Chapter 242 Just in Case
The headquarters of the Sahara Group is in Lucknow. After Roy's net worth increased, he also built a huge villa named "Sahara Shah" in the eastern suburbs.
Ron was invited by the other party to visit his villa.
I have to say it is indeed incredibly large, with emerald green lawns and shining white marble decorations everywhere in the villa.
It also has a concert hall, a cinema, a golf course and a cricket field. It is more like a modern manor than a villa.
In terms of area alone, this place is much larger than Ron's villa in Mumbai.
The strangest thing is that the servants in Roy Manor all wear black and white clothes.
The black uniform has a white shirt underneath and black shoes over white socks.
Only after seeing Subrata Roy coming out to greet him, also wearing a black vest and a white shirt, did Ron understand what was going on.
This guy either has obsessive-compulsive disorder or likes to engage in personality cult.
Roy was tall and thin, with black hair that was always waxed and a mustache that was meticulously groomed.
"Welcome, Mr. Soul!" He clasped his hands together.
"Hello, Mr. Roy." Ron returned the greeting.
"Let's go in and talk. There's some excellent silver tip tea ready."
Indians also drink tea, not the common milk tea, but real brewed green tea.
Roy is in his forties and has begun to pay attention to health preservation.
He took Ron to visit every corner of the villa, and the pride on his face was beyond words.
Indian businessmen all have this problem, that is, they like to show off.
The more the media reported on it, the more excited they became.
This not only demonstrates strength, but also gives confidence to the investors behind it.
The poor people who deposited their money in Roy Bank would think after seeing the news about him showing off his wealth: He is indeed a big businessman who knows how to make money. I am sure that I will only make money and not lose money with him.
"I read the news. Your Sur Park is great. India needs patriotic young people like you." Roy especially likes to wave the banner of patriotism.
"I didn't expect the news to spread to Uttar Pradesh." Ron was a little surprised.
"Businessmen will not miss any meaningful news, and neither will our minister." Roy smiled meaningfully.
Ron suddenly thought of his meeting with Yadav some time ago, when the other party had already expressed his dissatisfaction.
He ostensibly blamed Ron for focusing all his energy on the Sur Industrial Park in Mumbai, which allowed negative news about the cement plant to appear in the newspapers.
In reality, the minister was thinking, why isn't the Sur Industrial Park, which costs hundreds of millions of dollars, in Uttar Pradesh? That way, he could make more money.
“Some businesses are suitable for Mumbai, some are suitable for Uttar Pradesh,” Ron shrugged.
"You're right. Uttar Pradesh is in a state of disrepair right now. I wanted to build an apartment in Lucknow, but I couldn't even buy cement. I wanted to start a building materials business, but—" Roy spread his hands, "you got the cement factory first."
"To be honest, I also wanted to work in banking. I asked around and found out that Mr. Roy had been in the industry for more than ten years."
"It seems that our vision is surprisingly consistent." Roy laughed.
Ron also laughed, a relaxed and carefree laugh.
They are all old foxes, so no one should play the role of the other.
"Seriously, does your cement plant need funds? We can make it bigger." Roy said temptingly.
"The cement plant is almost completed and will be put into production soon."
"So soon?"
"The terrain there is good, and there's some infrastructure. If it's just initial trial production, it will take about a year."
"It seems I should just focus on my real estate business." Roy nodded indifferently.
"If you need cement, just tell me. The mine in Mirzapur is of very good quality."
“Of course, but I heard that you have some conflicts with the Tripathi family?”
"Hmm?" Ron put away his expression.
"I think I have a piece of news that might interest you."
“About the Tripathi family?”
Roy smiled but said nothing. The value of information lies in the moment it remains unspoken.
"What do you want?" Ron asked directly.
Cement Plant
"The cement plant has no plans to expand for the time being." Ron blocked the way with just one sentence.
"What about the Sur Park? You must need funds somewhere, right?" Roy did not give up.
He runs a bank, and money only earns returns when it is put to work, whether through investment or loans.
"I plan to develop the coal mines in Songbadra."
"Coal?" Roy shook his head. "No, this business isn't worth doing."
"Well, I'm planning to build a backup power station for the cement plant and mines. It'll cost me about 30 million rupees."
"What's the interest rate?" Roy's eyes lit up.
“Like a bank.”
"make a deal!"
Lending is also a lucrative business, which is the main business of banks.
Roy's Sahara Finance is also a bank.
Thirty million rupees is not a small amount. The loan interest rates of Indian banks are generally high nowadays, basically maintaining at around 10%-15%.
Over a five-year period, Roy could easily earn back 10 million rupees in interest.
It’s a good deal. Very good deal.
"So what's the interesting news?" Ron asked.
"Kalin Tripathi recently visited our Minister."
"When?" Ron's eyes moved slightly.
"The earliest was two weeks ago, and it's happened more frequently recently." Roy had a smile on his face, the kind of smile that comes from watching a show.
Ron calculated silently, and it was exactly the time when he last visited Yadav.
