I'm a Master in India

Sharma's textile factory was indeed large, but it was nowhere near the absurd scale of hundreds of thousands of square meters that he boasted about.

Ron estimated it to be at most a hundred acres, which was about sixty to seventy thousand square meters.

That seemed more reasonable, considering it was Mumbai. Where would you find such a large plot of land, easily exceeding a hundred thousand square meters?

The conditions of the textile factory were worse than he had imagined. The only cement brick building was the office area that served as the facade.

It was a three-story building, visible from the road. Many of the windows were empty sockets without glass, and the dilapidated wooden door was askew, like an angel with its wings torn off.

Ron didn't go upstairs first but wandered around the factory area. More than half of the hundred acres were idle, either cluttered with debris or piled with garbage.

The entire textile factory didn't have walls, only wire fences like a legal slum. Judging from the marks, there seemed to have been a layer of cloth acting as a barrier.

But now, only scraps of cloth remained on it. The rest had probably been torn off by the slum dwellers to reinforce their homes.

Inside the fence, there were three rows of factory buildings and a warehouse. Although they looked orderly, the materials used were cheap. The tin roofs were already rusted, and the plywood was peeling.

After walking around, Ron only felt a headache. This dilapidated place only had the land left.

"Have you worked here before?" he asked the man beside him.

"Of course, I'm here every day. Mr. Sharma asked me to guard this place."

"Is there anything worth seeing in the workshop?"

"It's been emptied out. Machines, yarn, cloth, wood... everything usable."

"Who emptied it out?" Ron asked.

"Mr. Sharma sold the machines, the workers took the yarn and cloth as compensation for their wages, and the wood was stolen."

"You just said you guard this place?"

"Yes."

"So the things inside...?"

"I don't know!" The man shook his head like a rattle drum.

"Take us to see Sharma," Ron said, turning around.

"Sir, aren't you going to take a look inside?" the man asked in surprise.

"No need, there's nothing worth seeing anymore."

Sharma was hiding in a nearby residential building, a property he had bought a long time ago, but hardly anyone knew about it.

When Ron came to the door, he confirmed it three times before cautiously opening it.

Of course, what reassured him the most was that Vinod hadn't come along. Anand, the short, stout fellow, looked more trustworthy.

Only he and another servant were in the house. This place was a temporary residence; his family had left Mumbai long ago.

"How is it? Did my textile factory surprise you?" Sharma was very enthusiastic this time.

"It was indeed a surprise. That dilapidated place is even worse than I thought! Hundreds of thousands of square meters? Machinery and equipment? Factory buildings? Where are they?"

"There were some accidents, but it's not without its benefits."

"How so?" Ron watched him perform quietly.

"The workers divided up everything in the warehouse. They won't come looking for trouble in the future. That's their salary, and we're even!"

Sharma's expression was smug. To him, it was like getting rid of a big problem. He understood those workers; breaking open the warehouse lock was the most outrageous thing they would do.

Thanks to Gandhi, who brought the concept of non-violent non-cooperation to India. The Indian people would not resist even if they suffered great hardships; they would only endure silently, believing that the suffering they endured in this life would be compensated in the next.

See, he had owed the workers half a year's salary, so what? In the end, he only lost a warehouse of worthless cheap cloth.

"The workers have nothing to do with me, but the bargaining chips you mentioned are greatly discounted! Ten million rupees, that's my latest offer!"

"You can't do this, Mr. Sur!" Sharma said anxiously. "We had an agreement, I even rejected other buyers!"

"Your textile factory is terrible, and my offer is very sincere. There are no other buyers. I've investigated, I have friends in the newspaper office."

Ron's words left Sharma speechless. That was the truth. There were no other buyers. Recently, that Mrs. Elizabeth had stirred up trouble in this area.

People who had previously expressed interest in the textile factory had been warned. Now, the only one who dared to come and talk to him about this deal was this reckless young man.

Sharma struggled with extreme pain for a while, and finally shook his head fiercely, "Okay! But I want cash!"

Although Ron was a fierce negotiator, it was still better than the mafia's offer of five million rupees, which was a real rock-bottom price.

However, it had to be cash. He still had a bank loan to repay. If he went through normal channels, the money would most likely be frozen directly.

"No problem, but are you interested in US dollars?" Ron showed a harmless smile.

"US dollars!" Sharma perked up. "Can you get US dollars?"

"Mr. Sharma, it seems you didn't look at the business card I gave you at all."

"Oh! Heavens, I remember! You opened a travel company, with many foreigners!" Sharma's face lit up instantly. US dollars, who could refuse US dollars?

"That's right, but large amounts of US dollars aren't so easy to get. The exchange rate will be slightly lower."