A Shadow's Warning
“Kansas.”
Carlyle answered not with words, but with the sharp warning edge in his voice as he called her name.
“There is something you must say to me.”
She began to stammer out excuses, her face twisting into one of embarrassment.
“No, it’s not that, I mean… I swear I never meant to do anything like that, but I was so lost in my head that I just… froze! I’m sure I said yes, but…”
Kansas glanced at him, her eyes darting anxiously, the words dying on her tongue.
“You know full well that every time you drag me back to that holding cell, the cleanup costs amount to more than ten times the bribe, don’t you?”
Carlyle questioned her sharply.
“You’re asking how much I lost in the shutdown?”
“……”
She bit her lip, averting her gaze.
A month ago, a raid squad had stormed El Dorado. The bribes had been two months overdue.
When the police officers burst into the club, Kansas had ordered the orchestra to play Prisoner’s Song.
Prohibition was nothing but a farce, and El Dorado was the most exclusive club in Manhattan, with an entrance fee of twenty dollars alone. Led by Kansas, the upper-class customers, drunk and rowdy, sang along in a festival-like frenzy as they were hauled away by the police.
Wearing a glittering gold-spangled dress, Kansas blew kisses to the spectators cheering her name just as she was about to step into the escort car.
Inside the holding cell, she had gathered the reporters for her own little show. Knowing that Carlyle would somehow get her out, she had entertained herself with the young officers, chatting and laughing for a day or two.
The reporters adored her. The photograph of Kansas smiling brightly even in the moment of being arrested by the police adorned the front page of the newspapers in all its glory.
As a result of that, El Dorado, which had been shut down for a month, would reopen today. Such days always brought in dozens of times the bribe in a single night, with customers starving for entry.
“Do not cause me any more trouble.”
Carlyle warned her coldly.
“Yes, Master… I mean, Baron.”
The careless slip of his title made his brows knit together.
“No one will have heard it.”
Kansas feigned innocence, sewing her lips together with a smile.
“There is a show prepared in celebration of the reopening, so please do come watch it…”
She continued with a regretful tone as she escorted him to the entrance.
“In the center of the stage, I will install a champagne-filled bathtub. One showgirl will enter it—”
Carlyle raised his hand to cut her off.
“There will be another raid at the end of next month, so prepare for it. If any information related to Glendenning comes in, pass it to Massimo.”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Besides, you’re not denying your engagement, so it seems you truly intend to marry her?”
“Kansas.”
Kansas quickly sensed the warning in Carlyle’s voice and pressed her lips shut. Then, just as she had done in the past, she curtsied slightly at the knee.
“Good night.”
She added with a playful grin, her lips shaping the words.
“Master!”
***
Exiting El Dorado, Carlyle stepped out into the cool night air and began to walk.
From this point to the 79th Street on Fifth Avenue, the journey took no more than twenty minutes on foot. He walked up the avenue, sorting through his swirling thoughts in a measured manner.
Thanks to Prohibition, he had amassed enormous wealth in a short time. There were fools who believed this law would last forever, but his thoughts diverged from that.
He knew the law was a foolish mistake, and it would take at most another ten years before the mainstream caught up and the era of legalization dawned. So he must prepare for that time.
To stay ahead in the distribution wars, he needed a stable supply chain and reserves plus warehouses to meet the explosive demand.
Last May, when he had gone to acquire the Scottish brewery, an American businessman had competed in the auction. It meant others with the same idea were already moving swiftly underground.
A bitter smile curved Carlyle’s lips.
The respectable businessmen, who pretended to be upstanding, secretly indulged in moonshine and pocketed the money like claws. When trouble arose, they would simply withdraw gracefully through their connections.
It was not the wealthy who ended up in jail, but the bottom-gangsters who operated speakeasies, manufactured bootleg liquor in illegal distilleries, and transported it in disguised cases across the nation.
It was for that reason that he had begun appearing in the gatherings of major figures from the political and financial circles under the guise of the Rochefort baron. He laundered the profits from moonshine through legitimate businesses like oil, power, and communications, and naturally built his network.