Interestingly, he had not received any call from Yadav in two weeks.
Did Tripathi just come to catch up with him? Ron didn't believe it.
"But news like this is not valuable at all." He said calmly.
"In Uttar Pradesh, this is enough. Our minister Yadav never meets businessmen easily unless it is for money."
"I know the Tripathi family is in the arms business. Do they have any competitors?" Ron asked.
"Sombadella, you can go there and ask around." Roy smiled. He had a feeling that things were going to get more and more lively.
Sonbhadra, coal mines, and the Tripathi family—what a coincidence? Things are really getting more and more interesting.
"Thank you for the information, Mr. Roy."
"I also want to recover my interest smoothly."
Looking at Ron's leaving back, Subrata Roy chuckled.
If the deal is successful, he collects interest. If it fails, he collects the mortgaged shares. He never loses out.
On the southern outskirts of Mirzapur, a black SUV with the license plate "Kalinbai" drove straight to the gate of a factory.
Judging from the sign outside, this is a copper factory.
Entering the yard, dozens of workers were hammering on the iron frames on the ground.
The corners of the yard and the wooden platforms on the walls were all patrolled by armed men.
Seeing the black SUV coming in, the workers and patrolmen bowed and greeted it with "Kalinbai".
"Dad, I've been here many times." Ram said with little interest.
"Before, you just watched the fun, but this time you will understand the factory's operating procedures. As the heir to the Tripathi family, you must master these."
Ram didn't care. Although he said he was the only heir, he was never allowed to interfere in the affairs of the town.
Entering the dark workshop, there are more people here. Near the outermost work area, there are workers sitting on the ground polishing copperware. Everything seems normal.
These are all cover, the innermost part of the factory is the core area.
Karin and his men marched straight in, passing through one door after another. The guards holding AKs saluted him one by one.
"Sir, the materials for the iron part are ready." Someone brought a list to confirm with Karin.
Ram looked around the workshop and realized that there had been many changes here.
Workers no longer make guns purely by hand; several lathes and milling machines are humming away.
Whenever an iron pipe approaches, there is a harsh sound of metal friction, and sparks fly all over the ground.
"The quality of our previous homemade pistols was unstable, and many customers had complaints, so we changed the equipment," Karin came over to explain.
"Where does our steel come from?" Ram kicked the pile of junk at his feet curiously.
"Truck steering wheel, cheap and easy to use." Karin shook his head.
The homemade pistols on the table had their bodies and barrels remade from those scraps.
To be honest, it looked shabby and you could tell it was cheap stuff at first glance.
"We used to use Ambassador cars and Yamaha motorcycle parts. The barrels shouldn't explode. Ubbe, you're responsible for quality. What do you have to say?"
A bald middle-aged man ran over and said, "Kalinbai, maybe the barrel is uneven, or the bullet is substandard."
"Don't let it happen again!" Karin warned him.
"Yes, Kalinbai." The middle-aged man retreated respectfully.
Ram took out the pistol from his waist, which was an exquisite Lockheed Martin pistol.
"Dad, this gun is cooler."
"Yes, but that's not what we make. It's imported for special clients. And of course, for family use."
All high-end goods in India are made in foreign countries, from foreign liquor to arms.
Domestic products are for the poor, as long as the quality is not bad, it's fine.
"This is a bullet." Karin grabbed the yellow shell from another person's hand.
"Did we do this ourselves?" Ram asked.
"I found it on the road."
"On the way?"
"Yes, the higher the toll, the better the road."
Mirzapur police regularly conduct target practice, and only the officer knows how many shots he has fired.
When Chief Gupta asked, the officers below would say, "65 shots were fired."
"How many empty shells did you pick up?"
"30 pieces."
"What about the rest?"
"Gone."
Commissioner Gupta laughed, and the police officers laughed too.
This was their tacit understanding, taking notes while talking.
In fact, the remaining 35 bullets were collected by Director Gupta, hidden in lunch boxes and sent to the Tripathi family's arms processing factory.
This is where the bullets come from. The more money you give, the smoother the road will be.
"Bullets are like ink in a printer. You can buy genuine ones or refill them with old empty shells. Either way, the printer will work properly."
In another room next to Karimbai and his team, several workers were loading gunpowder into bullets by hand.
There is no reassembly production line, everything is done manually.
"Remember, there can't be any fire here," Karin reminded his son. "Last month, two new people came in. They lit a cigarette here after lunch, and then it exploded. Luckily, the factory was fine."
"How do we deliver the finished guns?" Ram asked again.
"It will be sent away with the copperware outside. No one will check it."
Karin took Ram and gave him a detailed introduction to the family's arms business, going over every step from the production of the weapons to how the trade was conducted.
"You must hold the gun in your own hands," he looked at his son. "From today on, you will be watching here. We need to stock up on a hundred pistols."
"So many?" Ram was slightly surprised.
"Just in case." Karin turned and went upstairs.
(End of this chapter)
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