The Milk Monopoly
Since the opponent is me, the rest of the work proceeded with ease.
Of course, since I had only performed a single demonstration, there was no contract to be signed on the spot. However, Major General Fetchet, the commander of the Air Corps, did grab my hand firmly.
"Your company, did you say it was SCC? I will certainly keep it in mind. I’ll stake my rank on ensuring this miracle glass is supplied to us!"
Strictly speaking, it was plastic, not glass, but hey—if it works, it works, right?
In any case, military procurement wouldn't become a real source of profit until a few years later when the war truly broke out, so until then, I could only expect a bit of promotional effect. By now, other companies must have caught wind of the PMMA patent I’d filed, so if I waited a little, they would start taking the bait.
From that point on, the company could be considered to have entered a phase of "automatic farming," and it would be time to pay more attention to Nevada and the West.
Of course, business wasn't the only thing I had to worry about right now.
"Our baby, did you sleep well? Shall we see how much you've grown today?"
"Honey, you were just listening yesterday, do you want to do it again?"
As I pressed my ear against Rita’s belly, which was now quite rounded at six months, she teased me with a giggle.
"It’s our child. How could I ever get tired of it?"
"They’re probably sleeping right now anyway. So go away and eat your breakfast—you have to go to work, you know."
"Hmm, hmm."
Following her rebuke, I cleared my throat, retreated, and sat down across from her at the dining table.
Today’s breakfast was Kellogg’s Corn Flakes—full of tiger energy—and milk.
"...Can't we have bacon tomorrow? I’ve been missing meat lately."
"What are you talking about? This is so good for your body. It’s made only with fresh grains, so it’ll be good for your body, Honey, and for our baby, too."
That might be true for a white person, but my pancreas is Asian. If I ate a mountain of cereal like this every day, I’d be gone to diabetes in less than 30 years.
But there was no way she’d believe me if I said that, so I just nodded, poured the milk from the glass bottle into the cereal, and silently shoveled it into my mouth with a spoon.
However.
"*Cough! Cough!*"
I had no choice but to spit out the cereal and milk before I could even swallow.
"Are you okay, Honey?"
"Ugh, what is this taste...?"
I quickly rinsed my mouth with water, but the sour, funky taste didn't go away easily.
"The milk must have gone bad. Rita, you shouldn't drink it either, better throw it out."
"Oh, really? I'm sorry, I bought it yesterday and put it straight into the fridge..."
"It probably spoiled on the way here. It’s getting to be summer, after all."
It was something I had experienced quite a bit back in school. Since there was no proper cold-chain distribution system like in my past life, if the weather was even a little hot or humid, it was common for the milk to be spoiled before you even opened the bottle.
One day, there was even a school-wide uproar because someone put chalk powder in the milk, wasn't there?
Normally, my father-in-law, Al Capone, would enter the milk market in a few years, but since history had changed, perhaps...
Wait.
"Rita, thank you."
"Y-yes? For the spoiled milk?"
Rita looked at me like I was half-crazy, but I didn't care.
"Yeah, I'm genuinely grateful."
Now that I thought about it, couldn't I just do it myself?
After finishing breakfast, I headed to the Lexington Hotel instead of SCC.
"...Milk?"
"Yes, Boss."
"I didn't mishear you just now, did I?"
"No, you heard me correctly."
When I nodded firmly, my father-in-law wore an expression of sheer absurdity. And it wasn't just Al Capone who looked baffled.
"Are you suggesting we send our organization members out to the countryside to milk cows? If the quota is short, we threaten the cows, torture them to increase production? I suppose we'll have to pay bribes if necessary, too."
"Mr. Lee, I appreciate your enthusiasm... but honestly, from where I’m standing, the milk business doesn't look like it makes much money."
"No, this will make money."
I shook my head at Frank Nitti, who looked like he wanted to punch me, and Jake Guzik, who was stroking his chin with a troubled expression.
"If you’ve ever tasted milk, you’d know it’s a product that can spoil at any moment. We don't know when it was milked or how long transport took. It might even be spoiled by the time it’s delivered to your doorstep."
"So?"
"Right now in Chicago... no, in the entire United States, there isn't a single place that sells proper, fresh milk. We’d be lucky if they weren't watering it down just to increase the volume."
"So, you want to water down the milk? I’d rather water down the booze. Though we’d lose all our customers if we did that."
Look at that bastard Nitti, sneering at me. But the situation would be different soon, you son of a bitch.
"In other words, if we can just deliver proper, fresh milk to their front doors, we can monopolize all the milk going to every household, bakery, and restaurant in Chicago."
"If that were possible, someone would have done it already. Do you think the milk sellers are idiots?"
"No, they can't do it."
Despite Nitti’s continued sneering, I shook my head and continued.
"Because it costs quite a bit of money to set up proper pasteurization facilities and the logistics system to maintain refrigeration throughout the transport process. A couple of ranch owners investing wouldn't even come close."
"Mr. Lee, wouldn't that be the same for the organization? If what you say is true, it seems like we’d need a massive investment. Even if the war with the North Side is over, looking at our expenditures so far..."
"The federal government will provide the money."
"What?"
At Guzik’s surprised remark, I pulled out today’s Chicago Daily Tribune and spread open the front page.
