I'm a Master in India

"Brother, I didn't expect you to be so brave," Ron said with a helpless expression.

"You should have known me long ago," Ajay said expressionlessly as he packed his things.

"But you shouldn't have said it so directly. You're completely asking for trouble."

"Ron, this is my principle for living, and it has been since the first day I joined the police force."

Thackeray's call went directly to the Mumbai Police Headquarters, and no one dared to disobey his orders.

Less than half an hour after Ron and old Dutt left his villa, Ajay received a call from a senior official.

The officer explicitly told him that he could easily get five million rupees if he just tilted the interrogation report of Sanjay Dutt slightly when submitting it.

He said, "Don't touch this person; his background is very strong. Mr. Thackeray personally inquired about him, and someone is willing to pay five million to protect him. I'm not asking you to do anything illegal, just asking you to be careful with your wording when writing the report."

Ajay's response was true to his style. He said, "Sir, I was trained under you. If you weren't my superior today, you would be the one I'd be going after."

He refused to release the person and refused to tamper with the interrogation materials, thus offending two big shots.

One was his superior, and the other was Bal Thackeray. The outcome was predictable.

Ajay was transferred. He would no longer be in charge of the bombing case, even though it was nearing its conclusion.

The Indian civil service system protected him; even Thackeray did not have the right to dismiss an inspector, only to transfer him.

Ajay would return to his original jurisdiction in Bandra; his office here in South Mumbai would have to be vacated.

"I know you called Thackeray and pleaded for me. Thanks, brother," Ajay carefully packed his personal belongings from his desk one by one.

"I couldn't just stand by and watch you get transferred out of Mumbai. Who knows when you'll be back next?" Ron shrugged.

Thackeray's initial order was to transfer Ajay out of Mumbai Island altogether, completely banishing him to the countryside of Maharashtra.

Upon learning the news, Ron had to call Thackeray again to plead for mercy.

Ajay was his friend, and ultimately, he was partly responsible for Ajay being targeted this time.

Of course, Ron had other considerations as well. A young inspector like Ajay was bound to become an important figure in the Mumbai police force in the future.

The investment had just begun, so how could he just watch him be marginalized?

"Speaking of which, I've never seen a police officer like you who doesn't take bribes," Ron leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"The moment you take the money, your subsequent decisions will be influenced by it."

"Have you never thought about looking out for yourself? Even if there's a very legitimate reason."

"What do you mean? Inflating invoices? Brother," Ajay picked up the bill on the table and shook it, "I might be the only Indian government official who pays his own private phone bill, six hundred rupees a month!"

"You'll easily lose friends that way," Ron joked.

"You hit the nail on the head," Ajay glanced at the office outside. "People in the police force either hate me or fear me."

If he didn't take bribes, how could others?

"Didn't anyone try to bribe you? Many Mumbai gangs were involved in the bombing case," Ron asked curiously.

"You know, when I was first promoted to inspector, for ten whole days, people brought baskets and baskets of expensive fruits and preserves, lining up outside my office door.

These weren't money, just fruits and champagne. The others in the police force, including my superiors, accepted them without hesitation.

They were worried that I was too green and would make them look bad, so they earnestly advised me, 'You know, when you live life, you have to be practical too.'"

"Did you take them in the end?" Ron asked.

Ajay smiled but didn't say anything.

He was born in Mumbai into a wealthy family, a true member of the elite class.

However, when he first joined in '81, Ajay was stationed at an out-of-town branch office. His salary was 750 rupees, and he lived in police quarters.

The room there was empty, truly bare walls. He liked to eat meat but couldn't afford it, so he could only go hunting with his gun.

Ajay stayed in that godforsaken place for two years before being transferred back to Mumbai. He stubbornly refused to use his family connections and endured it until he made it.

Those newcomers who were on the same team as him had long since returned to big cities like New Delhi, only he foolishly went through the internal transfer application process.

Would you expect such a person to bow down to a few bottles of expensive champagne?

"My future jurisdiction is still in Bandra, and I have a few subordinates who will be transferred with me," Ajay suddenly remembered something.

"So?" Ron asked.

"You know, housing in Mumbai is very tight."

"Hmm?" Ron still didn't understand.

"I was hoping you could help arrange for them to stay on your turf."

"Wow, you mean..." Ron's eyes widened.

"Yes, they have nowhere to live. Perhaps your slum has a place to accommodate them?" Ajay seemed a little embarrassed.

"Of course, no problem at all! I'll help them with water and electricity," Ron readily agreed.

The selfless Ajay rarely asked for help, so how could Ron refuse?

He was just a little curious. Ajay's current rank wasn't low, so surely he could arrange for a few people.

Ajay told Ron that Mumbai has about four police officers for every thousand people. Based on Mumbai's current population, the entire city has about 60,000 police officers.

The salary for ordinary police officers is two thousand rupees, which is even lower than that of the workers at Suhr Electric Appliance Factory.

