novelAbuy Chapter 67 Rules That Money Can't Buy
Chapter 67 Rules That Money Can't Buy
Li Wei pushed the two lists next to the candlelight in the study. The names on the papers danced in the light and shadow, as if they had come to life.
He showed no emotion, simply looking calmly at Fiona.
"List these thirty-seven names separately, archive them, and name them 'Risk Assets'."
"Then, randomly select five people from these thirty-seven. Starting next month, send each of their households a bag of flour and half a pound of salted meat as part of the 'Mutual Aid Association Outstanding Contribution Award.' Have Finn deliver them personally, and make a big fuss so that all their neighbors can see it."
Fiona didn't ask why, but quickly jotted it down in her notebook. She understood that every move her husband made was like placing a piece on a chessboard, seemingly random, but actually intricately linked.
The difference is that I can now understand Li Wei's thoughts to some extent.
This is both a bribe and a warning.
He was telling Samuel Adams that he could not only see the hidden cards, but also take them at any time and make them his own.
"As for the rest, just pretend you don't know." Li Wei threw the fake list into the fireplace, and the flames instantly turned the paper to ashes.
"Business should be done slowly, and fishing should be done slowly."
……
Soon it was the third week since the "Mutual Aid Society" was founded, and the efficiency of the Boston docks had reached an unprecedented level.
Large merchant ships that used to take three days to unload can now be emptied in less than two days.
The docks are no longer frequented by drunken thugs and petty thieves.
The captains were pleasantly surprised to find that they no longer needed to prepare a dozen bribes of different amounts; they could simply go to the most conspicuous two-story building in the warehouse area to complete all the formalities.
A sign reading "Boston Wharf Mutual Aid Association Business Office" was hung at the entrance of that small building.
In the office, a blonde woman with blue eyes will greet them.
She would hand over a price list with clearly written notes: unloading a barrel of rum, four pence; carrying a bag of flour, two pence; loading a case of tea, five pence, and so on.
The tonnage of each ship, the category of each type of cargo, and the corresponding loading and unloading fees are all clearly stated, without any deception.
Even the flow of every penny—from workers' salaries and compensation for work-related injuries to the distribution of survivor's benefits—is clearly traceable.
Captains and owners only need to pay the fees and get a receipt; they don't have to worry about the rest.
A captain from Philadelphia, after experiencing the process firsthand, remarked to his first mate while puffing on his pipe, "I've been sailing this route for ten years, and this is the first time I've seen a Boston dock that looks like a place for civilized people."
Behind all this order is Fiona.
She transformed the scattered concepts of "management" and "system" that Li Wei had mentioned into a set of practical and feasible rules and regulations.
After work each day, the workers could collect their wages from the accounting office by showing their work badges, and not a penny would be missing.
She also set up two separate wooden boxes, one labeled "Work Injury Fund" and the other "Retirement Reserve Fund". Every day, one-twentieth of the "Mutual Aid Association's" total income would be put into these two boxes in front of everyone.
The workers didn't understand the concept of a fund, but they could understand what a fund was for.
When a worker named Jack broke his leg after falling from a three-meter-high pile of goods, he wasn't left to die on the spot; instead, he was carried away on a stretcher by Seamus's men.
When a doctor from the city, who charged exorbitant fees, was quickly brought in to set his bones, everyone understood the significance of that box.
When Jack's wife received two whole black breads a day from the clerk, enough to fill her stomach, the entire dockyard's sense of belonging to the "Mutual Aid Society" reached an unprecedented level.
Governor Hutchinson was very pleased with the change.
He received a tax payment far exceeding his expectations every week, and the accounts were so clean that even the most demanding tax officials in the governor's mansion could not find any fault with them.
In his view, replacing a group of thugs who only knew how to smash and loot with a well-mannered Eastern businessman was a brilliant move.
The chaotic docks have become a hen that lays golden eggs steadily, and the rope leading the hen is in his own hands.
He even praised Livy to his staff during an afternoon tea, calling him "a talent who can create wealth for the empire, a useful Easterner."
Rumors circulated that Governor Hutchinson personally drafted the policy guidelines and his insights, and ordered them to be sent to Britain as quickly as possible.
However, when an old undercurrent is calmed, a new one will rise from the deeper depths.
……
Meanwhile, in Boston's most luxurious residential area.
John Hancock, Boston's richest and most famous businessman, first felt the gravity of the situation in his mansion.
He paced back and forth in his study, the expensive Persian carpet creaking under his silver-buckled leather shoes.
Having just listened to the butler's report, the innate arrogance on his face was now shrouded in a dark cloud.
"What did you say? Finn, that one-eyed bastard, pushed a whole chest of silver coins back?"
Hancock stopped in his tracks, unable to believe his ears.
In the past, there was nothing his money couldn't buy in Boston.
The butler bowed and answered tremblingly, "Yes, master. He said there's only one rule at the docks now, the rule of the mutual aid society. All goods must be registered and fees paid, without exception."
"He's just an Irish vagrant who used to beg for food like a dog when he saw me. What right does he have to talk to me about the rules of a mutual aid society?"
Hancock let out a cold laugh as he walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the lights of the distant harbor.
Once upon a time, he controlled every smuggling route in that dark place.
He could smuggle cheap syrup from the Caribbean, bypassing tariffs, into rum in his distillery, and sell it throughout New England. And this was just a tiny fraction of his many smuggling operations.
In the past, he only needed to bribe a few key gang leaders at the docks, and his boat could quietly transport "special cargo" into the city late at night.
But now, his men report that the entire North Wharf is like an iron barrel, impenetrable.
The "Mutual Aid Society" patrols around the clock, and any ship docking or unloading must first register at the office.
No matter how high the price they offered, those dockworkers and foremen who used to be greedy for money now just shook their heads, repeating the same phrase over and over: "That's the rule."
John Hancock was no fool; he knew perfectly well that the baker Boyle was nothing more than a rubber stamp for the mutual aid society, and that the real power lay with the Oriental who dared to put his hand in his own pocket.
"That Easterner cut off my supplies, which is equivalent to cutting off half of the 'Sons of Liberty's' funding." Hancock's voice turned cold.
"That idiot Samuel actually cooperated with this kind of person. Doesn't he know that such people are even more greedy than the wolves in the Governor's mansion?"
The butler dared not respond.
Hancock turned around and poured himself a glass of Madeira white wine, the liquid swirling in the crystal glass.
"It seems I need to find an opportunity to have this 'Mr. Li' come and see me. I want to see just how strict his rules really are."