The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943
Chapter 39 : The Assassin

Chapter 39: Chapter 39 : The Assassin

"He used to be in the military—rumor is he served as a personal bodyguard to one of the great warlords. Great fighter, expert marksman. Even Mr. Situ from the An Leung Tong tried to recruit him a few times but failed."

A warlord’s personal guard?

Pierre raised a brow. "Oh? Why didn’t he join?"

"He said he doesn’t associate with gangs," Zhu replied.

Pierre chuckled.

"Well then, we’re already on the same page."

He hadn’t met the guy yet, but just hearing that made him like him.

"Oh—and about our partnership with the Gambino family, Yihai, I want you to stay close to that.

Keep in touch, understand what they need.

That’s where the real money is."

Then he turned and added meaningfully,

"Yihai, I trust your work. You’re the only one I can count on for something like this."

A few words was all it took—

Zhu Yihai’s unease about his standing within the company vanished.

So that was it!

Karl Metal Company was just a front.

If the IRS ever came sniffing around, they’d only find an industrial operation. The real business was happening behind the curtain.

Zhu Yihai now understood his role perfectly— he was the boss’s right-hand man.

After checking that Pierre had everything he needed, Zhu took his leave.

Pierre sat on the sofa for a while, gazing around the spacious living room.

This, he thought, was his first true home in this world.

Though... it did feel like something was missing.

Ah. Right. No little demons yet.

The man before him looked about 36 or 37, average build.

He stood there so plainly, you’d barely notice him in a crowd.

"You served in the army?" Pierre asked.

"Yes, sir," the man replied.

"Bodyguard to a warlord?"

"Not exactly, but I’ve protected important people."

"You ever killed anyone?"

"Yes."

He answered plainly.

"Are you armed?"

"Yes."

He pulled a pistol from his waistband.

"Let me see."

Pierre smiled when he saw the weapon.

A Mauser C96.

A classic.

"Looks like you really did serve. So tell me— what brought you to America?"

"To be honest, boss, I’m a wanted man back home.

Had nowhere else to go, so I fled here."

"Oh?"

"In 1935, I participated in an attempted assassination of Wang Jingwei, the traitor.

It failed—so I ran."

Damn.

That changed everything.

Pierre had just been looking for a reliable bodyguard.

He hadn’t expected to find a true revolutionary.

"If you’re worried about me bringing trouble, I’d understand," the man added.

But Pierre just burst out laughing.

"Worried?

Traitors deserve death.

You’re hired!"

The man—Ding En—stood there in stunned silence.

His background was too dangerous.

No one in Chinatown dared to use him.

Even the An Leung Tong had only wanted his skills, not his name.

But this man?

He didn’t even hesitate.

Still processing it, Ding En heard Pierre ask:

"When can you start?

Oh, and... can you drive?"

-----

Chapter 40 : The First Step of an Arms Dealer

Illicit wealth may bring you fortune, but only legitimate wealth earns you status.

And status? It reinforces that fortune— even if the fortune itself started out dirty.

Pierre couldn’t remember where he had first read or heard this idea, but the truth of it was crystal clear.

No one cares how you made your first bucket of gold— until you fall from grace.

Then, and only then, they laugh and spit on you.

Put two bars of gold next to each other— no one can tell which one was earned cleanly and which came from the mud. All they see is gold.

But only clean gold brings power. That’s why he’d bought Karl Metal Company.

It wasn’t just to "clean" his money— this factory was the foundation of his entire career. In fact, it was destined to become the core of his future empire in North Borneo.

So, the very next day after arriving in New York, Pierre drove straight out to Karl Metal Company.

Unlike the stillness from before, the place was now buzzing with activity.

Smoke billowed from the chimneys, but this smoke didn’t represent pollution.

It meant power.

It meant progress.

It meant wealth.

The factory had come back to life.

Ever since Karl had sold it, all the entanglements had vanished.

Those subcontractors, once suffocating under their own workloads, were now happy to offload some to Karl’s company.

And just like that, in a matter of days, the factory had resumed full operations.

Skilled workers were still in short supply—only a few hundred—but they were headed in the right direction.

