Chapter 145: Turning Gears

The rumble of three heavy motor trucks filled the freezing morning air as John Caldwell, Arthur, and August warmed up the engines outside the main barn. Exhaust steamed into the pale twilight as nine men climbed into the back of each truck bed, wrapping their wool coats tight against the cold to prepare for the haul from White Plains.

​Ricky stepped out onto the gravel driveway, his heavy winter overcoat unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp lines of a dark grey three-piece suit underneath.

​Sixteen-year-old Rico Johnson jogged over from the saw horses, his wool cap pulled down over his ears. "You heading down to the city, boss?"

​Ricky offered a calm smile. "Just down to White Plains to handle some business at the trading office, Rico. Gotta make sure the wheels keep turning while we’re up here."

​"Don’t worry about the farm, boss!" Floyd called out from near the timber stacks, waving a heavy framing hammer. "By the time you get back, we’ll have the barracks framed out and half the roof joists locked in!"

​"Bragging won’t cut timber, Floyd!" old Henry barked, stepping past the trucks with a double-bit axe resting across his shoulder. "Come on, boys. The pine won’t fall itself while you’re standing around flapping your jaws. Let’s get to work."

​The young men laughed, following the old farmer toward the woods as the truck convoy rolled down the bumpy dirt driveway.

​Three hours later, the sun sat high over the horizon, casting a bright, crisp light across White Plains as the trucks pulled into the rear alley behind the Williams Trading Co. building.

​Ricky headed inside ahead of the crew, taking the quiet back staircase up to the second-floor storage warehouse. The vast, high-ceilinged room was completely empty at nine in the morning, the floorboards dusted with faint sawdust.

​Standing in the center of the vacant floor, Ricky opened his System interface. Navigating the shop menu, he selected bulk shipments of structural pine timber, heavy foundation beams, roofing felt, slate shingles, framing nails, and hardware supplies. With a series of quick confirmations, stacks of neatly bundled lumber and heavy wooden crates materialised across the cargo pallets with a dull, heavy thud.

​Ricky walked along the row, inspecting the grade of the timber and the solid iron hardware.

​"That ought to keep Arthur and the boys busy for a couple of days," he murmured to himself, satisfied with the haul.

​Leaving the second floor unlocked for John and August to begin loading, Ricky turned and climbed the stairs up to the sixth-floor executive offices.

​The corridor was quiet, polished mahogany doors reflecting the morning light. As he stepped off the landing, Evelyn stepped out from the main administrative suite, wearing a tailored navy wool skirt and matching jacket, a brass-clipped leather folio tucked neatly under her arm.

​She paused, a graceful, professional smile touching her lips as she bowed her head slightly. "Good morning, sir. It is good to see you. How are conditions holding at the camp?"

​"Cold," Ricky replied, stepping alongside her as they walked down the hallway. "November caught us off guard up in Pound Ridge. The men repurposed the old barn and pitched tents, but canvas won’t hold up once the real freeze sets in. I’ve halted training to focus on building a proper barracks and a mess hall."

​Evelyn listened attentively, her pencil hovering over her notepad.

​"We’re setting the foundations a foot off the ground," Ricky added. "When December rolls around and the snow melts, I don’t want two inches of mud sloshing through their sleeping quarters."

​"A prudent decision, sir," Evelyn agreed smoothly. "I anticipated the weather might force a shift in priorities. Shall I instruct Mr. Williams to place formal orders for additional construction timber through our commercial suppliers to replenish our stock?"

​"Might as well," Ricky nodded. "It never hurts to have extra materials on hand."

​He paused near the window overlooking the street below, changing the subject. "How is the office staff coming along? Are the new clerks en route?"

​"Yes, sir. The primary administrative staff will arrive by noon today," Evelyn reported. "Additionally, I have completed the preliminary interviews and selected eight candidates for executive secretary positions."

​Ricky raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a faint smirk. "Eight secretaries?"

​"Indeed, sir," Evelyn explained with composure. "Each of the Williams brothers requires dedicated administrative assistance to handle shipping manifests, ledger entries, and daily correspondence. Given their sudden rise in responsibility, proper secretarial support is essential."

​Ricky chuckled softly. "Knowing those brothers, I doubt their relationship with their secretaries will remain strictly professional for long."

​Evelyn didn’t bat an eye, her tone remaining completely refined. "I considered that probability, sir. Which is precisely why I selected young women who are not merely distinguished by their poise and appearance, but are exceptionally capable, loyal, and possess the sharpness to manage business affairs independently. Should the Williams brothers choose to cultivate personal attachments, those women will serve as a stabilizing influence rather than a distraction."

​Ricky looked at her for a moment, then patted her shoulder with an appreciative laugh. "You really do think of everything, don’t you?"

​A subtle flush touched Evelyn’s cheeks, though she maintained her pristine posture. "I do my utmost to serve your interests, sir."

​"Good," Ricky said, leaning against the window frame. "Because I need you to extend your stay here in White Plains for a while."

​Evelyn blinked, her professional demeanor faltering slightly. "May I ask why, sir? If I remain stationed here indefinitely, it may hinder the Williams brothers’ personal development in executive management. It could foster an unnecessary dependency on my oversight."