They can't afford to buy houses and can only live in police quarters. But Mumbai's police quarters can only accommodate sixty percent of the police force; the other forty percent have to live in slums.

Even waiting for government housing is not something everyone is eligible for; you need over ten years of service to queue up.

Lower-level police officers don't get much in the way of perks, and they have families to support, so their two-thousand-rupee salary only allows them to live in slums.

And in every slum, there is a local boss, most of whom are involved in illegal businesses.

So the question arises: how do police officers who uphold justice face the outlaw-like local bosses?

The police officers with no other choice can only go to the local boss in the slum and say to him, "Others pay you ten thousand rupees in annual rent; I'll pay you five thousand, in installments."

Can you expect such a police officer to stand against the local boss with integrity?

It's difficult!

Ajay also had his capable subordinates, most of whom were as clean as he was.

Following such a boss, they wouldn't even be able to get into the police quarters queue within ten years.

After much thought, Ajay realized only Ron could help him.

It so happened that Suhr Electric Appliance Factory was within his jurisdiction, so it was very suitable for his subordinates to live there.

Ron was planning to arrange for Ajay's subordinates to stay in the legal slum, where the environment was much cleaner than in the illegal areas.

In a slum of tens of thousands of people, there might be some daring individuals, so having a few police officers there could provide some deterrence.

After leaving Ajay's office, Ron hurried back to Suhr Electric Appliance Factory without stopping.

He had been running around everywhere for the past few months, busy with other things from June to October.

That was during the rainy season, when sales of water coolers were sluggish and the factory's power supply was also intermittent.

He returned to Mumbai and looked at the financial reports for these months, which could only be described as mediocre.

In July, August, and September, both production capacity and sales were affected, with shipments only about sixty percent of what they were before the rainy season.

The profit for the three months combined was about thirty million rupees. Electric fans basically maintained their previous sales, with two to three thousand units sold per month.

Since its establishment, Suhr Electric Appliance Factory has had a total revenue of about eighty million rupees, which is the figure after deducting labor and operating costs.

Frankly speaking, this achievement was quite remarkable.

Converted to US dollars, Ron was already a bona fide millionaire.

In less than a year, the changes were earth-shattering.

Just at the beginning of the year, he was still racking his brain over the tourism business, running around to meet the various strange requests of tourists.

Now, the tourism business is almost in a semi-abandoned state, relying entirely on the travel agencies to keep it going.

The bombing in March came fiercely, and his tourism company plummeted, but he also seized the opportunity.

The momentum from "Dr. Suhr" allowed the newly started Suhr Electric Appliance Factory to take off directly.

In just over half a year, from nothing to something, he had accumulated a fortune of eighty million rupees.

Of course, some of this money had also been spent.

For example, the semi-automated transformation of the production lines. By the end of October, all five existing production lines had been completely revamped.

Suhr Electric Appliance Factory's daily output of water coolers has increased significantly, from over two thousand units initially to nearly five thousand now.

The two electric fan production lines in the Kimble factory area have also been modified, with similarly obvious improvements.

All of this costs money; Ron invested twenty million rupees in and out.

New production lines for water coolers and electric fans are also under construction, with a budget of around ten million rupees.

There were also bribes to various officials, totaling several million.

The money Ron could actually use in his account was probably over forty million.

He had big plans for it; now was not the time to squander it.

Back in the office, Ron asked Raju to find Ashish.

"Boss, you called me?" He came scurrying in, bowing and scraping.

"How did the matter I asked you to handle last time turn out?" Ron was enjoying Raju's massage with his eyes closed.

"That piece of land in the slum?" Ashish reacted, "I measured it; it's a full 200 acres!"

One acre is over four thousand square meters, equivalent to more than six mu of land in China.

200 acres is over 1200 mu of land, which is very large, enough for Ron to build a comprehensive industrial park.

"I'm planning to buy all the wasteland to the north."

"All of it?" Ashish gasped.

"All of it!" Ron nodded.

Hiss! Ashish shivered.

"Boss, this might cost a lot of money."

"I know, but the opportunity is rare now. Land prices in Mumbai are at a low point in recent years."

Ron had considered it for a long time. From a long-term perspective, this deal was a sure profit.

Mumbai's population will grow more and more in the future, and the city will become increasingly crowded. Rising land prices are almost a certainty.

The shadow of the bombing hasn't completely dissipated yet. If he doesn't acquire it now, he might not have such an opportunity in the future.

"Boss, what do you need me to do?" Ashish quickly got into character.

"For the slum area, you go and mobilize," Ron was very satisfied with his attitude.

Ashish had a headache, but he still nodded firmly and agreed.

These people finally found a place to stay, and now asking them to move would be very difficult.

But since he was half in charge of the slum, this matter could only be spearheaded by him.

Ron wanted to give a few more instructions, but the phone rang.

"Ron, remember I said I needed your help before?" It was Hela's voice.