Chapter 422 Visit
This time, Ron met not only Gary Reddy, but also his brother Tim Reddy.
The steel plant at the highway intersection is his industry. If Ron wants to take over the entire industrial chain at one time, he can't avoid this person.
"Mr. Soul, what is your impression of the steel plant?" asked Tim Reddy.
"It's very mature, but it's a pity that the market is not good now."
"Yeah," he nodded with emotion, "Doing business in China isn't as good as it used to be."
"So does the Reddy family plan to sell it? As far as I know, the factory is now making a loss, losing tens of millions of dollars every year." Ron took the opportunity to ask.
"What price are you willing to offer? We spent a lot of money to build this steel plant. It's around this amount." He gestured with his fingers, $400 million.
"Considering the sluggish international steel market, I can only quote half the price."
"That number doesn't sound very sincere," Tim Reddy said with a smile.
“The difficulty is that it’s losing money, and there’s no sign of the market picking up.”
“Reddy Steel will not be sold.”
"What?" Ron frowned.
"This is the core business of the family. Without it, there would be no Reddy's. But we can put you in touch with another seller."
"Huh?" Ron looked over in surprise.
"There's more than just one steel mill in the industrial park there. Someone just doesn't want to do business anymore and wants to get rid of it. It's that simple."
“How’s the factory?”
“It was built almost at the same time as the Reddy Steel Plant, but it lagged behind slightly in terms of technological updates.”
“Is it about the same size?”
"Yes." Tim Reddy nodded.
"What price do they want?"
"The number you just mentioned might even be lowered. It depends on how the business is negotiated."
"I want to go and see it in person again." Ron was very cautious.
"no problem."
So Ron went to the industrial park at the highway intersection again, and found that the steel plant he wanted to sell was just across an old road from Reddy's house.
As expected, the factories were built at the same time, and the layout and workshops inside are almost exactly the same.
Ron even suspected that the two steel mills were built by the same construction team. Apart from the name and subtle layout, there was not much difference.
Even the extremely simple staff dormitories are just as dirty, messy and remote.
Ron planned to have a chat with the factory owner and ask a professional team to come and take a look.
Goa is indeed a great place for vacation. The beaches, fruits and scenery here are all amazing.
After leaving the steel mill in the inland area, Ron returned to the seaside.
There are not only colonial-style resorts here, but also square wooden houses leaning against palm trees.
If Ron got tired of living in the villa, he would occasionally bring Urmila here in the evening to enjoy the cool breeze.
The house is made of bamboo, coconut and palm leaves, and you can see the dark sea through the windows.
The room was lit by a lamp and candles. It consisted of a single room with a sandy floor, a table, two chairs, a bed, and a wooden rack for hanging clothes.
The furnishings are simple and clean, and it has a seaside fisherman style.
"Hmm? You don't want to make any more progress in Bollywood?"
"At this age, Indian women should think about their future careers. They should either get married and start a family, or be prepared to endure gossip. I just want to have a child."
"No problem, this is what I'm best at!" Ron took the responsibility.
He turned her over and was about to continue giving her the injection, but Urmila quickly begged for mercy, as she really couldn't hold it any longer.
Tsk, in a place like Goa, especially after seeing too many foreign girls wearing bikinis on the beach, you will get a little addicted.
What can he do? He is just a proper Indian.
After another visit, Ron lay shirtless in the hammock outside the house, while Urmila rambled on about the poor infrastructure in Goa.
Don't be fooled by the resort's glamorous appearance, but once you leave here, the outside is no different from most places in India.
Urmila hated the toilets in Goa, which were just squat keyholes with a smooth, steep slope below, down which the excrement would slide into a narrow alley.
Wild, hairy black Goan pigs roam the alleys, feeding on the excrement.
If you just look outside, you will find a group of black pigs running around in the alleys.
Regardless of whether this is a clean way to deal with excrement, just seeing them eating it with relish will make you want to give up meat and turn to a vegetarian diet.
No wonder Hindus and herders think pigs are unclean. It turns out they have seen this kind of scene too many times.
Ron was on the phone on the beach. He was in Goa, but he couldn't shirk his business matters and needed his constant attention.
As the night wore on, the crowds on the beach gradually thinned out. The nearly full moon stood like a medal nailed to the chest of the sky.
The moonlight rolled to the shore with every rushing wave, as if the moonlight was pushing the waves, or as if the moon had cast a large silver net, scooping up the entire coastline and dragging it ashore through wave after wave.
After a few words, Ron waved to Urmila.
"Go back!"
"Bombay?"
