From the moment the Van der Linde Gang left the snowy mountains and departed Colter, Milton had already fixed his eyes on them.
Horseshoe Overlook. Clemens Point. Shady Belle.
Every time the Van der Linde Gang relocated, it ultimately ended with Pinkerton tracking them down.
Each time, Pinkerton managed to uncover their hideout.
Milton always appeared to be giving them a chance. In truth, the conditions he proposed were ones Dutch and the rest of the gang could never possibly accept.
He was driving them forward—step by step—pushing them toward Saint Denis.
Why the Van der Linde Gang?
Because the other gangs were too weak. They couldn't create enough of a stir, and their members were too disorganized to control.
The Van der Linde Gang was different. They were tight-knit and relatively small. Old men, women, children—and several sharpshooter-level cowboys.
To Milton, they were the perfect target.
Having come up through Pinkerton's golden age, Milton was a Senior Agent. Countless criminals had died, directly or indirectly, because of him.
It could be said that every Pinkerton Senior Agent was forged from piles of criminals' bones.
As for using a band of robbers and killers to serve his purposes—Milton felt no guilt whatsoever.
And the facts proved he'd chosen well. The Van der Linde Gang had not disappointed him. His plan had worked.
But now there was an unexpected variable.
The Callander brothers.
More precisely—Davey Land.
Davey's rise had been astonishing. In just over half a year, he had gone from a wanted criminal to a prominent figure in Saint Denis—the only truly civilized city in the West.
He now even had the leverage to speak directly with Pinkerton's top leadership.
Over the course of his life, Milton had seen many such men—those who rode the tide of the times and, in a short span, amassed wealth and influence that ordinary men could never reach in a lifetime, becoming legends in the process.
Even now, the United States had no shortage of such figures.
And the Davey standing before him was about to become one of them.
So Milton treated him with proper respect.
"Mr. Land… what is it you want?"
After a long silence, Milton asked the question seriously.
Ignoring Ross's apology, Davey looked at Milton.
"As I said before, the Van der Linde Gang is my family."
"Once you obtain law enforcement authority, you may arrest them. You may interrogate them."
"But you are not to take their lives. That is my only condition."
"If anything goes wrong, I will hold you responsible, Mr. Milton."
"And… Mr. Ross."
Without waiting for a reply, Davey stood.
"Mr. Ross, no need to apologize. Just remember what I said."
"Oh—and the coffee bill."
With that, he walked out.
Outside the café, Kerry Laval was already waiting. The moment Davey stepped through the door, Kerry draped a coat over his shoulders.
At least ten security personnel followed close behind.
They were there to guard him at all times—alert, watchful, protective.
Inside the room.
As the sound of footsteps faded, Ross finally exploded.
"Sir, are we really going to let him—a robber and a murderer—pressure us like this?"
Milton gave a faint, bitter smile.
"Ross… do you really think we have the ability to defy him?"
"There are things you should know. Out here in the West, quite a few of our own agents are secretly working for Davey."
"Our operations—even our intelligence—can end up on his desk the moment they're produced."
"Just like he said, if he's willing to pay enough, Mr. Gray would dismiss you without hesitation. That's not a threat. That's reality."
"And that's not all. Through his connections, Davey could have us removed from overseeing this operation and replaced with someone willing to cooperate with him."
"An hour before we set out, Senior Agent Bruno called headquarters, proposing that he take over temporary law enforcement authority in Lemoyne."
"Fortunately, Mr. William rejected the proposal."
Pinkerton Detective Agency had been founded by Allan Pinkerton.
After Allan Pinkerton's death in 1884, his two sons—Robert Pinkerton and William Pinkerton—took joint control of the agency.
William Pinkerton remained at the Chicago headquarters, overseeing and directing all operations in the western United States.
Robert Pinkerton established an office in New York, supervising operations in the eastern United States.
Pinkerton had its own internal power struggles. The temporary law enforcement authority in Lemoyne was something other Senior Agents clearly wanted a share of.
Only then did Ross realize that not only he—but even Milton—was under Davey's pressure.
"So we just give him what he wants, sir?" Ross asked unwillingly.
Milton answered calmly, "Why not? It doesn't conflict with our objectives."
"Killing them or capturing them makes no difference to us. Why provoke an enemy we can't afford to offend over something so minor?"
"Our goal is simple. We need everyone to see that the United States needs Pinkerton. That's enough."
Compromising with a criminal left Ross feeling deeply stifled, but he had no alternative.
"…Understood, sir."
Milton stood.
"Just as I expected—after killing Bronte, Dutch didn't leave. They slipped into Saint Denis and have been lingering near the bank."
"It seems they want one last big score before they go. The Saint Denis Bank is their target."
Ross frowned. "They could've kidnapped Bronte for a ransom, taken a large sum of money, and then killed him. Instead, they killed him outright and still plan to rob the bank."
Pinkerton had already recovered Bronte's mutilated body from the swamp, but they had not made the death public—naturally, to strengthen their case for law enforcement authority.
Milton gave a slight shake of his head.
"Who knows."
He paused.
"Oh—and Ross."
"Don't forget to pay the bill."
...
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