I'm a Master in India

Chapter 242: Just in Case

Sahara Group's headquarters are in Lucknow. After Roy's net worth increased, he also built a massive villa in the eastern suburbs called "Sahara Shah".

Ron was invited by the other party to visit his villa.

It must be said that it was astonishingly large. Emerald green lawns and sparkling white marble decorations were visible everywhere inside the villa.

A concert hall, cinema, golf course, and cricket field were also all available. Rather than calling it a villa, it would be better to call it a modern manor.

In terms of area alone, this place was much larger than Ron's villa in Mumbai.

The strangest thing was that the servants in Roy's manor were all dressed in black and white.

Inside the black uniform was a white shirt, and outside the white socks were black shoes.

It wasn't until he saw Subrata Roy, who came out to greet him also wearing a black vest and white shirt, that Ron understood what was going on.

This guy either has OCD or likes to cultivate a cult of personality.

Roy was tall and thin, his black hair was always well-gelled, and his mustache was meticulously groomed.

"Mr. Sur, welcome!" He put his hands together in greeting.

"Hello, Mr. Roy." Ron returned the greeting.

"Let's go inside to talk. There's some excellent silver tip tea prepared."

India also drinks tea, not the ubiquitous milk tea, but truly brewed green tea.

Roy was already in his forties and starting to focus on health preservation.

He took Ron on a tour of every corner of the villa, his pride evident on his face.

Indian businessmen all have this habit, which is loving to show off.

The more the media reports, the more excited they get.

This is not only to showcase strength but also to give confidence to the investors behind them.

The poor people who deposited money in Roy's bank would think after seeing the news about him flaunting his wealth: "He is indeed a big businessman who knows how to make money. My money with him is guaranteed to only earn and never lose."

"I saw the news, your Sur Industrial Park is excellent. India needs patriotic youth like you." Roy especially liked to wave the flag of patriotism.

"I didn't expect the news to reach here in Uttar Pradesh." Ron was a bit surprised.

"Businessmen won't miss any meaningful news, and neither will our Minister." Roy smiled, his face showing deep meaning.

Ron suddenly remembered his meeting with Yadav some time ago. The other party had already subtly expressed dissatisfaction at the time.

On the surface, he blamed Ron for focusing all his energy on the Sur Industrial Park in Mumbai, thus allowing the cement factory's negative news to be reported.

In reality, what the Minister was thinking was, why wasn't the Sur Industrial Park, which cost hundreds of millions, in Uttar Pradesh? That way, he could pocket more money.

"Some businesses are suitable for Mumbai, and some are suitable for Uttar Pradesh." Ron shrugged.

"That's right, Uttar Pradesh is currently in ruins waiting to be rebuilt. I wanted to build apartments in Lucknow, but I couldn't even buy cement. I also wanted to do the building materials business, but" Roy spread his hands, "you beat me to the cement factory."

"To be honest, I also wanted to get into banking. It wasn't until I inquired that I found out Mr. Roy had already been in the industry for over ten years."

"It seems our visions are surprisingly consistent." Roy laughed heartily.

Ron also laughed, a relaxed and carefree laugh.

They were all old foxes, no need to put on an act for each other.

"Seriously, does your cement factory need funds? We can make the scale even bigger." Roy said, his tone tempting.

"The cement factory is almost finished and will be put into production soon."

"That fast?"

"The terrain there is good, and there's a little foundation. For initial trial production, about a year is enough."

"It seems I should just focus on my real estate business." Roy nodded indifferently.

"Just say if you need cement. The mine in Mirzapur has excellent quality."

"Of course, but I heard you have some conflict with the Tripathi Family?"

"Hmm?" Ron's expression changed.

"I think there's a piece of news you'll be very interested in."

"Regarding the Tripathi Family?"

Roy smiled and didn't speak. The value of intelligence lies in the moment before it is spoken.

"What do you want?" Ron asked directly.

"The cement factory..."

"There are no plans to expand the cement factory for now." Ron blocked this path with one sentence.

"What about the Sur Industrial Park? You must need funding somewhere, right?" Roy didn't give up.

He ran a bank. Money only yields returns when it's in motion. It could be investment or loans.

"I'm planning to develop the coal mine in Sonbhadra."

"Coal?" Roy shook his head. "No, this business isn't worth doing."

"How about this, I plan to build a backup power station for the cement factory and the mine, which will require about thirty million rupees in funding."

"What's the interest rate?" Roy's eyes lit up.

"The same as the bank."

"Deal!"

Lending is also a lucrative business; this is the main business of banks.

Roy's Sahara Finance is also a bank.

Thirty million rupees is not a small amount. The current loan interest rates in India are generally high, basically staying around 10%-15%.

Calculated over five years, Roy could easily earn back ten million rupees just from the interest.

It's a good deal, a very good deal.

"So what's the news that would interest me?" Ron asked.

"Kalin Tripathi has recently visited our Minister."

"When?" Ron's eyes slightly moved.

"The earliest was two weeks ago, and it's been more frequent recently." Roy smiled, the kind of smile that enjoys watching a show.