"It's almost done. The deal will be done soon, and we'll go back to Mumbai after it's done."
Leave professional matters to professionals. In order to understand the situation of the steel plant that is intended to be sold, not only an audit team came, but even Sun TV had reporters ready to sneak into the group of workers.
Ron was worried that these workers were too deeply involved with the factory owner's family, and that if they took over the factory, they would become a group that would be difficult to get rid of.
At first, the reporter thought the factory would reject his request because factory owners strongly resisted scrutiny from the outside world.
It turned out that the manager was very easy to talk to and gave the reporter complete freedom to interview the factory workers.
He said he was not the factory owner, he was also an employee, just with a higher salary.
He also frankly admitted that he was unable to improve the workers' working and living conditions, as the factory owner would not allow him to do so. However, he was very aware of the workers' hardships.
At first, the Sun TV reporter was very grateful to his manager for giving him so much freedom to interview the workers.
However, when he arrived at the workers' residence and tried to blend in with them, he no longer felt that way.
Since no one was willing to tell him the details, the reporter understood why the workers were wary of him.
Although he told them that he had obtained the general manager's permission, the workers were still suspicious of the reporter's presence, fearing that he was a labor inspector sent by the government to inspect their living conditions.
This is not a good thing. Once government inspectors determine that the conditions here are not up to standard, they may order the factory to be closed.
If that happens, they will lose their jobs and be left with nothing.
Therefore, they decided to act like migrant workers and refused to engage in any discussion with reporters that might cost them their jobs.
Some of the workers were teenagers, a clear violation of laws prohibiting child labor.
They were the ones most eager to avoid reporters, even though he had gone incognito and changed into slightly shabby clothes.
When reporters asked them questions, they either kept repeating monosyllabic words or walked away with a smile.
But there are other reasons besides caution for their refusal to speak to reporters.
Compared to them, the people at Sun TV, though ordinary in appearance, lived a life of luxury and seemed to be from another world.
They also encounter similar people every day, such as engineers or accountants in the factory, but the hierarchy system in the factory is very strict, and those managers can never cross the line to where they live.
This is their territory, and the only people outside their class who come here are the contractors.
The foreman contractors were the link between the respectable, materialistic middle-class managers and their desperate, miserable workers.
The workers had been avoiding reporters, so he sat down in a spare hammock and watched them stroll in the afternoon light.
Most of them were bare-chested, wrapped in faded striped towels or wearing dirty underwear.
These workers looked ragged, and their bodies seemed to have been drained by the hard work, with not a single muscle left.
Some were carrying jugs filled with water to use the toilet behind their homes, while others were lighting the stove to cook dinner.
There is nothing homey about the way they prepare food, let alone something that makes people feel happy.
They mechanically chopped vegetables, cigarettes or homemade joints dangling from their lips, and urinated into the gutters.
Even though the dormitory was extremely hot and there was no fan, they still closed the door.
Some of the rooms had televisions, so when a door occasionally opened, a little light and sound would come in.
Through the gap, you can see a group of workers sitting around a TV, watching a Bollywood movie.
You may think that although this place looks tough, it still provides a stable and rhythmic life, but you will soon discover the uncertainty in this stability.
As the reporter sat on the vacant hammock, five workers from Orissa had just arrived at the factory. They had just gotten off the train in Goa that morning and taken a bus to Kusur village.
These boys, all thirteen or fourteen years old, were just beginning to develop physically. They held duffel bags in their hands, and if it weren't for their mature and cautious faces, they would have looked like students skipping classes.
When the reporter approached them and asked them questions, they just told him where they were from uneasily without saying their names.
They had worked in this factory before, but this time, they didn't know what kind of work they would be assigned to.
The five teenagers then walked towards a vacant room. Most of the workers were from Orissa or Bihar, although some came from West Bengal, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Assam.
The workers' accommodation was divided according to race, and the reporter happened to be sitting on the dividing line between Biharis and Orissas.
A worker named Labinder who lived near him had just finished preparing dinner. The workers started preparing dinner very early, around four or five o'clock, so that those who worked the night shift could finish dinner before going to work.
The reporter tried to talk to him. Rabinder is from Orissa. He is short, sturdy and has a mustache.
When he answered the question, his eyes looked very cunning. He used to be a tailor in the village, and he said that he would go back to his old job when he saved enough money.
Through this window, the reporter learned that there were almost no locals among the workers in this factory, and most of them were outsiders.
This is good. There is no need to worry about the workers' entire families being controlled by the factory owners, and there is no need to worry about them causing trouble.
Well, this deal can be done.
(End of this chapter)
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