From the moment Pierre stepped into the office building, he could feel the difference.

Security guards stood sharp and upright in the lobby. Though technically rejects of American society, these former German-American Bund members certainly looked the part.

Pierre didn’t care if they were Nazi sympathizers.

He didn’t need idealists— he needed a squad of able-bodied, trained, and armed men.

Most of them only held green cards, which exempted them from being drafted.

But because of their "pro-German" history, they were ostracized by American society.

Even many of the engineers in the company had similar backgrounds.

Outcasts.

Rejects.

Perfect recruits.

Especially for someone like Pierre, who had no plans to stay in America forever.

Eventually, he’d pack up this entire factory and move it to North Borneo.

Why not industrialize the region using a fully functional American plant?

When the elevator reached the sixth floor and the doors opened, Karl’s excited voice immediately reached him.

"See this, boss?

In less than a month, I’ve restored full operations.

We’ve already secured $1.7 million in subcontracted orders.

The profit margins aren’t huge, but the factory’s back from the dead!"

He was beaming, almost bursting with pride.

Pierre nodded.

"I knew I was right to entrust it to you.

With you at the helm, I’ve got nothing to worry about."

Of course he had no doubts.

Karl hadn’t failed because he was incompetent, but because of circumstance.

The economic aftermath of the Depression was still lingering.

And Karl’s "Nazi sympathizer" label had made him an easy target in the U.S.

But in the right environment, talent always resurfaces.

Still, Karl’s excitement was a little much.

So Pierre reined him in with a measured tone:

"But we can’t just settle for subcontracting.

Margins are small, and the control lies in others’ hands.

We need to launch new business lines.

Develop our own products."

Karl nodded eagerly.

"You’re absolutely right.

Without innovation, we’ll always be at others’ mercy."

They were in it together now.

Karl’s future was tied to the company’s survival.

"So tell me, Karl," Pierre asked,

"What’s the most profitable product right now?"

Karl thought for a moment.

"Arms. Military arms."

"Exactly."

Pierre grinned.

"And that’s our next direction—the arms market."

As he spoke, he pulled a roll of blueprints from a tube and laid them out.

"This is a submachine gun I designed.

It will be our first product."

What good were blueprints if you didn’t build from them?

In fact, Pierre had planned this from the moment he acquired the factory.

He was a bit late to the game, sure.

But there was still money to be made.

Military arms were absurdly profitable.

Karl examined the sheets, blinking in surprise.

"This... is a submachine gun?"

"That’s right."

"There are only a few pages of schematics—how is that possible?"

Despite being a former millionaire, Karl wasn’t clueless about weapons.

In fact, he knew a lot about metalwork and manufacturing.

And submachine guns were notoriously complex— how could this one be built from just a handful of parts?

"Why not?" Pierre replied coolly.

"But even if we build it, who will buy it?" Karl asked cautiously.

"If this were last year, we could’ve submitted it to the Army’s new weapon trials.

But now?

Production of new submachine guns has already begun.

Even if yours is better, they won’t adopt it."

Pierre shook his head.

"You’re missing the point, Karl."

He tapped the blueprints.

"This weapon only has 17 parts, half of which are stamped, not machined.

It’s cheap to make.

Stupidly cheap.

Even cheaper than the British Sten gun.

And do you know what rules this world?"

He smiled.

"Price."

He leaned in.

"If it’s cheap enough, it’ll sell.

Why did the Brits adopt the Sten?

Because it was cheap.

Ours is cheaper, more reliable, and easier to produce.

It’s going to dominate the black market."

Pierre wasn’t boasting blindly.

For all its flash, even America was pinching pennies.

They used car engines in tanks.

Why?

Because it was cheaper.

All their military might came from cut corners and budget hacks.

And when a cheaper solution appeared— they jumped on it.

That’s why he was confident:

Cheap wins. Always.

Karl studied the blueprints again.

"But... can it actually fire?" he asked skeptically.

Pierre just laughed.

"What do you think?"

Karl blinked, then smiled.

"Well, we won’t know unless we build it."

He paused.

"By the way, boss— ever since you took over the company, a few reporters have been trying to interview you..."