Light and shadow. The perilous tightrope walk between two worlds divided by a razor-thin line. One misstep, and it was a fall.
But there was a task that demanded his personal hand in correction. That was why he could not stop. Until he achieved his goal, he must employ every means available.
Below: the dockworkers’ unions controlled by the gangs and the moonshine distribution network.
Above: the Tammany Hall officials, the police, the mayor, and even the governor.
The most critical connection at the moment was the New York Port Collector, Walter Darlington. As the Rochefort Trading Company had ballooned in scale within just a few years, the watchful eyes of suspicion had grown ever sharper.
Yet Walter was meticulous, conservative, and suspicious, making access difficult.
Carlyle understood that type well. Offering bribes to a man armored in the pride and arrogance of a rigid noble house would only backfire. So he must approach with caution.
Through background checks, he had uncovered Walter’s weakness: after his son’s tragic death, he had fallen into gambling.
Before long, Walter had gambled away his fortune at the hotel casino funded by Carlyle. Attempting to repay debts with reckless stock investments, he had even lost his nephew’s trust fund. Ultimately, he had mortgaged even the townhouse owned by the Darlington family.
The Darlington tragedy had been an opportunity for Carlyle.
He knew the rumors surrounding him well. Aside from the exaggerated tales of his womanizing, most were facts, so there was little unjustness in them.
It was only natural that the upper-class snobs would not ease their vigilance toward him. However, if the suspicion persisted, it could hinder his goal.
The easiest way to pierce the solid barrier and dig inward was through intermarriage, becoming one of their own.
For Walter Darlington, the respected Port Collector with deep roots in New York high society, the perfect timing had brought a niece on the verge of marriage. There could be no better condition.
He had secured both the pretext for approach and a hostage.
Carlyle had appeared like a savior, offering a proposal that preserved Walter’s dignity. In his desperation, Walter had grasped the outstretched hand.
Carlyle’s steps slowed suddenly.
It was already 59; the Savoy Hotel sign came into view. The very place where his fiancée had held her debut ball.
He recalled the innocent face, laughing brightly while waltzing with a young man of her age.
The records did not list her exact age, but given the custom of debuting in society at eighteen, she must have been around that age.
Carlyle’s pace grew even slower.
She was closer to a girl than a woman.
…Unfortunately.
It was a subtle emotion.
If he recalled those azure violet eyes, the long-buried guilt stirred like a last breath, a faint ache.
He was only Walter Darlington’s nephew; the young woman bore no fault.
The tightness in his chest grew painful. Seeing such luxurious emotions, he seemed to have truly come of age.
Carlyle loosened the stiff muscles in his shoulders.
It was unfortunate, but fate was inherently unfair.
Walter’s term would coincide with the government’s. So at most another year and a half. Before then, by seizing control of the port, once his usefulness was spent, the niece would—
With the appropriate compensation, she would be sent away cleanly.
Carlyle shook off the unsuitable emotion and walked with a lighter heart past the Savoy Hotel.
A couple of blocks further, the Darlington townhouse came into view. His fiancée was probably sleeping quietly in her room now.
She had been forbidden from going out, like a child.
“…Forbidden from going out.”
A soft chuckle escaped him.
When Mabel had cropped her hair short and appeared, it had been quite interesting. For someone who rarely experienced surprises, it had been a fresh experience.
The scandalous commotion caused by the respectable Darlington couple, the pitiful girl trembling in ridiculous makeup, the defiance in her eyes—
It was like a private farce.
Curious why she had thought he would cancel the engagement given such an appearance.
Since the purpose of the marriage was clear, Carlyle did not care what form Mabel took. No matter who he was, no one would withdraw the proposal upon seeing her.
Whether her hair was long or short.
Whether she wore a long dress or a short one.
Eventually, the beautiful girl would become a beautiful woman.
Though she herself might not yet realize it.
As he swam through distant thoughts, Carlyle’s gaze suddenly stopped at one spot.
“Ah…”
Late at night, a small figure appeared on the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. Just two blocks ahead of the Darlington townhouse.