No wonder that in a few years, America would repeal Prohibition. The profits from selling fake alcohol are so enormous that even the government is envious. It is said that the liquor taxes from just the eastern states alone amount to a staggering four hundred million dollars.
How large is this sum? To give a not-so-accurate example, maintaining the military presence and fleets in Asia and the Pacific, without engaging in any battles, would cost the U.S. military over twenty days of expenses at the rate of four hundred million dollars.
Nair recalls seeing some ridiculous street literature in his past life, which stated that just to ensure the smooth entry of fake alcohol into the market, bribes given to officials at all levels amount to over six million dollars a year.
The amount is staggering!
But this has nothing to do with Nair. In this era, those who dare to engage in the fake alcohol business are all well-armed, with armored vehicles and heavy machine guns, belonging to large social groups. Even in a small place like Brook County, the Frederick family can only serve as the lowest-level distributors and doesn't even have the capability to make fake alcohol themselves.
It's not that they can't make it; it's simply that they don't dare. Nowadays, Al Capone, the "underground mayor" of Chicago, is one of the largest fake alcohol dealers in the Great Lakes region. How ruthless is this guy?
He killed three hundred and twenty-two people in one month and still strolls around in public with swagger!
This guy is incredibly powerful and domineering, always carrying a submachine gun under his coat, daring to engage in street battles and throw grenades in public. He has connections everywhere, and besides being generous with bribes, he always has a subordinate take the fall for his crimes. The police know it's him and that he's the one who kills people, but they just can't convict him.
Of course, in the end, this gangster boss met a rather humiliating death, as the U.S. tax department had him in their sights. Good grief, American police need evidence to arrest you, but the U.S. tax department doesn't need any reason—they just arrest you. If you refuse to surrender, they'll shoot you dead.
Al Capone was eventually sentenced to eleven years in prison for tax evasion. He served eight years before being released on parole. In prison, he was tortured to the point of mental illness, contracted severe syphilis, and died just a few years after being released.
Initially, he offered five hundred thousand dollars to settle with the U.S. tax department, nearly all of it coming from his fake alcohol business.
He was rich! Very rich!
Probably only the second-most powerful organization in the U.S., the U.S. tax department, could handle such a gangster boss. Anyone else who tried to get involved in the fake alcohol business would be walking straight to their death.
Nair doesn't want to think about it. He stuffed the wine into his cloth bag and sped up his eating. The shepherd's pie tastes quite good, and if he finishes quickly, he might even have time for another serving. If he eats slowly, he'll only be able to fill up with bread.
Seeing that Nair was oblivious to the atmosphere, Frederick turned around to toast with other employees of the Administrative Committee. A group of people was chatting and laughing, making it feel like a private lunch meeting, exchanging friendship.
He socialized with others while Nair continued eating his meal. Nair figured he was about 70-80% full, so he decided to stop eating. He took out a handkerchief, grabbed two pieces of white bread, spread some jam on them, wrapped them up in the handkerchief, and planned to eat them on the way home in the afternoon. It was better than going home to eat oatmeal porridge, and it could save a meal for the family.
The lunch meeting ended quickly. Everyone scattered to rest, as the afternoon court session wouldn't begin until 1:30. It was only a little past twelve, so Nair could take a nap or relax.
This afternoon's court session was rather uneventful, with no major cases. The only complicated one was a inheritance dispute. There was a playboy in the family who spent extravagantly and enjoyed life, ruining his parents' inheritance. After his parents passed away, he demanded to divide the inheritance.
Judge Edward ruled reasonably in this case, not dividing the inheritance equally. Instead, after hearing testimony from neighbors, friends, and local clergy, he made a fair allocation. The playboy got a small portion, while the hardworking older brother received the bulk of it.
But as soon as the estate was divided, the tax agents from the nearby tax office were already waiting in the courtroom. A few people took the two brothers to discuss inheritance tax issues.
This was what they did, after all…
Around four o'clock, the day's cases were concluded, and Nair's work was done. After handing in his manuscript, he could leave. After waiting for a while on the roadside, he ran into Ivor and his wife. The newlyweds rented a carriage to head home. There were things they didn't need to buy, but a big bed was definitely necessary. They offered Nair a ride to save him a copper coin.
It was a nice offer, and Nair naturally agreed. Ivor helped him into the carriage, and the young couple chatted about their own matters while Nair ate his jam sandwich.
After three big bites, Nair felt the jam was too much, and the sandwich was overly sweet. Unfortunately, he hadn't brought any water, so he had to swallow it down. Carlra, a careful young girl, saw Nair eating the sandwich and nudged her husband. Ivor understood, patted Nair on the shoulder, and asked if he wanted something to drink.
Nair agreed, and Ivor glanced down at the box by his feet, where he surprisingly found a bottle of whiskey. This was also legal. How was it legal? It was classified as a medicine. Many doctors would prescribe a bottle of whiskey for patients to drink at home.
It was clear that Ivor had used this method to get whiskey from the pharmacy. In addition to two bottles of whiskey, there was an even more famous product—Coca-Cola!
It was a great drink. Although Nair would prefer some plain water at this moment, Coca-Cola was fine too. He was about to reach for it when he noticed a small bottle beside it with a simple label. Curiously, Nair picked it up.
Ginger soda?
So this was it. People who liked it were crazy about it, while those who didn't thought it was garbage. But it was funny that the pharmacy sold whiskey, Coca-Cola, and ginger soda, with a fairly complete selection of products.
Since Nair didn't appreciate ginger soda, he decided to stick with Coca-Cola. Ivor handed him a bottle opener, and Nair thanked him. After taking a big gulp of the Coca-Cola, he immediately felt his head and pores open up, feeling incredibly refreshed.
Ten cents a bottle—if it were chilled, it would be even better. Drinking this wasn't worse than the fake alcohol from Frederick's house, right? Nair thought to himself, then took another large sip and burped contentedly.
His eyes once again fell on the ginger soda. It seemed like it had some sort of magic, continuously drawing Nair's gaze. Why was that?
Oh!