​Underneath her composed reasoning, a quiet prick of anxiety touched her—the thought of being kept far from his side while he remained up in the hills.

​"I have a different assignment for you," Ricky explained patiently. "I want you to take charge of our publishing house—the project we discussed yesterday."

​Evelyn looked at him in surprise. "The publishing firm?"

​"You’re the right person for it," Ricky said. "Not only do you enjoy illustrated stories, but you understand the art, the narrative flow, and what makes a story engaging. I’ll be tied up at Pound Ridge for the next few months getting the camp built and trained, but we need our media operations running before spring."

​"Sir, I am adept at organizing administrative workflows," Evelyn said, her voice hesitant. "But directing a commercial printing enterprise is quite different. And who would fulfill my duties as your executive secretary in the interim?"

​"It’s a temporary assignment for the winter," Ricky reassured her, offering a warm smile. "You can still keep a watchful eye on the Williams brothers if things get chaotic down here, but your main focus will be building the publishing branch. A solid comic book line will be a best-seller by the winter solstice. There’s no better way for families to pass cold winter evenings than reading quality illustrated serials."

​Evelyn searched his eyes, her shoulders relaxing as she processed his words. "So... I will resume my position as your personal secretary once the winter season concludes, sir?"

​Ricky’s smirk returned, sharp and confident. "Of course. I couldn’t find anyone better suited for the role if I searched the whole state."

​The quiet tension in Evelyn’s chest vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused spark of enthusiasm. "I understand, sir. I accept the assignment—on the condition that you provide me with a complete selection of manuscript concepts so I may curate the most viable titles for initial printing. Furthermore, I will need authorization to assemble an in-house studio of illustrators to craft cover art and daily strips for newspaper syndication."

​"You’ll have everything you need," Ricky smiled. "Check the second-floor storage area before you leave today. Look for a crate marked COMIX."

​"Understood, sir," Evelyn said, flipping a page on her folio. "Ah, before I forget—Marcus sent an urgent dispatch from the Minetta block this morning."

​She handed him a folded paper seal. Ricky took the letter, breaking the wax and scanning the neat script.

​He let out a short, quiet sigh. "Word gets around fast. A dozen young guys back in Greenwich are asking to volunteer as syndicate soldiers. They heard rumors about the training camp."

​"How shall I respond, sir?"

​"Tell Marcus to reply to every single one of them," Ricky said, folding the letter back up. "Inform them recruitment is officially closed until spring. They need to be patient."

​"Understood," Evelyn noted. "One final matter, sir. Mr. Kowalski delivered a heavy leather suitcase alongside the morning post. I refrained from counting the contents myself, as the volume was quite substantial."

​"Where is it?"

​"Inside the executive suite, sir."

​Evelyn led him down the hall, opening the heavy mahogany door to the main office. Sitting squarely on the center of the polished desk was a thick, dark leather briefcase fitted with dual brass locks.

​Ricky walked over, unlatching the brass clasps. He popped the lid open, revealing dense, neatly stacked bricks of hundred-dollar and fifty-dollar bills filling the entire case to the brim.

​"Where are Jimmy and the others?" Ricky asked casually, looking over the stacks of currency.

​"Out inspecting the local distribution routes, sir," Evelyn replied from the doorway.

​"Give me a minute in here, Evelyn. Wait outside."

​"Yes, sir." Evelyn stepped back into the hallway, pulling the door shut until it clicked softly into the frame.

​Alone in the office, Ricky placed his palm flat against the dense stacks of greenbacks and summoned his System interface. A translucent panel hovered into his field of view. He initiated a direct currency deposit.

​In a silent blur, the thick piles of cash vanished from the leather lining, absorbed directly into his System account.

​A crisp system notification flashed across his vision.

​[DEPOSIT CONFIRMED: $185,391.00]

[CURRENT SYSTEM BALANCE: $385,562.34]

​Ricky ran a hand through his hair, staring at the empty leather interior. That $185,391 was the accumulated net revenue Marek had generated through Harrison & Bell Limited—the legitimate import company Ricky had acquired and placed under Marek’s name to handle high-volume financial routing.

​Nearly four hundred thousand dollars in liquid capital, Ricky thought, closing the empty briefcase. I’m practically a walking bank vault at this point.

​He turned and opened the office door. Evelyn was standing patiently in the hallway, her notepad held against her waist. As the door swung wide, her eyes naturally brushed past Ricky toward the executive desk.

​The heavy leather suitcase was sitting wide open on the mahogany wood—completely empty.

​Evelyn paused for a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine bewilderment crossing her eyes. Nearly two hundred thousand dollars in solid currency had been sitting in that box less than two minutes ago, and there was no safe, bag, or floor grate in the room.

​She quickly suppressed her curiosity, smoothing her skirt as she stepped back to give him room. She knew Ricky and Marek shared private operations that went far beyond standard syndicate business. Whatever method he used to move massive sums of cash, it was far above her pay grade, and she had no intention of prying into her employer’s secrets.

​"Is everything in order with the deposit, sir?" Evelyn asked, her voice as smooth and professional as ever.

​"Everything is right where it needs to be," Ricky replied comfortably, walking past her toward the stairs. "Get your team together, Evelyn. Let’s make sure this publishing house is ready to hit the streets before the snow gets deep."