"It’s only grain for now, but soon funds will be allocated for other goods, including milk. We just need to take that and prepare for free."
"Hmm."
"Besides, we don't need to prepare much. We can just use the distribution network the organization already built for the bootlegging business. If we just add refrigeration equipment and move milk instead of alcohol, it becomes a perfectly legal business. There’s no one to share the profits with, so the returns will be higher than bootlegging."
At the very least, it was certain the profits would be higher. I didn't know how much Al Capone actually made from milk in the original history, but if he said with his own mouth, 'I didn't know milk would be more profitable than booze,' then that said it all.
"More profitable than bootlegging... are you sure?"
"We just need to receive raw milk from the ranches at a 'reasonable' price and maintain freshness well enough to charge a higher price than other milk. Once word spreads, all the children in Chicago will be drinking only our milk. And the Boss will gain the image of being the 'Guardian of Chicago’s Children.'"
If my father-in-law cared about his image, he couldn't help but be curious about this. Of course, the negotiation process with the ranches wouldn't be very pretty for children to see, but who would care about that while buying milk?
"And if we expand this business to the West, the organization’s sphere of influence will naturally widen as well. Along with enormous revenue."
For example, like the famous "Artichoke King" in New York. I heard that guy made a fortune by monopolizing artichokes, so why couldn't we do the same?
Extending our influence to the West under the pretext of selling milk was just a bonus.
"Hmm..."
"Boss, there’s no need to take risks instead of a business that already makes money."
"As was discussed in Atlantic City, Prohibition will be repealed in a few years. We need to prepare for that time, Boss."
My father-in-law was conflicted between Nitti and me. But I already knew how he would react.
"Lee."
Eventually, my father-in-law’s mouth opened.
"Then make a business plan and bring it to me. I’ll see it and judge for myself."
"Understood, Boss."
"Boss!"
Nitti called out in surprise, but my father-in-law waved his hand holding the cigar.
"Lee is right. Prohibition will end anyway, and this business will end with it. We need to find a new business while we can still sell alcohol."
"But..."
"Are you going to defy my decision, Nitti?"
"...No."
I curled one corner of my lip at Nitti, who bowed to the Boss and then glared at me as if he wanted to kill me. Yeah, yeah. You worked hard for the organization, Nitti. But don't be too disappointed. Since the opponent is me, right?
"Then, if we’re done talking, everyone go back to work."
"Yes, Boss."
"Yes, Boss."
Leaving Nitti, who had left as soon as he greeted the Boss, I stepped out of the suite with Guzik. Now... was it time to handle the next matter?
"Mr. Guzik."
I called out to Guzik, who was closing the door behind us.
"Yes?"
"Do you have a moment? It’s almost lunch, let’s have a meal together."
Now, it was time to grease the wheels of the ship and the relationship.
Jake "Greasy Thumb" Guzik. Like his nickname, his thumbs, which were in charge of our organization’s accounting, were calloused from counting so much money. Since the calluses were visible even while he was cutting his steak, it was safe to say that all the organization’s money, including our company’s, passed through him.
"So... what did you call me for? I don't think I’ve ever had lunch alone with Mr. Lee before."
"Well, I wanted to share a story between people who share the same pain... shall we say?"
In other words, as the man who handled the organization’s money, he was the person among the organization’s executives I could approach most easily.
"The same pain, you say...?"
"We’re both buried in numbers, aren't we? You can at least block a bullet, but there’s no way to avoid these damn numbers. So, I wanted to ask for some advice from Mr. Guzik, who is my senior."
"Haha, asking for advice from someone who already handles a significant portion of the organization’s finances?"
"And."
Of course, being easy to approach wasn't the only reason.
"We’re both a little different from the other organization members, aren't we?"
"Different? What do you mean..."
"You can't change the blood you were born with, so it’s an unavoidable matter, though."
While all organizations called the Mafia are like that, the Chicago Outfit was also primarily composed of people with Italian bloodlines. While I was treated half like a blood relative thanks to my status as the Boss’s son-in-law, Mr. Guzik wasn't even that, so I knew he must have faced quite a few difficult situations.
We both had organization members under us, but that was likely why we weren't given the authority to move them to attack someone like the other underbosses.
"Still, I am living happily thanks to the Boss’s grace. Isn't that the same for Mr. Lee?"
"That’s true. I’m eating steak like this, which I wouldn't have even dared to dream of in the past."
With those words, I put a piece of cut sirloin into my mouth. As expected of beef, it never gets old.
"That’s why we must work even harder to maintain the organization."
"Hmm, I don't quite understand what you mean."
"In the end, isn't this work all about eating well and living well?"
Hmm, the mashed potatoes at this place are truly top-notch. They’re thick and have quite a bit of milk in them.
"And this work... when you move to make a living, you’re bound to clash with people like the police or the Bureau of Investigation. If you’re unlucky, you might even get a tour of the prison."
"Hmm... could you explain it more simply?"
"If we’re going to make money, wouldn't it be better to make a lot of it honorably? At least on the surface, that is."
"If it’s that, even now..."
"No."
The beginning starts now.
"I’m talking about the need for a 'new way' that is different from the current one."
It was the beginning of the steps to make my own people within the organization.