"Lock him up?"
Carlo said with a helpless shrug.
"His father-in-law's a senator. How can we? Even the President would have to give him so face."
So even in Arica, it's all about connections.
Pulling strings, climbing ladders through family ties... nothing new.
While I was quietly amused, Gambino continued:
"Technically, he wasn't a Nazi. The 'Arican Virtue League' was an organization created by Nazi sympathizers before the war. That guy was a core mber of the New York Chapter. After the war started, he avoided being interned as an enemy alien because of his father-in-law. But his factory took a hit—he couldn't hire workers, got no orders, and the banks stopped lending. The Jews are circling him like vultures, waiting for him to declare bankruptcy so they can pick it up for cheap..."
Clearly, Gambino didn't have a good opinion of Jews either.
Not surprising. Coming from Old Europe, most people brought so degree of antisemitism with them.
As I silently scoffed at their hypocrisy, the car pulled up in front of a vast industrial lot. From the size of the gate and the four-story building next to it, it was obvious this place used to be impressive.
"2,457 tal-cutting machines of various types! This is my factory. My father ca here more than fifty years ago and built it from nothing. And now those damned Aricans want to crush it, while those greedy Jews want to steal it at scrap value..."
Hermann von Karl spoke with barely concealed rage.
"Damn Aricans. They'll never understand our love for our holand. Isn't that right?"
He turned directly to Pierre as he spoke.
"I agree completely," Pierre said calmly. "One's holand isn't just a place—it's sothing carved into our very bones. That deep emotional tie is sothing Aricans will never understand."
Karl looked stunned for a mont, then grew emotional.
"Yes, yes! Exactly! They'll never understand!"
Aricans don't understand because they don't want to.
In this immigrant nation, they want you to forget where you ca from and assimilate into their "lting pot." But the truth?
It's all a lie. Just self-deception.
"Just like the Jews," Karl said, growing angrier. "They don't even have a holand. They'll never understand what we feel. They're jackals—greedy, waiting to tear into my corpse. But I won't let them. I'll sell this factory to anyone before I sell it to them."
He was playing the role of the righteous man now, wasn't he?
Then ca the pitch.
"One and a half million dollars! That's it! You get everything—Karl tals, the land, the machines, the patents. All of it. Just the factory and equipnt alone are worth more than that."
Pierre glanced at him, expression unreadable.
Yeah, right. And pigs fly.
Just then, the system interface lit up.
Enable cost assessnt function?
"Enable."
Lines of data flashed across the display.
Karl tals Company, founded in 1886 by Hermann Sr., located in New York. Total land area: 2.7 square miles. Plant area: ...
A few seconds later, Pierre had all the information he needed.
He gave Karl a final look and turned to walk away.
"What's wrong?"
Gambino asked in confusion. Karl quickly followed.
"Mr. Pierre, what's the matter?"
"I have no intention of working with a liar," Pierre said directly.
"What?"
Gambino looked puzzled, while Karl's face darkened.
"Mr. Pierre, what are you talking about?"
"Let's start with the fact that half your machines were bought during World War I. They're outdated and worthless—just scrap tal. Then there's your land and buildings, which you've already mortgaged for $200,000. You conveniently forgot to ntion that."
"Mr. Pierre, I—I just hadn't gotten around to ntioning the debts..."
Before Karl could finish, Gambino cut him off with a cold snort.
"Is that so, Mr. Karl?"
"Mr. Gambino, I swear to God!"
"Karl, I brought my friend here in good faith. You know how I treat my friends. And you also know how I deal with people who try to deceive them."
Karl shuddered visibly. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
He had assud Pierre was just a foreigner with money to burn. As for Gambino... would he really go that far?
But the longer he looked, the more he realized sothing was off.
Gambino, the feared mobster, was following Pierre like a subordinate.
Who the hell was this man?
Why was Gambino treating him with such deference?
That realization made Karl panic.
"S-Sir, I—I..."
Pierre didn't wait for him to finish.
"No. What's going to happen is this: the Jews you've insulted will use their control of the banks to bleed you dry. You won't get a cent from this. On top of that, you'll still be responsible for the debts. You'll lose everything and end up a penniless failure."
Karl's face turned ashen. Sweat poured down his temples.
He had thought Pierre was just another rich foreigner to squeeze for cash.
But clearly, he had made a serious miscalculation.
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