Chapter 3

During the first month after I resigned, I sent out résumés everywhere, only to be met with dead silence.

Later on, I found out that Uncle Liam had dropped a message in the industry group chat. "Lucius had no qualms about turning on his own biological uncle, so you should think twice before you hire him."

Since I couldn't find a job, I decided to start my own business.

After spending five years at Uncle Liam's factory, I knew every single nook and cranny of this industry. The scraps, defects, and excess inventory generated from production were treated as trash and sold to scrap dealers for just a few cents per pound.

However, if I bought those scraps, sorted and reprocessed them, and sold them to secondary manufacturers who needed raw materials... with no middlemen taking a cut, every single step would be pure profit.

I only had about 40,000 dollars to my name, which was nowhere near enough to rent a warehouse. Consequently, I found an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of the city and rented it for 800 dollars a month.

The landlord was an elderly woman. Her eyes were filled with pity when she saw a young man like me renting the place just to pile up junk.

Mr. Winters' factory was right next door, and he produced the same line of goods as Uncle Liam. Half his yard was piled high with scrap and left unattended.

When I knocked on his door, he sized me up. "Aren't you Liam's nephew? I heard you and your uncle had a massive falling out."

"I'm here to talk business, Mr. Winters. I'm sure a personal rift won't get in the way of my business."

He smiled. "Fair enough. You've got guts. In any case, you can take that scrap pile off my hands. I'll sell them to you for five grand."

I hastily did the math in my head. That pile could yield at least three tons of reusable material, which would be worth at least 20,000 dollars on the market. "Five grand is too low, Mr. Winters. At least 40% of that pile can be melted down and reused. I'll give you eight grand. In exchange, I want exclusive rights to all your future waste, and I'll buy it at 30% above market rates."

He froze for a second before looking at me in a new light. "I can't believe Liam actually let a talent like you slip through his fingers. Alright, eight grand it is. You can start hauling them away next week."

Brimming with confidence, I carted the scraps back to my rented farmhouse yard. Initially, I thought sorting would be a breeze; after all, it was just a bit of manual labor. Sadly, I only realized how grueling it truly was once I got my hands dirty.

I wore two pairs of gloves, yet I still rubbed holes through them before half the day was over. To make matters worse, I had overestimated my technical knowledge. I couldn't tell the grades of some materials apart, so I blended them together, and I couldn't get a good price for them.

After spending two agonizing weeks sorting a load that cost me 8,000 dollars, it flipped for a measly 11,000 dollars. That was the first time I doubted myself, wondering if I had made a mistake.

When I was at my lowest, Mr. Sinclair, who lived in the adjacent courtyard, dropped by to borrow some tools. He happened to be a retired master technician from a plastics factory. Noticing how down-to-earth and hardworking I was, he took me under his wing and taught me how to distinguish between different types of plastics and judge material grades.

Three months later, I had secured scrap material sources from eight different factories, and I had four regular secondary manufacturers downstream. My monthly revenue surpassed 100, 000 dollars.

Then, I went out and bought a ton of books on materials science and devoured them every single night until 2:00 or 3:00 am. If I stumbled across something I didn't understand, I'd look it up online; if I couldn't find it on the web, I'd ask Mr. Sinclair.

Half a year later, I was able to eyeball the grade and purity of 12 common types of plastics. It made me somewhat of an expert in the industry. Within a year, I had established a solid foothold in the industry, founded my own company, and hit over ten million dollars in annual sales.

All Souls' Day was right around the corner, so I drove my own car back to my hometown to pay respects to my ancestors. I ran into Uncle Liam in front of my grandpa John Graham's grave.

I was on my way to Grandpa and my grandma, Lillian Silva's, graves with flowers and candles when a voice sounded behind me. "What are you doing here?" I turned around and found Uncle Liam.

"I'm here to pay respects to our ancestors," I answered calmly.

He snickered. "Oh? Who do you think you are?"

Uncle Oliver, Aunt Mia, Aunt Ava, and Ethan walked over from a distance, their eyes filled with surprise before settling into looks of sheer disdain and smug satisfaction.