I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 62

Chapter 62: The Thinker

The meeting lasted into the afternoon, with only an hour's break at noon. The left and right factions continued their tug-of-war throughout, though few of the issues discussed were of real significance.

As they stepped out of the Chamber of Deputies and into the foggy dusk, Grevy and Armand greedily inhaled the fresh air.

With a victorious smile on his face, Armand turned and asked, "So, what's your next move?"

Grevy's expression remained impassive. He didn’t consider sending Charles to Gallieni’s side to be a noteworthy victory, even though it did mean placing him in the army.

After all, Charles could still oversee the factory while serving in the military. This meant he remained their competitor.

After a moment of hesitation, Grevy said thoughtfully, "I believe I should have a word with Charles."

Armand looked at him in surprise. "You don’t mean to say you’re still trying to bring him to our side, do you? That’s impossible—he’s a capitalist!"

"Francis is also a capitalist," Grevy replied. "Besides, it costs us nothing to try."

What truly mattered was Charles’ talent. To Grevy, if there was even a 1% chance, it was worth the effort. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered to look his way.

"Fine," Armand said reluctantly. "Let’s see what you can manage. I’m not too keen on going up against a child anyway."

Grevy said nothing. With a wave of his hand, the coachman pulled the carriage up in front of them.

Grevy opened the door, bent down to climb inside, and stated his destination in a cold voice: "The motorcycle factory."

"Yes, sir!" The coachman flicked the reins, and the carriage turned around in the square, heading toward Davaus.

...

To Grevy’s surprise, his carriage was stopped outside the factory gates.

Peering out, he saw several armed French soldiers standing guard. A uniformed officer, bearing four golden stripes on his sleeve, approached the carriage and politely asked, "Your identification, sir."

Grevy retrieved his credentials from his pocket and handed them over.

His noble status and role as a deputy were clearly noted in the documents. Confident that he would be allowed through, Grevy waited.

But to his astonishment, the officer barely glanced at the papers before coldly stating, "I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t allow you to enter. Please turn back."

Grevy furrowed his brow, his noble upbringing helping him suppress his anger. In a steady voice, he explained, "I know Mr. Charles. I wish to speak with him."

"My apologies," the officer replied as he returned the papers. "This is a site of industrial importance. We have strict orders not to let anyone unrelated to the factory pass."

Grevy began to understand. The military was worried about potential leaks of sensitive equipment.

What he didn’t know was that this was actually Laurent’s "special precaution" against the nobility.

Gallieni had already guessed that Francis was colluding with the traditional aristocracy to target Charles. If Djoka could figure it out, it was hardly beyond Gallieni.

Gallieni had immediately ordered Laurent to prevent any nobles from approaching. They were now high-priority targets for surveillance.

In addition to the factory, a detachment had been stationed in Davaus for patrols. Checkpoints were established on the road between the factory and the town under the pretense of rooting out spies but with the real goal of ensuring Charles’ safety.

Grevy gave a curt "hmm," maintaining his composure as he instructed the coachman to park the carriage nearby.

But as soon as the carriage stopped, Laurent appeared, ready to send him away. "I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll need to leave this area as well."

This time, Grevy couldn’t hold back. With a stern expression, he responded, "You have no authority to expel me, Major. No one does."

As a deputy, Grevy had his place in the Chamber of Deputies and didn’t believe there was no space for him outside this small factory.

"My apologies, sir," Laurent replied. "But if I suspect you of spying on military equipment production, would you still think I have no authority?"

Grevy was momentarily at a loss for words. If the military accused him of espionage, it would be disastrous for his political career.

At that moment, a car slowly emerged from the factory. Grevy spotted Charles in the back seat and immediately jumped down from his carriage, stepping into the road to block the car. "Mr. Djoka, I’m Grevy, the one who negotiated for the industrial rights. I wish to speak with Charles."

The coachman watched in shock. A man of Grevy’s stature, blocking a car in the middle of the road to request a meeting—if word got out...

But Grevy didn’t care. He looked at Charles, his gaze almost pleading.

Laurent, meanwhile, rested a hand on his holstered pistol, ready to act. He knew the nobles posed a threat to Charles and couldn’t allow anything to happen to him.

Djoka recognized Grevy and immediately refused. "No, there’s nothing to discuss."

"Wait, Mr. Djoka!" Grevy turned his attention to Charles. "Just a few minutes!"

Charles nodded, then reassured his father. "Don’t worry, Father. Nothing will happen."

Grevy wasn’t foolish enough to make a move in such a situation. As a deputy, he couldn’t afford to endanger Charles now.

Charles stepped out of the car, and Grevy breathed a sigh of relief, expressing his gratitude.

He led Charles toward the Marne River, not far from the factory. The bloodstains from battles between the French and German armies could still be seen there.

Djoka followed in the car, and Laurent trailed them with a small contingent of guards, his tension palpable.

Glancing back, Grevy smiled and said, "They protect you well."

"I produce sidecars for them," Charles explained. "They don’t want anything to disrupt production."

Grevy nodded. It was a reasonable explanation.

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?" Charles asked.

"Of course not." Grevy stopped and looked toward the Marne River, his expression pensive. "You’re a clever man, Charles. I believe you can see further, understand more, and think more deeply than most. Am I wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Charles asked, puzzled.

Grevy gestured toward the grass-covered field by the riverbank. "This land was once fertile farmland, full of potato crops. In just a few years, it’s become this. Do you know why?"

Charles glanced back at the rows of factory buildings behind them and answered, "Because of the factory?"

Grevy nodded slightly.
"When factories emerge, vast farmlands are replaced by buildings. Farmers become workers. Land is bought up by capitalists in large tracts. If this continues, what will this country become?"

"One day, capitalists will control all the land and dictate the fate of every individual. A single word from them could leave workers unemployed, destitute, or even starving."

"Isn’t this just another form of control? Is this the ‘freedom’ and ‘human rights’ that capitalists preach?"

"They say you’re a conscientious capitalist, Charles. You wouldn’t want to see this outcome, would you?"

Charles suddenly understood what Grevy meant by "further," "deeper," and "more clearly."

A thinker.

France seemed to have no shortage of them: Voltaire, Montesquieu, Rousseau...

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