Righty soon found his new meeting place with Tats to be a lot more convenient. There were no more ambushes with brutes announcing their fraternal relationship to a man whose head Righty had caved in with his bare knuckles. It was just business, and Righty couldn’t be happier. His knee was almost completely better now, his store clerk was working like a horse, and genuine business was starting to really take off there. He was underpricing the competitors, and the business could barely keep up with all the demand.
He was meeting with Tats around three times a week and walking away with $100,000 falons in his pocket each time, so needless to say, about the only problem he had now was what to do with all the cash. He decided on a diversification strategy. He began burying a considerable amount of it in the woods inside empty barrels that he brought home from his store, and he took the rest to the bank. He had first met with the president of the bank and explained in no uncertain terms that he would be sourly disappointed if his money were ever to be lost or misplaced or if the quantity was ever revealed to anyone. The president seemed to take the hint and convinced Righty no such catastrophes would ever happen.
Righty felt the time was nearing when he needed to start expanding his legitimate businesses with the real money he was making, or he would have too much cash to handle. While he realized this was a line of work where there was always going to be a certain amount of money-burying, his ambitions were far too great to be constantly burrowing in the ground like a dirty rodent. He wanted a legitimate business empire, even if it got its initial push from dirty money.
But he knew Ringsetter just wasn’t the right place for that. There would be too much gossiping. Too many people who knew too much about his past. Mr. Wilson, for example, just might wonder whether his meteoric rise in wealth had something to do with those seeds he supposedly returned.
No, Sivingdel would be the place. He had a legitimate story—at least one that could pass as such to complete strangers. He had a successful retail store and had decided to expand. That much was already true. And in Sivingdel, they wouldn’t need to trouble themselves with questions like, How did a former lumberyard laborer ever afford to buy a retail store in the first place? And how did he then turn such a profit as to start opening up new stores all over as if there were nothing more to it than opening up a door?
He knew the time was at hand to take up Mr. Hoffmeyer up on his offer regarding accounting services. So far, he was just doing a few tricks on his own—inflating prices and decreasing costs on paper. In reality, he was barely making a profit on his store, but on paper he was making enough to at least account for the money that he was putting into the bank. The excess was going into the ground.
Hopefully, Mr. Hoffmeyer’s accountants could do an even better job, but he had read enough on the subject to know that no matter how clever the accountant, the more money to clean the more legitimate business there had to be. With the way things were going, if he wanted to be able to put even half of the money he was making into the bank, he was going to need to open up a couple of new stores fast, each equipped with top-notch accountants trained in falon scrubbing.
Although trips to Sivingdel and back, watering his Smokeless Green plants every night, planting new plants several times per week, checking up on the store (Robert was a clerk on paper but practically ran the store, as Righty was so busy with his other engagements), visiting the bank, and burying money in the ground more frequently than a pirate made for a busy schedule, Righty had one other major project in his life.
He had hidden the monstrous sword out in the forest, and every morning he spent at least three hours copying the movements Pitkins had shown him. He had also found a book in the library with illustrations of sword-fighting techniques and was practicing these as well, hoping he wasn’t ingraining himself with bad techniques.