The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 86

Chapter 86: The Meeting

At the police station, in the intelligence team’s office.

Fouché, with a darkened face and a pair of cold, lifeless eyes, stared coldly at the few leaders of the intelligence team before him. His voice was hoarse as he growled, “A disgrace! This is simply a disgrace!”

The members of the intelligence team lowered their heads in grievance, not daring to speak.

Fouché spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, “I’ll give you ten more days. If you still can’t get anything useful, I’ll bring in a few journalists to sit in your seats! Understand?!”

“Yes, understood!” they responded in unison.

They were truly helpless—after great effort, their subordinates had managed to find some trace of dirt on a judge from the High Court, and eagerly had their “informant” bring it to Marat. To their surprise, Marat smiled and handed the “informant” a small booklet. Their so-called “great discovery” had already been printed in that booklet, and it was much more detailed than what they had uncovered. By the next day, it was common knowledge all over Paris.

They simply couldn’t understand how these journalists could be so much more efficient at gathering intelligence than they were...

The members of the intelligence team could only make up their minds to gather important intelligence that would shock even these journalists and restore their honor!

Fouché stormed out in anger. The leaders of the intelligence team immediately began to whisper among themselves:

“I’ve made contact with Vezinier’s maid and also with Debord’s mistress. What about you guys?”

“My people got the safe combination from the Vezinier family and managed to sneak two people in, but there was no chance to act…”

“I’ve copied all the letters of those judges. Want to take a look?”

“My informant can get into the High Court’s records storage. If worse comes to worst, we can just steal all the files…”

...

At the High Court of Paris.

In the meeting hall, Vezinier, the Chief Judge, was repeatedly interrupted by the voices of protesters outside. He angrily rushed to the window and shouted down, “Can’t you people be quiet? You bunch of uncivilized people!”

Just then, a powerful protester threw a rock the size of a fist, which narrowly missed the third-floor window.

Vezinier jumped back in shock, quickly retreating to the meeting table and barking, “What are those damn police doing? Why haven’t they arrested the rioters yet?!”

A judge sitting on the left, with a worried look in his eyes, covered his ears and said, “Those booklets are the key. It’s them stirring up hatred against the High Court. Without them, the crowd would disperse soon.”

Vezinier nodded slowly but was greatly puzzled. “But, Viscount Debord, aren’t these booklets controlled by the person over at the Royal Palace? Why would they be attacking the High Court?”

“Who knows?” Debord replied. “Perhaps we should go ask him about it.”

The judge next to him, with a hooked nose, said coldly, “You go to the Royal Palace. I’ll head to the police station! These damn police are just slacking off. This rabble is driving me crazy!”

Soon, several carriages squeezed their way out of the High Court amidst the jeering protesters, heading in two different directions.

...

In the study of the Royal Palace of Versailles, the Duke of Orléans looked at the two middle-aged men before him and asked, “So, what do you think?”

The High Court’s judges had just left, lamenting the immense public pressure on the court recently and asking him to come up with a plan.

He knew about the uncontrollable spread of these booklets and realized it was time to fight back. So, he had immediately called in his two most capable writers to discuss countermeasures.

The man with a high nose, whose face resembled that of an Italian, flipped through one of the booklets hesitantly and said, “Your Grace, to be honest, these novels are quite captivating... I mean, those ordinary people who don’t know better would find them very interesting.”

The man with striking blue eyes and handsome features continued, “And they’re priced very cheaply. I heard they only cost 1 sou and 5 deniers. Look, it even has five illustrations.”

“Exactly,” the Duke of Orléans nodded, “I need you to write something even more interesting as quickly as possible, something that will overshadow these booklets.”

“As for the price, don’t worry about it.”

As an expert in manipulating public opinion, he knew that a 16-page booklet with five illustrations would cost around 5 to 6 sous to produce. But in order to regain control of the narrative, he would have to sell it for 1 sou and 5 deniers.

Considering the scale at which these booklets were spreading, it was estimated that at least ten thousand copies had been sold. This meant that to reach the same sales, he would have to lose three to four thousand livres a day.

The Duke of Orléans furrowed his brows. He could afford the money, but who were these people, willing to lose so much to take on the High Court?

Could it be Briand?

A cold smile spread across his face. He wanted to challenge me using public opinion? Let’s see how it plays out!

...

Vezinier rushed to the City Hall, heading straight to the police station, but was told by a clerk that the police commissioner had gone to Brittany to purchase police equipment.

Brittany was located on the far western coast of France, and a round-trip journey would take at least half a month.

Vezinier, frustrated, asked, “What about the assistant to the police commissioner?”

The clerk respectfully replied, “He went to Brittany as well.”

Vezinier fumed, “Who is in charge here?!”

“The police commissioner didn’t say…”

Frustrated, Vezinier had no choice but to return to his carriage and head for the police commissioner in the Louvre District.

However, when he arrived at the police station in the Louvre District, he was told, “Police Commissioner Arden has taken all the key officers to the Paris Police Academy for training.”

The next day, Vezinier, still exhausted, arrived at the Paris Police Headquarters, only to learn that Arden had gone to the training grounds of the Police Academy located on the southern outskirts of Paris, more than ten kilometers away.

Thus, Vezinier spent three days chasing Arden in vain.

In the end, he decided to request some police forces from the nearby Saint-Germain District to disperse the protesters outside the High Court. However, the police commissioner of Saint-Germain District said he would like to help, but needed the police commissioner’s cross-jurisdictional order to proceed...

Count Mirabeau, looking out the carriage window at the rapidly passing scenery, instinctively caressed his cane, his brow furrowing in quiet frustration.

To be honest, he really didn’t want to participate in today’s meeting—he had already received word of the recent cabinet meeting and knew that the Crown Prince was now aligned with Briand. Just a few days ago, he had attended a gathering denouncing Briand, so what was there to discuss with the Crown Prince?

But Mr. DuPont had insisted that this meeting was very important and had repeatedly asked him to come.

Though his relationship with DuPont was just average, DuPont was a major financial backer behind several of his political allies and the president of the French Chamber of Commerce. Given his own business dealings in various workshops and shops, he couldn’t afford to offend DuPont.

Son of God? He chuckled and shook his head. No matter how gifted he was, he was still just a thirteen-year-old child. Did Briand think he could use the Crown Prince’s identity to make demands on him?

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