I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 50

Chapter 50: An Improvised Performance

What Charles did not know was that Djoka had a heated "battle" with Gallieni when registering industrial rights in Paris.

Gallieni acted with great urgency, as he told his staff officers:
“The Germans are retreating, gentlemen! What we urgently need are sidecar motorcycles to pursue them, not bulletproof tanks. Time is of the essence! If we give the enemy even a few days, they’ll establish a defensive line that our sidecars won’t be able to penetrate!”

Thus, early the next morning, Gallieni submitted an application to the government to procure sidecars and personally oversaw the entire process.

The process went smoothly, thanks to the unique nature of the sidecars—only Charles’s factory manufactured them. Consequently, Gallieni’s application was quickly approved, granting him independent authority to purchase sidecars on behalf of the military.

When Gallieni learned that Djoka was at City Hall applying for industrial rights, he immediately rushed over to negotiate the purchase of sidecars.

“We might need two thousand or more. You should lower the price, Monsieur Djoka!”

“No, General!” Djoka refused outright. “800 francs per unit, not a single centime less. That’s already a very reasonable price!”

“Reasonable? Do you think I’m a fool?” Gallieni ground his teeth in frustration, tapping the table with his finger as he exclaimed:
“A car only costs 900 francs, monsieur, yet you dare price your sidecars almost the same as a car!”

“You’re free to buy cars, General,” Djoka retorted, unyielding. “The sidecars are expensive because they’re worth it. Nothing else can replace them—not even cars!”

Djoka wasn’t lying. Cars lacked the maneuverability and off-road capabilities of sidecars. Moreover, their engines were front-mounted and easily disabled by stray bullets on the battlefield.

“I know motorcycles only cost 220 francs, and all you’ve done is add a sidecar. At most, that’s 300 francs…”

“The key point, General, is that we’re the only ones who have them!” Djoka declared triumphantly. “If you’re unhappy with the price, I suggest you look elsewhere!”

Gallieni’s face flushed with anger. “Do you know what this is, monsieur? It’s contempt for the soldiers’ safety, the army’s peril on the battlefield, and the crisis of France itself…”

“I am as much a part of France as anyone, General!” Djoka countered. He began listing his contributions:
“We have used our own funds to gather provisions for the French army, invented the tank to help win this war for France, assisted in treating wounded soldiers at field hospitals, and even donated a hundred sidecars for free to repel German counterattacks… And now you accuse me of ignoring the army, the soldiers, and France?”

Gallieni shot back, “All the more reason you shouldn’t raise the price of sidecars to 800 francs at such a critical moment. This outrageous pricing undoes all the goodwill you’ve earned. Right now, you’re no better than a profiteer!”

“Fine!” Djoka relented. “700 francs, but not a centime less!”

“That’s still too high. We’re not talking about small quantities here!”

After much back-and-forth negotiation, Gallieni finally managed to push the price down to 550 francs.

But this was all just an act—550 francs was the price Charles and Gallieni had agreed upon the previous evening.

The cost of a sidecar was about 270 francs. Perhaps feeling he owed Charles some compensation, Gallieni had proposed an initial purchase price of 800 francs.

“This is acceptable to the military,” Gallieni explained. “It’s far better than letting the capitalists jack up the price four- or fivefold!”

Djoka’s eyes lit up. The profit margin was substantial: 530 francs per sidecar. For a thousand units, that would amount to over half a million francs—and the military would undoubtedly order far more than a thousand. This was much more lucrative than selling industrial rights.

However, Charles, after some thought, said, “550 francs per unit.”

“What?” Gallieni found it hard to believe.

“Charles…” Djoka thought he must have misheard.

Charles turned to Djoka and said, “The profit margin is too high—it will bring us a lot of trouble, Father!”

Djoka was puzzled. Merchants usually worried about insufficient profits, not excessive ones.

Charles explained, “If the profit per sidecar reaches 530 francs, capitalists will inevitably be tempted. They could import motorcycles from overseas, modify them into sidecars, and compete with us. Even with shipping costs and high import duties, they’d still make a profit!”

Djoka suddenly understood. “If we reduce the price to 550 francs, the profit shrinks to 280 francs. They won’t bother importing motorcycles to compete because it wouldn’t be worth the effort!”

“Exactly!” Charles’s voice was youthful, but his tone and demeanor were remarkably mature. “Furthermore, if capitalists wanted to copy our product, they’d have to build a factory and set up a production line in France. On top of that, they’d have to circumvent our industrial rights. With such slim profit margins, they’d likely give up after weighing the costs.”

“Brilliant strategy, Charles!” Gallieni praised him. “Now I see where your strategic and tactical genius comes from. The marketplace truly is another battlefield!”

Thus, the price of 550 francs per unit was finalized.

The next morning at City Hall, the heated argument between Djoka and Gallieni was entirely improvised.

News traveled quickly in Paris, and it wouldn’t be long before the capitalists learned of this development and thought:

“Gallieni, that fool, always quarrels with capitalists over military spending.”

“Sidecars selling for only 550 francs? That useless Djoka—he’s ruined everyone’s profit margins!”

...

At the Ritz Hotel in the bustling Vendôme Square, Paris.

In a luxurious meeting room, Francis leisurely sipped his favorite Algerian coffee while smiling at the military representative seated across from him. He lit a cigar and inhaled contentedly.

Francis was in charge of negotiating tank prices with the military, having been pushed to the forefront by Grevy. This was intended to give the impression that the tank rights still belonged to Charles.

Grevy had promised Francis a 1% commission.

Francis had done the math: a tank could sell for 6,000 francs. For 1,500 tanks, that totaled 9 million francs—his commission would be 90,000 francs. Ninety thousand!

The military representative looked anxious, sighing helplessly. “Monsieur Francis, 6,000 francs per unit is hard for us to accept. If you could…”

Francis didn’t even bother replying. He merely waved the smoldering cigar in his hand, signaling that there was no room for negotiation.

I’m not the one in a hurry—you are, Francis thought. Every minute that passes here means countless soldiers die on the battlefield for lack of tanks. That’s my bargaining chip!

Just then, a messenger entered, glanced at Francis, and leaned in to whisper something into the military representative’s ear.

The representative’s eyes lit up. He immediately stood and said to Francis, “Excuse me, monsieur, I need to take a call!”

Francis sensed that something had shifted—something unfavorable to him.

What could it be?

As he pondered, an aide rushed in, leaned close to Francis, and whispered, “Monsieur Grevy’s orders: 5,000 francs. Sign the contract immediately! Right now!”

Francis’s expression darkened. Things might be worse than he’d anticipated!

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