Chapter 86: First Official Company
Harry Crawford stared at his daughter, his jaw slack, the color completely draining from his weathered face.
"Are you joking, Sarah?" Harry gasped, his thick hands gripping the edge of his wooden crate.
Sarah didn’t flinch. She kept her sharp brown eyes fixed directly on Ricky. "Since when did I ever make a joke about business, Dad?"
Harry blinked, his mind frantically trying to recall a single time his daughter had ever taken the shop’s ledgers lightly. He swallowed hard. "I mean... not really, no."
"Exactly," Sarah said flatly.
Harry ran a trembling hand over his balding head. He turned to Ricky, his face flushed with profound embarrassment. "I’m so sorry, Mr. Stevenson. Please... would you excuse us for just a minute?"
Ricky kept his expression completely neutral, though a spark of genuine amusement danced in his eyes. He stood up from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket. "No problem at all, Mr. Crawford. Take your time."
Ricky gestured for Evelynn to follow, and the two of them stepped out through the front door, the brass bell jingling softly behind them.
Out on the cobblestone sidewalk, the mid-morning air was brisk. Evelynn stood perfectly straight beside him, clutching her clipboard, her green eyes narrowed in quiet disapproval at the messy state of the Crawford business.
Ricky didn’t walk away. With his Perception attribute sitting at a highly enhanced fifteen, he didn’t need to press his ear to the glass to hear what was happening inside. He just leaned his shoulder against the brick facade, closing his eyes slightly as he tuned out the rattle of a passing streetcar.
Through the thin wooden door, Sarah’s voice carried clearly.
"I don’t understand," Harry hissed, his voice tight with panic. "Why are you trying to sell our company? Your mother and I worked our fingers to the bone to build this name!"
"Dad, look at the books," Sarah shot back, her tone fiercely practical. "Over the last two years, we’ve averaged sixty dollars a month in profit. We’re drowning in bank debt. If we keep going like this, the bank is going to seize the house in less than three years."
Ricky heard the rustle of heavy paper as Sarah slapped a ledger onto a crate.
"But just two weeks ago, our foot traffic went through the roof," Sarah continued. "We’re already clearing a hundred and twenty dollars this month alone, and it’s entirely because of those two standing out on the sidewalk. They’re using our name to move heavy volume. If we sell the corporate name to them now and secure a distribution deal, we won’t have to beg the Brooklyn wholesalers for discounted scrap anymore. We won’t have to handpick rotten potatoes or bruised apples just to save a nickel. We can clear the debt and breathe."
"It still doesn’t explain why you’re selling the whole company," Harry argued, sounding heartbroken. "It’s our dream."
Sarah’s voice softened just a fraction. "Dad, the company has no physical assets besides a couple of empty crates and some barrels. Our house isn’t tied to the corporate papers. The only thing of value we have left is the name itself. These guys out there... they could change their front name tomorrow if they wanted to. But it would cost them their reputation. The neighborhood already knows the ’Atlantic & Pacific Trading Company.’ They need it. We sell the name, take a distribution deal for five years, and build enough capital to start fresh. We might even become their major partners down the line."
Harry let out a long, defeated sigh that carried right through the door. "I hope you’re right, Sarah. Or may your mother forgive me."
"Don’t worry too much, Dad," Sarah said gently. "Just let me deal with this."
A moment later, the brass bell jingled as Sarah pulled the door open. She looked at Ricky and Evelynn, her face an unreadable mask of corporate composure. "You can come back in."
Ricky and Evelynn stepped back inside the dusty, cluttered living room, taking their seats opposite the Crawfords.
"Have you finalized your decision, Mr. Crawford?" Ricky asked calmly.
Harry looked down at his rough hands. "I’ll let Sarah represent me in this. I’ll just... observe. And advise her."
"Alright," Ricky said, shifting his gaze to the young woman.
Sarah sat up straight, crossing her arms over the ledgers in her lap. "I’ll be direct, Mr. Stevenson. We will sell you the full legal rights to the Atlantic & Pacific Trading Company. For ten thousand dollars."
Evelynn’s head snapped up, her green eyes widening in sheer, absolute shock.
Ricky actually let out a short, genuine laugh, shaking his head. In 1910, ten thousand dollars was enough to buy an entire fleet of wagons and a multi-story warehouse outright.
"I apologize in advance, Ms. Crawford," Ricky said, offering a dry smile. "But your company’s actual market valuation says otherwise. You don’t have the assets for that."
Sarah smirked, leaning forward. It was the look of a shark smelling blood in the water. "You’re right. Our physical assets are close to nonexistent. But I’m letting you keep our registered company name. And more importantly, I’m keeping my mouth shut about your operation illegally using a registered trademark to move unmanifested cargo across the city."
Ricky’s smile faded slightly. He stared at her, genuinely impressed.
"Not to mention," Sarah added smoothly, "the reputation you’ve already built under our name is incredibly valuable now. Your loyal customers—especially the wealthy ones in Midtown—would start asking a lot of uncomfortable questions if you suddenly vanished and changed your name overnight."
Ricky leaned back in his chair. She had hit the nail perfectly on the head. He couldn’t afford to burn the brand identity he’d spent weeks building, especially with Don Martinez and the Waldorf-Astoria accounts locked in.
"I’m afraid you’re right, Ms. Crawford," Ricky conceded, his voice dropping into a firm, negotiating register. "It would be quite a trouble to change names halfway. Alright. We’ll buy."
She paused, a sharp, challenging smirk returning to his lips. "On one condition."
