Dimensional Trader in Marvel

This Week's Goal,

200PS = 5 Extra Chapters.

"Tell me, what happened?" After dropping Margaret home, Josh got back in the car and motioned to the driver to start driving. He then turned to Dix and asked, "Was it the cigarettes or the sugar?"

By "sugar," Josh wasn't referring to corn syrup.

The corn syrup, being a new product, was tied to a government contract and entirely supplied to the military. However, Josh's sugar factory also produced granulated sugar on the side. The raw materials for this came from his deals with Daenerys—cheap, unrefined cane sugar or raw sugar from Westeros, processed into pure white sugar in his factory.

Some of this was sold back to Daenerys at a premium, while the rest was offloaded into Chicago's black market, reaping enormous profits.

The profits from the sales of white sugar and tobacco far exceeded those from the military contracts. But, as is the nature of illegal businesses, they were prone to attracting unwelcome attention.

Josh had always known this day would come.

"Both. Ten thousand cartons of cigarettes and one ton of sugar—all of it ready for shipment to New York—was seized at the docks. Five of our men are dead, two are critically injured, and only one managed to escape and inform me," Dix said grimly, his tone heavy with the loss of his subordinates.

Hearing this, Josh narrowed his eyes. At a minimum price of ten dollars per carton of cigarettes and twenty dollars per kilogram of sugar, the total losses amounted to a staggering $120,000.

"Any leads on who did it?" Josh asked.

"Not yet. The operation was efficient. By the time we arrived, the goods were already gone," Dix shook his head. "But I've notified both Mr. Schneider and Mr. Dietrich. They might have found something."

Josh nodded and fell silent, lost in thought.

Roughly half an hour later, Josh and his entourage of three cars arrived at Anna's diner. Anna was the widow of Louis, the man who had been fatally shot during a jewel heist.

Originally, Dix had taken care of Anna and her children out of sympathy. However, Anna's stunning looks and figure, which rivaled the best socialites Josh had encountered, had eventually won Dix over. Now, their relationship was serious, with marriage on the horizon.

Because of this connection, Anna's diner had become the de facto meeting spot for Josh and his associates.

The convoy of three cars was there for a reason—Josh's personal security. While Josh wasn't yet at the level of Chicago's top moguls, his growing wealth, influence, and public profile necessitated a personal security team.

His security detail consisted of over twenty men, all hired from the refugee camps at the city's port. Chicago, being the third-largest city in the U.S., attracted a large number of immigrants. Those who lacked money or connections ended up in overcrowded camps, living in appalling conditions while waiting for immigration approval.

These camps, with over 30,000 refugees, were barely a step above concentration camps. Hunger wasn't the issue—starvation wasn't allowed—but disease, cold, and squalor claimed lives daily.

Josh selectively recruited family-oriented individuals, many of whom were former soldiers, prioritizing those of German, Austrian, and Nordic descent. With a generous relocation and settlement package, Josh secured their unwavering loyalty.

At the diner, the only people inside were Schneider and Dietrich, who had been waiting.

"Have you uncovered anything?" Josh asked as he sat down on the sofa, commanding the room with his presence.

"Sheriff Dietrich has some leads," Schneider replied, indicating that Dietrich should take the floor.

This wasn't surprising—of everyone in Josh's group, Dietrich was the closest to being a true local power broker in Chicago.

"Well," Dietrich began, "I've got informants in every district. After hearing about the theft, I had them dig around. Tonight, five groups in the city made notable moves. One was the old Italian Moretti family, and another was Fat Old Man Murphy's Irish gang. But both of these were involved in an all-out gang war, so they're not likely suspects.

"The remaining three are the Falcone family, another Italian group; the Wild Dogs, a Spanish gang; and a Jewish faction. My gut says Falcone is unlikely—they've been in decline since their leader, Salieri, was imprisoned five years ago."

"So that leaves the Spanish and the Jewish gangs as prime suspects?" Josh asked, tapping the table thoughtfully.

"Yes. But that's just a guess. We'll need to locate the stolen goods to confirm. There's always the chance it was the work of some ambitious upstarts," Dietrich admitted with a shrug.

Chicago, being a melting pot of ethnicities and criminal enterprises, was rife with both large and small gangs. Every day, new gangs appeared while old ones disappeared.

Josh nodded. While he didn't need the kind of evidence police would require, he still needed clarity on the culprits. Targeting the wrong group could lead to unintended consequences.

"For now, stay on top of it. Notify me as soon as you find any concrete information. We may not be a formal gang, but we're not vermin to be trifled with. Also, Schneider, allocate funds from the shipment's revenue to compensate Dix. Give $10,000 for each of the deceased and $5,000 for the injured. Make it clear to everyone—those who fight for me will be taken care of."

At the mention of compensation, everyone present was visibly moved.

In this era, a typical gang leader might offer a token $1,000–$2,000 to the families of fallen members—if they were particularly benevolent. Most deaths, however, went uncompensated.

Even the U.S. military's death gratuity for soldiers was $6,000, making Josh's offer exceptionally generous for the time.

Though they all knew this was a calculated move to win loyalty, none of them cared. A boss willing to spend like this was rare and worth following.

For Josh, spending a few tens of thousands to solidify loyalty was a small price to pay. With the dimension-trading system at his disposal, earning money was the least of his worries. Beyond the lucrative black-market profits from sugar and tobacco, his warehouses were still brimming with gold and silver from his deals with Daenerys.

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