Chapter 232: The World’s Factory
Trappett felt a surge of guilt when he heard his wife’s words.
It was his own inadequacy that had forced her to live in a place like this.
His thoughts drifted back to what Mr. Land had said to him just over an hour ago.
Think more about your wife and children.
At that moment, any lingering hesitation about betraying the mayor vanished completely.
“Melissa, I don’t think we need to go out and buy salad dressing anymore.”
“Kids, come take a look—see what I brought back for you.”
Pulling himself together, Trappett strode back into the apartment, calling out loudly.
At the sound of his voice, his two children came running over.
Their eyes immediately locked onto the large bag in their father’s hands.
The two children—one nine, the other twelve—cheered as they took the bag from him, carried it to the table, and opened it together.
“Oh wow, it smells so good! What is this? Is it coffee? How can coffee smell this amazing?”
“Donuts! And there’s candy sprinkled on top—so pretty!”
“Strawberry cake! Daddy, I love you so much!”
“This cheese is so soft! Mom, look—is this an ice cream cake?”
Their excited cries echoed through the room, drawing Melissa out of the kitchen.
When she saw the delicate bread, cakes, and coffee laid out on the table, she instinctively covered her mouth.
“This… Trappett, this must have been very expensive, right?”
Melissa was a good wife—especially by the standards of the United States at the time. Having grown up in a modest household, she was skilled at managing the family’s finances.
That was precisely why Trappett loved her. She always took good care of the household, even if others thought she was a little frugal.
Seeing these things, her first reaction was worry.
Trappett’s salary wasn’t high. Even with a bit of extra income on the side, raising two children meant their life was comfortable at best, but never wealthy.
And these items were clearly things only the rich could afford.
“They were given to me, Melissa. Don’t worry—I’m not like those drunkards who blow all the family’s savings.”
“Just enjoy tonight’s dinner. Maybe you could light a couple of candles—it’d make the atmosphere nicer, don’t you think?”
“After we finish this meal, we’re leaving this godforsaken place.”
Trappett pulled a key from his pocket and smiled as he spoke.
“We’re moving, Melissa. A large apartment near Flavian Street. The security there is much better—you won’t have to worry every time you go shopping anymore.”
The surprise came so suddenly that Melissa could hardly believe it.
She clutched her mouth tightly, afraid she might burst into tears, and only after a long moment did she manage to ask,
“Oh my God, Trappett… I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Trappett stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her.
“No, Melissa. You’re not dreaming. Look at the coffee, the pastries—this is all real.”
“We’re going to live a better life. Trust me. Everything will only get better and better—just like the rich people.”
“And you, Melissa, my wife… you’ll become a proper lady.”
Feeling his wife sob with joy in his arms, Trappett’s resolve finally hardened.
He was grateful for everything Mr. Land had given him. Just as Mr. Land said, he had already repaid the mayor’s kindness long ago. Now, it was time to plan for himself.
Nearby, the two children were already devouring the food, their mouths smeared with cream.
“Daddy, are we really moving to a big house?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Then will my brother and I each get our own room?”
“Of course. You’ll both have your own rooms.”
“Oh my God, brother! We’ll each have our own room! Daddy, I love you so much!”
...
On the outskirts of Saint Denis.
Davey’s life had grown increasingly busy.
In this era, the United States was known as the world’s factory, using cutting-edge technology to siphon wealth from across the globe.
At present, Davey was earning over three thousand dollars a day from his bootleg liquor business—nearly one hundred thousand a month, and close to a million a year.
In the midst of an economic depression, that was a number that could drive ordinary people mad with envy.
But in the eyes of the upper class, an annual income of one million dollars hardly seemed remarkable.
Around this time, the scale of finance on Wall Street had already surpassed imagination. With the rise of the United States’ steel industry, when the United States Steel Corporation underwent restructuring two years later, its total financing reached 1.4 billion dollars—equivalent to seven percent of the nation’s total GDP.
In the civilized cities of the East, millionaires and even multimillionaires were appearing at a rapid pace. Sometimes, a single factory’s annual order profits could exceed a million dollars.
The gap between rich and poor was widening at an alarming rate. Compared to the wealthy East, the West was still seen through the stereotypical lens of a backward frontier.
Moonshine was Davey’s first windfall. Its unique taste and low price made his bootleg liquor sell extremely well throughout the West—this was Davey’s golden period.
But that window wouldn’t last long. As technology spread across the land, it wouldn’t take much time for moonshine with similar flavors to flood the market.
Even dumping it in Saint Denis would only bring short-term, explosive profits. Once similar products increased, sales would inevitably decline.
By then, simply maintaining his current level of income would already be considered impressive.
That was why Davey had been constantly searching for new ways to make money. And Saint Denis’s cheap labor force provided the perfect conditions for opening factories.
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