol to be delivered without discussing paymt. As a result, Colt ded up selling Wood's bootleg liquor for free, nearly driving Wood mad with rage.

Whever he tried to stop the shipmts, his wife would accuse him of being stingy over a few thousand dollars' worth of alcohol, causing a commotion that forced him to continue sding free shipmts to Colt.

Wood evtually managed to set a limit: only $3,000 worth of free alcohol per month. Anything beyond that had to be paid for at market price.

But this nephew preferred to buy from Ernst or Carrell instead of Wood, claiming it was important to diversify his suppliers to avoid becoming too rigid and repetitive.

If not for fear of upsetting his wife, Wood would have killed Colt with an ax long ago.

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