I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 89

Chapter 89: Proud to Owe the Bank Money!

Eric was not truly a pilot but rather an aviation enthusiast. Long before the Wright Brothers’ invention, he had been passionate about flying and had attempted numerous daring and dangerous experiments that later generations would find astonishing.

When the Wright Brothers successfully invented the first airplane in 1903, Eric felt as if a new world had opened before him. He stretched out his arms to the sky, tears brimming in his eyes, and shouted in gratitude to God for finally giving him a chance to soar in the skies.

Two years later, he sold everything he owned to open an aircraft manufacturing factory.

Eric naively believed that many others shared his love for flying. “Who wouldn’t want to fly freely like a bird in the sky?” he once said.

However, the safety of early airplanes was abysmally low. While people dreamed of soaring through the skies like birds, the prospect of doing so at the cost of their lives... was not appealing.

Over the next three years, his factory sold only six airplanes—and even then, barely breaking even.

Like many entrepreneurs unwilling to give up on their dreams, Eric soon found himself ensnared in a web of bank loans, with interest piling up to the point where repayment became impossible.

His wife, unable to bear the hardships of their life, left with their two children. To survive, Eric had no choice but to take on dangerous assignments from the military at the airfield.

When he heard about the mission to “destroy Big Bertha,” Eric’s first reaction was, What does it matter if I die? If I can pay off my debts and leave some money for my wife and children, I will have no regrets.

“How much do you want for it?” Charles asked.

“What?” Eric stared at Charles in disbelief. “You... you’re really willing to buy it? You know exactly what it’s like! You haven’t even looked at it!”

“Of course!” Charles replied decisively. “We can sign the contract right now if you’ve brought it with you!”

Fumbling through his pockets, Eric finally pulled out a crumpled document. It was obvious he had tried to sell the factory before but hadn’t succeeded.

With trembling hands, Eric unfolded the contract and carefully handed it to Charles.

Charles glanced at it. “Three hundred sixty thousand francs? After repaying the bank, you’ll only have ten thousand francs left?”

“That’s more than enough!” Eric replied.

To him, ten thousand francs was a fortune—money he intended to give entirely to his wife and children. He felt he owed them too much over the years.

As for himself, he hadn’t given it much thought.

Charles handed the contract back to Eric.

Eric’s face fell in disappointment, but he nodded in understanding. “Nobody would make such a foolish deal. I understand.”

“No, Uncle Eric,” Charles said calmly. “Rewrite the contract. I’ll pay you four hundred thousand francs.”

Eric’s eyes widened in disbelief. Even Fischer, standing nearby, thought he had misheard. Why would a capitalist pay four hundred thousand francs for something he could get for three hundred sixty thousand?

This was an additional forty thousand francs—a sum most people couldn’t earn in a lifetime, a fortune that would take ordinary workers over a hundred years to make. Yet this capitalist, on a whim, decided to increase his offer to a pilot!

“Is this... is this real?” Eric stood up, trembling with excitement.

“Of course it’s real!” Charles said. “But there’s one condition...”

Eric froze, then chuckled faintly as if to say, I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

But Charles continued, “You must return alive, Uncle Eric. I’m counting on you to run my aircraft factory!”

Eric was overwhelmed. He stared at Charles as if he were dreaming. His lips moved, but he couldn’t say anything.

At the same time, he was confused. Wasn’t this supposed to be a deal for his life?

Wasn’t he supposed to crash the plane into Big Bertha?

Why was he now being told he could come back alive and even manage the factory for Charles?

Seeing Eric hesitate, Charles asked again, “You don’t want to?”

“No, no, of course I do!” Eric exclaimed.

Getting a large sum of money while staying connected to his factory—what could be better? But...

“Can I really... come back alive?” Eric asked, half in doubt.

“Of course!” Charles raised his eyebrows and turned to Fischer. “Major, can we gather the pilots? We need to plan the mission.”

“Yes, sir!” Fischer replied, leaving the room.

Moments later, a courier entered to report, “Sir, the Congreve rockets you requested have arrived!”

Charles nodded. “Store the rockets in the warehouse and assign guards to watch over them.”

“Yes, sir!”

Just as the courier was about to leave, Charles added, “Select a batch of rockets in good condition.”

“Understood, sir!”

Hearing the term Congreve rockets, Eric seemed to understand Charles’ intentions. He nodded slightly, beginning to trust that Charles wasn’t simply buying his life, though he knew the mission would still be dangerous.

“I don’t know how to thank you, kid,” Eric said hesitantly. “You’re generous, as people say—a capitalist with a conscience. But... I’m not worth that much. I’m just a drunkard. You don’t have to do this...”

“No, Uncle Eric,” Charles interrupted firmly. “You are worth that much—you just don’t realize it yet!”

He gestured to the contract in Eric’s hands. “There’s a typewriter in Major Fischer’s office. You can type out a new contract. It won’t take long.”

Eric stared at the contract in his hands. Suddenly, he thought, If I die, won’t the bank’s debts die with me?

Selling the factory to pay off the debt—wasn’t that just transferring the burden onto Charles?

With that thought, Eric gently tore the contract into pieces.

To Charles’ confusion, Eric said, “There’s no rush, kid.”

“You trust me so much—I should trust you too!”

“If I survive, we’ll discuss the sale again. If not, I know you’ll take care of my family.”

Charles was anxious. He trusted Eric, but he truly wanted the factory. If Eric didn’t sign the contract and didn’t survive, the factory would fall into the bank’s hands.

“Uncle Eric...” Charles began, hoping to change his mind.

But Eric was resolute. “It’s settled, kid. Now, tell me what I need to do.”

“Fine,” Charles said, feeling a bit frustrated.

To Eric, however, Charles’ frustration was touching.

What a kind-hearted boy! He’s so eager to give me money just to pay off my debts. He must not want me to die burdened with regret.

No, kid—owing money to the bank isn’t a regret. It’s the one thing I’m proud of!

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