Ricky’s eyes narrowed slightly, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. "Let’s hear it."
"We’ll retain distribution rights for your products," Sarah countered instantly. "We buy from you at twenty percent over your base factory cost."
Ricky scoffed. Buying at twenty percent over his base cost would give her a massive, absurd profit margin on the retail end, but he could reference his price from the current factory costs. "I’m afraid that won’t do. I’ll give you two thousand dollars for the company name, and you buy stock from us at eighty percent of standard retail price."
"No, no, that’s too low," Sarah argued, her heart hammering as she played hardball with a man who clearly held all the cards. "I’m generous enough to offer you seven thousand, five hundred for the buyout, and we buy stock at thirty percent."
"Even at that number, it’s still too high," Ricky fired back without missing a beat. "How about two thousand dollars flat, plus a compensation for the trouble. You buy at sixty-five percent of retail, and the deal lasts for seven years."
Sarah was visibly sweating now. She gripped her ledger tightly. "Four thousand dollars to close my family’s bank debt entirely. Fifty-five percent on the distribution margin. For five years."
Ricky smiled. He had found the core of her desperation—the bank debt.
"The percentage is fair," Ricky said smoothly, shifting his strategy to secure their complete loyalty. "But how about this: I won’t buy the company for four thousand outright. Instead, I will buy it for three thousand dollars, plus my syndicate will personally loan you the money you need. We won’t even ask you to put your house or land up as collateral. You pay us back slowly only using distribution profits and years as collateral."
Sarah stared at him, her mind racing. With two thousand dollars to pay off the rest of the loan plus one thousand for capital while still letting her run a profitable distribution front for his goods. She could loan a thousand dollars to renovate their home. It didn’t really matter if she couldn’t pay it. Her house was safe from collateral
It was a lifeline she couldn’t refuse.
"Fine," Sarah breathed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "But how much outright cash are you giving us as compensation for the name transfer?"
"Three hundred dollars," Ricky said flatly. "And I think that’s even too much."
Sarah’s eyes flashed with stubborn pride. "Make that seven hundred, and you’ve got yourself a deal."
Ricky felt a flare of irritation at her relentless haggling, but he respected the hustle too much to shut her down. He reached across the messy crate, extending his hand. "Alright. You’ve got a deal, Ms. Crawford."
Sarah smiled, shaking his hand with a firm, dry grip. "Well, the deal would be too low if I just accepted your first lowball."
"You’re indeed as talented as your father said," Ricky chuckled, withdrawing his hand.
Harry let out a breathless, relieved laugh, wiping his sweating forehead. "Her mother always said Sarah was far beyond her."
"Am I?" Sarah smirked playfully. "I think I’m just the same as the rest."
Evelynn immediately produced the necessary transfer documents from her clipboard. Within ten minutes, the papers were signed, transferring the legal rights of the Atlantic & Pacific Trading Company to Ricky’s name. Ricky opened his leather satchel, counting out three thousand and seven hundred dollars in crisp bills and handing them to Harry.
"It’s nice doing business with you, Mr. and Ms. Crawford," Ricky said, standing up and adjusting his bowler hat.
Sarah stood up, looking Ricky up and down with a sudden, bold appreciation. She offered him a highly suggestive wink. "I’ll be seeing you soon enough, handsome."
Beside Ricky, Evelynn’s posture went completely rigid. Her knuckles turned white around her clipboard.
"No, he’s not, Ms. Crawford," Evelynn said, her voice dropping into a freezing, razor-sharp tone. "You’ll be seeing me."
Sarah just smirked, entirely unbothered, crossing her arms. "Is that right?"
"Yes," Evelynn said, taking a step forward. "I’ll make absolutely sure of it."
Ricky blinked, thoroughly confused by the sudden drop in temperature. Before Evelynn could say anything else, Ricky reached out, firmly grabbing Evelynn by the hip and pulling her back toward the door.
"Alright, that’s enough," Ricky muttered, dragging his seething secretary toward the exit. "We’ll be off, Mr. Crawford."
Harry, looking completely sheepish and bewildered by the sudden catfight, waved weakly from his crate. "Y-yeah... be careful on the way, Mr. Stevenson."
Ricky pulled Evelynn out onto the sidewalk, the brass bell jingling wildly as the door shut. Evelynn’s face was slightly flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she marched toward the black spring-wagon.
"I don’t quite understand what just happened in there," Ricky said, helping her up onto the wagon bench. "Did she really piss you off that much over the margins?"
Evelynn sat down heavily, smoothing her dark skirt, taking a deep breath to compose her strictly professional facade despite her dunce boss. She looked straight ahead at the street.
"She irritates me, sir," Evelynn said flatly.
"Huh... alright," Ricky muttered, shaking his head in mild confusion as he climbed onto the bench and took the reins.
Back inside the dusty living room, Harry watched through the window as the black wagon rolled away down the street. He turned to his daughter, letting out a heavy sigh.
"You know, Sarah," Harry warned gently, "Mr. Stevenson is quite out of your reach. Especially if he has that rather terrifying, sexy lady by his side all day."
Sarah just scoffed, walking over to the cash box to lock away the money.
"I don’t need fancy, stiff outfits and expensive makeup to get men to like me, Dad," Sarah said confidently, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Besides, real men like them au naturel."
Harry chuckled warmly, shaking his balding head as he walked toward the back room to start sweeping. "You really are exactly like your mother."
Sarah just smiled, glancing out the dirt-streaked window one last time at the empty street.