Ron silently calculated, it was exactly the time he last visited Yadav.

Interesting, he hadn't received any calls from Yadav in two weeks.

Was Tripathi just coming to reminisce with him? Ron didn't believe it.

"News like this is completely worthless." He said calmly.

"In Uttar Pradesh, this is enough. Our Minister Yadav never easily meets with businessmen, unless it's for money."

"I know the Tripathi Family is in the arms business. Do they have competitors?" Ron asked.

"Sonbhadra, you can go ask around there." Roy smiled, he had a premonition that things were going to get more interesting.

Sonbhadra, coal mine, Tripathi Family, what a coincidence? Things were indeed getting more and more interesting.

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Roy."

"I also want to collect my interest smoothly."

Watching Ron's retreating figure, Subrata Roy chuckled softly.

If things went well, he'd collect interest. If they didn't, he'd take the mortgaged shares. He wouldn't lose either way.

In the southern suburbs of Mirzapur, a black SUV bearing the name "Karim Bai" drove directly to the gate of a factory.

From the sign outside, it was a copper factory.

Entering the courtyard, dozens of workers were hammering away at iron frames placed on the ground.

In the corners of the courtyard and on the wooden platforms along the wall, there were people patrolling with guns.

Seeing the black SUV enter, the workers and patrolmen all bowed and greeted, calling out "Karim Bai".

"Dad, I've been here many times." Ram said, feeling bored.

"Before, you were just watching the show. This time, you are learning the factory's operation process. As the heir to the Tripathi Family, you must master these things."

Ram didn't care, saying he was the sole heir, but they never let him interfere with town affairs.

Entering the dim workshop, there were more people. Near the outermost work area, workers sat on the ground polishing copperware; everything seemed normal.

These were all cover. The innermost part of the factory was the core area.

Kalin led his men straight in, passing through one door after another. The guards holding AKs saluted him one by one.

"Mr., the materials for the iron parts are ready." Someone came over with a list to confirm with Kalin.

Ram surveyed the workshop before him and only then realized there had been many changes.

The workers were no longer purely handcrafting firearms. Several lathes and milling machines were buzzing.

Whenever an iron pipe got close, there would be a harsh metal grinding sound, with sparks flying everywhere.

"The quality of the previous homemade pistols was unstable, and many customers had complaints, so we changed the equipment." Kalin walked over and explained.

"Where does our steel come from?" Ram asked curiously, kicking the pile of scraps at his feet.

"Truck steering wheels, cheap and easy to use." Kalin shook his head.

The homemade pistols on the table, their bodies and barrels were all remade from those scraps.

To be honest, they looked very shabby and were clearly cheap goods at first glance.

"We used parts from Ambassador cars and Yamaha motorcycles before, so the barrels shouldn't have exploded. Ubi, you are responsible for the quality, what do you have to say?"

A bald middle-aged man ran over, "Karim Bai, it might be that the barrel is uneven, or the bullets are substandard..."

"Don't let it happen again!" Kalin warned him.

"Yes, Karim Bai." The middle-aged man respectfully withdrew.

Ram took out the pistol from his waist; it was a fine Glock pistol.

"Dad, this gun is cooler."

"That's right, but we didn't make that. It's imported for special clients. And, of course, for family use."

All high-end goods in India are foreign-made, from foreign liquor to firearms, it's all the same.

Domestic goods are for the poor; the quality just needs to be good enough not to explode.

"These are bullets." Kalin grabbed some shiny yellow casings from another person's hand.

"Did we make these ourselves?" Ram asked.

"Picked up on the road."

"On the road?"

"Yes, the higher the toll, the better the road."

The police in Mirzapur regularly practice shooting. Only the police officer himself knows how many shots he fired.

When Superintendent Gupta asked, the officer below would say, "Fired 65 shots."

"How many empty casings were picked up?"

"30."

"What about the rest?"

"They disappeared."

Superintendent Gupta laughed heartily, and the officer also laughed.

This was their tacit understanding, making notes while talking.

In fact, the remaining 35 bullets were collected by Superintendent Gupta, hidden in a lunchbox, and sent to the Tripathi Family's arms processing plant.

This is where the bullets came from. The more money given, the smoother the path.

"Bullets are like the ink in a printer. You can buy original cartridges, or you can refill old empty ones. Either way, the printer will work normally."

In another room right next to Karim Bai and his men, several workers were manually filling bullets with gunpowder.

There was no reloading production line, it was all done manually.

"Remember, there can't be any fire here." Kalin reminded his son. "Last month, two newcomers came. They lit cigarettes here after lunch, and then it exploded. Fortunately, the factory was fine."

"How are the finished guns sent out?" Ram asked again.

"They'll be sent out along with the copperware outside. No one will check."

Kalin took Ram and gave him a detailed introduction to the family's arms business. From firearm production to how transactions were conducted, every step was thoroughly analyzed.

"The guns must be held in our own hands," he said, looking at his son. "Starting today, you'll keep an eye on things here. We need to stock a hundred pistols."

"That many?" Ram was slightly surprised.

"Just in case." Kalin turned and went upstairs.