bookbashuk Chapter 237 Gun Factory
Chapter 237 Gun Factory
Chapter 237 Gun Factory
The two arrived at their destination.
On the rusty iron gate, the words "Logit Machinery Factory" were written in large, faded paint.
Lorne took a sniff, and a strong, pungent smell of coal smoke filled his nostrils, causing him to instinctively frown. The environment around the factory was worse than he had imagined.
"Old Kohler, come inside with me and take a look," Lorne said to the middle-aged man beside him.
"OK."
They entered the factory, but the expected roar of machinery did not come. The entire factory area was eerily quiet, and there were hardly any workers moving around.
Could it be that the workers have all run away because they can't afford to pay their wages?
But it wouldn't be accurate to say there were no workers at all. Right in front of that three-story office building, they saw about thirty people dressed as workers gathered there, all looking agitated, seemingly arguing about something.
"I'll go ask," Old Kohler volunteered. He was familiar with this kind of situation and knew how to strike up a conversation with the workers.
Lorne didn't stop him, but simply stood there quietly observing. After about five minutes, old Kohler quickly returned.
"They're demanding their wages," Old Kohler said, a hint of sympathy and helplessness in his eyes. "The factory owner hasn't paid wages for two months."
"Two months?" Lorne's lips twitched slightly. If he took over the factory now, would the owed wages also be charged to him?
Sure enough, Tarkin's judgment was never reliable.
"Since we're already here, we should at least meet the person in charge." Lorne sighed and walked towards the office building.
"Make way, make way, we're here to see your boss." Old Kohler cleared a path for Lorne.
"If they're here to collect debts, let me tell you, we were here first!"
"That guy is not going to pay, don't waste your time!"
The workers' complaints and jeers came from all around, and it took the two of them quite a while to squeeze through the crowd and reach the entrance of the office building.
"Um—you're going to talk business later, so I—" Old Kohler's eyes darted around, as if he was asking himself if he should back off.
"It's alright, let's go in together first," Lorne patted his shoulder, "Two people make a more imposing presence."
He raised his hand and knocked on the closed office door.
"Go away, you debt collectors! I don't have a penny to my name!" A tired and hoarse voice came from inside the office.
"I'm not here to collect debts."
"They're here to kill us? Even if they kill us, it's useless!"
“No,” Lorne raised his voice, “I’m here to talk business. I’m James Scott.”
Upon hearing this, the room fell silent instantly. About a minute later, the door opened with a "yikes," and a middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes and a haggard face peeked out from the crack in the door.
"Is that James who wrote the letter saying he wanted to buy the factory?"
"Mm." Lorne nodded.
He came today as James Scott. He had explained in a letter, using Lorne's name, that his friend James Scott was interested in the gun factory and wanted to acquire it. Therefore, he had recommended him. He had also communicated with Lorne in Scott's name to allay any concerns Lorne might have.
In this way, Lorne's identity would only be that of a minor shareholder, which wouldn't be too conspicuous, and it would also prevent the other party from using emotional appeals to lower the price.
The middle-aged man glanced at Lorne suspiciously a few times, then at the poorly dressed old Kohler beside him, but said nothing more and slowly opened the door.
"Come in—let's talk slowly."
The two went inside.
"I'm sorry, there have been just too many people coming to collect debts lately, I'm getting a little paranoid," the middle-aged man explained hoarsely, rubbing his temples.
He pointed out the window, "You've seen the current situation at the factory. I'm sorry, I omitted some details in the letter."
"The workers have all left one after another. Apart from those downstairs demanding their wages, I'm the only one left in the entire factory now. Are there no more goods in stock?" Lorne asked.
"Yes, there's still a large stock of bullets in the warehouse," the man sighed, his face full of bitterness, "but—we just can't sell them. The market is saturated; we can't sell them even at a loss."
He chuckled self-deprecatingly, "It was made with the finest copper back then, but now it's become the last straw that broke my back. Can't we expand into new sales channels? Like the military?" Lorne asked again.
"If I had connections with the military, would I have ended up like this today!" the man lamented emotionally, collapsing completely.
There is still production capacity, but there is a lack of sufficient funds and stable customer channels—Lorne quickly analyzed the current situation in his mind.
"Could you show me around the factory?" Lorne asked.
"Sigh—come with me." Factory owner Ted sighed and stood up. He didn't dare go through the main entrance, because that would mean running into the workers downstairs demanding their wages. He led Lorne and Old Kohler out through a hidden door at the back of the office.
Ted led the two through the quiet factory buildings to the production workshop.
How to put it, the scene here is completely different from the orderly assembly line production workshop with roaring machines that he had initially imagined.
It's more like a larger-scale artisanal workshop.
Suddenly, Baishawaron recalled some videos he had watched before his transmigration, about that legendary village that made a living by handcrafting firearms.
The facilities here are strikingly similar to the scenes in those videos.
No, it might not even be as good as Peshawar. After all, at least the workshops there have modern tools like power tools, while here, most of the machines seem to still be manually operated.
Fortunately, I was mentally prepared because I had learned about the situation from Old Kohler beforehand, so Lorne wasn't too disappointed.
He looked at old Kohler beside him and asked in a low voice, "How's the environment here? How does it compare to the factory where you used to work?"
Old Kohler looked around, even touching the cold machinery, before speaking, "Sir, although I've never worked in a gun factory, the environment here is better than the machine factory I used to work in. Look, these machines don't have much rust; they're well-maintained."
Lorne nodded, taking his words as a reference.
Although the equipment was rudimentary, it should be sufficient for producing the shotguns he designed. After all, he had handcrafted the original prototype gun in the repair room of the "Golden Dream".
After visiting the production workshop, they arrived at the warehouse.
The moment the heavy warehouse door was pushed open, a strong smell of gunpowder wafted out.
Crates of bullets were neatly stacked on the ground. But nearby, some loose gun barrels and ammunition were not boxed, but scattered together.
Lorne thought to himself, "It seems he can't even afford to hire someone to pack the boxes."
"May I check it a little?"
"Okay." Ted nodded weakly.
Lorne stepped forward, picked up a bullet, and examined it closely.
The cartridge case had some oxidation on the surface, but the material was indeed good, made of high-quality brass, much better than the hand-made ammunition he had seen at sea.
Lorne glanced at Ted, who was looking down and seemingly lost in thought, and without beating around the bush, asked directly:
"Mr. Ted, how much are you willing to pay for this factory?"