Old Mike carefully tallied the accounts. With the principal and a 30% interest, the total came to over $3,800—a hefty sum.
"It's not a big deal; it's on credit anyway," Hardy remarked nonchalantly as he signed off.
Back at Bill's place, which had become their operational base, the crew gathered in the living room, familiarizing themselves with their firearms. Observing their enthusiasm and the sheer number of guns, Hardy mused that it would almost be a waste not to put them to some illicit use—like a bank heist.
But, of course, robbing a bank was out of the question. There were far smarter ways to earn money without drawing unwanted attention from law enforcement.
"Alright, folks, let's discuss our next move," Hardy announced.
All eyes turned to him. The crew hadn't come to Los Angeles for a quiet life; they knew a gang war was on the horizon. But none of them flinched. They were all seasoned veterans, more than ready for a fight, with the prospect of action lighting a spark in their eyes.
"I mentioned before that there's tension between the Austrian gang and several other factions in LA, including the Irish, Spanish, and Mexican gangs. We need more intel on these groups."
"You're all new faces in town, which makes it easier to gather information without being noticed. Henry and Matthew, you'll team up to find out more about the Irish. Neil and Leo, you'll focus on the Spanish."
Henry, Matthew, Neil, and Leo nodded in agreement.
"Sean and Reid, keep handling our daily operations. Richard and Kerry, stay vigilant and be ready to counter any surprise attacks."
Each person acknowledged their role without hesitation.
Hardy thought for a moment before calling Big Ivan, instructing him to keep an eye on the Mexican and Polish gangs, as well as any others that might pose a threat.
Big Ivan assured him he'd dig deep and report back with any findings.
The following morning, after a quick briefing, the team dispersed. Hardy, along with Sean and Reid, took a truck out for deliveries, while Richard and Kerry tailed them in Bill's Ford, ready for any unexpected situations. The Ford's trunk was loaded with an arsenal, just in case.
The days passed quietly—almost too quietly—giving the impression that all was calm in Los Angeles. But that calm was shattered a week later.
"Woo—woo—"
A loud horn blared as a massive container ship pulled into the Port of Los Angeles.
As soon as the ship docked, a fleet of cars arrived, spilling out dozens of customs officers and police.
"Search the ship!" ordered a supervisor.
Customs officials boarded, prying open a container filled with wooden crates. They cracked open one of the crates, brushing away the packing straw to reveal bottles of red wine.
"Chief, it's French wine," a subordinate reported.
The supervisor scanned the container's contents and nodded. "Looks like our informant was right. Confiscate it and conduct a thorough inspection."
The team sprang into action.
They moved all the crates to a warehouse at the port, stacking them high. Upon closer inspection, the crates contained various high-end French wines: Mouton, Latour, Petrus, Margaux, and several second-tier brands.
There were 430 crates in total, containing over 2,500 bottles.
"Chief, we've done a full count. It's all French wine, valued at more than $250,000. The customs paperwork says this shipment was supposed to be toys and fishing gear. The goods don't match the documents at all."
According to the listed customs duties, toys and fishing gear were tax-free.
If taxed, these smuggled wines would incur import duties exceeding 80%.
In total, this shipment could be worth more than $450,000.
"What does the freighter's captain have to say about this?" asked the supervisor.
"He claims he knows nothing about it."
The supervisor sneered. "Detain him for now. Impound the shipment and report it to the higher-ups for further instructions."
News of the confiscated shipment quickly reached Fred, the leader of the Austrian gang.
When he learned that the red wine had been seized, Fred nearly smashed his phone in rage.
That was $250,000 worth of product.
With a street value of over $450,000.
He was convinced that rival gangs were behind this; otherwise, customs wouldn't have been tipped off so accurately, catching the shipment before it even entered the port.
This was a massive loss.
Fred thought for a moment and then picked up the phone again, waiting as it rang.
He was on edge. If this went wrong, he wasn't sure how his superiors would react.
When the call connected, a deep voice answered.
"Who is this?"
Fred tensed up. "Mr. Siegel, it's Fred."
"What's the matter, Fred?"
Fred carefully explained the situation with the seized wine shipment. When he finished, an angry voice erupted from the other end.
"Fred, you've let me down. Your actions are weak. All I've seen from you lately is hesitation. Now, I want you to retaliate. Hit them back."
"I'll work on smoothing things over with customs; maybe we can recover some of the goods, but it's going to cost us," Fred muttered, lowering his head, not daring to argue.
After the call, Fred clenched his fists. He knew his boss needed money badly and had even siphoned some funds from their operations. The boss had already warned him to be more aggressive in making money, and now that he'd botched the job, it was no surprise he was furious.
Fred called in his second-in-command, Allen Payne.
"Allen, customs seized our shipment. Boss Siegel is furious and wants us to retaliate. What do you suggest?"
Allen Payne pondered briefly.
"First, mobilize the strike team and retaliate against the Irish. Second, since our regular business is taking a hit, increase the commission rates to motivate our people. Third, encourage more freelance jobs. If we used to split those profits 40/60, let's change it to 30/70."
Retaliation was a given—they needed to hit back at the Irish to curb their growing audacity.
With regular business affected, upping the split ratio could incentivize everyone to perform better.
As for freelance jobs, they included anything from running a gambling den, loan sharking, controlling bars and brothels, to theft, robbery, kidnapping, and extortion—all profitable, albeit risky ventures.
Previously, the gang took 40% of any earnings from such jobs, with 60% going to the individuals. Payne suggested adjusting this to 30/70, believing it would further motivate their men.
"Alright, that's the plan. Call all the lieutenants and area leaders for a meeting this afternoon to assign tasks," Fred concluded.
Hardy received his summons and headed to the headquarters for the meeting.
In the conference room, Fred sat at the head of the table, with Allen Payne next to him. Around them were over twenty lieutenants.
Hardy recognized a few faces, like the warehouse manager and some district bosses. But many were unfamiliar, such as the casino manager, the smuggling coordinator, and the loan sharking overseer—each ran a different operation, rarely crossing paths.
Many of them were seeing Hardy for the first time and eyed him with curiosity.
Fred opened the meeting. "We've hit a rough patch lately. The Irish and some other gangs have united against us. Our bars, nightclubs, casinos, and delivery routes have been under attack, resulting in significant losses."
"Today, a container of wine we shipped from France got caught. No need to investigate; it's clear our rivals are behind it. They've cost us dearly."
The room fell silent. Everyone listened attentively, sensing that Fred had called this meeting to announce a major decision.
Fred raised three fingers.
"We were tipped off—someone from inside gave away our shipping schedule and even the container number. We have a rat."
The smuggling coordinator's face darkened.
He hadn't betrayed anyone, but as the man in charge of this operation, any problem would reflect badly on him.
"Williams, I'll have someone work with you to find the traitor. We need to get to the bottom of this. Once we do, we'll make sure he disappears—permanently."
"This rat cost us over half a million dollars," Fred growled through clenched teeth.
Williams, the smuggling supervisor, quickly stood and said, "Yes, boss, I'll handle it. We'll find the bastard responsible!"