Chapter 239: We Will Succeed
Davey offered Dutch nothing more than a brief greeting, then turned to Hosea and Arthur with a slight nod.
As for Bill, he was simply ignored.
He made no effort to strike up a conversation with Dutch. Davey knew perfectly well that his very presence was already the greatest provocation imaginable. There was no need to add fuel to the fire—it would only seem childish.
In terms of status and perspective, the two of them were no longer on the same level.
At the entrance, the mayor’s servants and Officer Trappett were already waiting for Davey’s arrival.
Dutch and the others, by contrast, were merely assigned a waiter to lead them inside—nothing more than basic courtesy.
At Davey’s waist hung the latest model handgun, its holster openly visible.
Yet neither the mayor’s attendant nor Officer Trappett paid it any mind.
Unlike how they had treated Dutch and his group earlier, there was no attempt to confiscate Davey’s weapon.
Some people are bound by the rules.
Others have already become the ones who make them.
“Let’s go in too.”
Under Dutch’s watchful gaze, Stella—dressed in a red evening gown—slipped her arm affectionately through Davey’s. The two entered the mansion with calm, unhurried grace.
Only then did Dutch speak to Hosea and the others as well.
Behind Davey, no one inside the mansion spared Dutch’s group a second glance. The cheers were all for Davey’s arrival.
Led by a servant, Dutch headed toward the second floor, where Mr. Bronte was supposed to be waiting.
But before they even reached the stairs, they saw Bronte already coming down.
“Mr. Bronte,”
Dutch greeted him with a smile.
“My apologies, Mr. Van der Linde. I need to meet with Mr. Land first,” Bronte replied.
“You can rest upstairs for now. I’ll come find you later.”
Even Bronte couldn’t remain unmoved upstairs after learning of Davey’s arrival.
He might disregard the mayor when it suited him, but Davey was a different matter.
Tonight’s banquet was closely tied to Davey’s moonshine business—an issue involving enormous future profits. Bronte had no intention of jeopardizing his share over something as trivial as etiquette.
Even if he didn’t particularly like Davey, outward courtesy was the only option.
Dutch’s expression darkened further.
Still, he didn’t lash out. This wasn’t the place.
He tried to offer a few more polite remarks, but Bronte had already hurried away.
“Looks like our old partner’s doing pretty well for himself in Saint Denis, doesn’t it?”
Dutch forced out the line with what sounded like humor.
But even Bill—dense as he was—could hear the resentment simmering underneath.
...
On the other side, the contrast was stark.
Where Dutch and his crew were ignored, Davey’s arrival pushed the entire banquet to its peak. He was the undisputed center of attention tonight.
Mayor Lemieux stood to Davey’s left, while Bronte quickly positioned himself on the right.
The surrounding elites all gravitated toward Davey, one after another.
Flattery and praise filled the air.
Nearly everyone was dressed in black formalwear. Davey alone wore pure white.
Beside him, Stella’s crimson gown burned bright.
Together, they were impossible to miss.
On the mansion’s second floor, Dutch stood quietly, watching the scene below—Davey surrounded by admirers like a moon encircled by stars.
His eyes reflected a complicated mix of envy, jealousy, and regret.
There was no denying it. This scene made Davey’s success unmistakably clear.
The men Dutch once considered untouchable—Bronte, even the mayor—were now little more than embellishments, there to highlight Davey’s brilliance.
The immaculate white formal suit and the red evening dress radiated an unmistakable sense of luxury and refinement.
They were styles unseen on the market, things Dutch and the others had never encountered before.
Dutch watched as Davey lifted his glass, chatting and laughing effortlessly among the distinguished guests.
“He’s a good kid, Dutch,” Hosea said softly.
“Who would’ve thought he’d change this much in just a few months?”
“Maybe…”
Unlike Dutch, Hosea felt genuine satisfaction at the sight.
The Davey before him had completely shed his former identity.
No longer a robber. No longer a wanted man.
Now, he was someone who had truly made it.
Hosea felt proud of him.
At the same time, he noticed the tension in Dutch’s expression. After a brief hesitation, he still tried to offer a word of advice.
In Hosea’s view, maintaining a good relationship with Davey would be a tremendous advantage for the Van der Linde Gang.
After all, the Callander brothers had lived with them for years. There was history there.
“Enough, Hosea.”
Dutch cut him off sharply, his voice tight with restrained anger.
He knew exactly what Hosea was going to say—and he absolutely refused to hear it.
“Didn’t you see it? Back at the door, he didn’t even see us anymore.”
“What do you think we are to him now?”
“A bunch of rats hiding in the gutter, afraid of the sunlight—laughable clowns.”
“You really think he’d help us? No. He’d just laugh at how badly we failed.”
“Wake up, Hosea. Stop dreaming.”
“Don’t forget why we’re here today.”
“We have our own plan. We don’t need anyone’s pity.”
“As long as we stick to it, we will succeed in the end.”
Author's Note
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