I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 48

Chapter 48: Power or Money?

In the end, Charles chose to cooperate with Gallieni.

Gallieni left feeling satisfied, but before departing, he gave Charles and Djoka a strict reminder:

“We never met, and I never made any promises or agreements. We don’t know each other, understood?”

“Of course!” Charles and Djoka answered in unison.

If the capitalists were to learn of such an understanding, those holding power would undoubtedly retaliate with a vengeance.

They might even accuse Gallieni of endangering national security: a soldier colluding with arms dealers behind the Senate's back—was he planning a coup to overthrow the Republic?

Double standards and manipulating the law were the capitalists’ expertise. No one could outplay them in this regard.

Gallieni glanced nervously toward the kitchen, where Camille was busy slicing fruit.

Djoka caught his concern and reassured him, “Don’t worry, General! She won’t say a word. I guarantee it!”

It wasn’t that Camille was tight-lipped; Djoka simply knew her weakness.

Satisfied with the assurance, Gallieni shook hands with both men. He then turned to Charles and remarked with genuine admiration:

“Beyond your talent for inventing equipment, you’re a natural strategist and tactician, Charles! I once hoped you might serve as my advisor, but you know why that’s not possible…”

Charles nodded in understanding. His identity as an arms dealer was far too sensitive for the military, as it would touch the fragile nerves of the capitalists.

“My apologies, General,” Charles suddenly said.

“What?” Gallieni was taken aback by this unexpected statement.

Charles explained, “In the future, I might need to curse you or express dissatisfaction with you. I hope you won’t mind!”

Gallieni froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Of course, I won’t mind, Charles. The harsher, the better! I give you my blessing to curse me! And naturally, I’ll respond in kind—I assume you won’t mind either?”

“Of course not, General!”

“One more thing,” Gallieni said, patting Charles on the shoulder. “I’ve always believed you to be a capitalist with a conscience. I wasn’t wrong about you!”

Djoka felt utterly baffled. The cryptic exchange between the older and younger man was one where he understood every word but failed to grasp their meaning.

After seeing Gallieni off, Djoka suddenly understood. To avoid suspicion, the military needed to appear at odds with Charles, the arms dealer. They had to at least seem to dislike each other, thereby putting the capitalists at ease.

Djoka felt slightly dejected. Conversations between clever people seemed to leave no room for him; he felt like an unnecessary extra.

Just then, Camille came out, beaming, with a plate of apple tarts. Not seeing Gallieni, she looked a little disappointed. “Did the General leave already? He should’ve tried my apple tart!”

“The General is very busy, Camille,” Djoka said.

Charles shot a questioning look at Djoka, as if to ask how he planned to keep Camille from bragging about tonight’s events to the neighbors.

Djoka shrugged—this was simple enough.

“Camille!” Djoka called out as she was about to return to the kitchen. “There’s something I need to emphasize!”

“What is it?” Camille asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“General Gallieni was never here!” Djoka said. “Tonight’s visitor was just a client—here to discuss business, and only business!”

“But…”

Djoka interrupted her. “If the capitalists find out about tonight, Charles could be in real danger. Kidnapping could become a real possibility! That’s also one of the reasons General Gallieni came in plain clothes to meet Charles in secret!”

Camille’s face went pale. She glanced at Charles, then nodded heavily. “Understood. I won’t say a single word! Tonight’s visitor was just a client, here to buy motorcycles!”

“Exactly!” Djoka nodded in satisfaction.

Charles gave Djoka a look of protest, silently accusing him of shamelessly using him as leverage.

Djoka responded helplessly. “This is the best way, Charles. You’re Camille’s weak spot. Now that she knows, she’ll keep her mouth shut even in her dreams!”

Charles didn’t argue. This seemed to be a common trait among most mothers.

Djoka then led Charles back to the dining table to enjoy the fruit platter. While eating, he posed a question:

“Two issues. First, he can’t protect our industrial rights. How should we deal with the capitalists’ attempts to copy our designs?”

Out of precaution, Djoka had replaced “Gallieni” with “he.”

“That’s not a problem, Father,” Charles said, using his fork to sift through the fruit platter for his preferred apples. “If I can continuously improve and upgrade the equipment, the capitalists’ imitations will always lag behind. Whatever they produce will be obsolete—anyone who copies us will only incur losses!”

Djoka paused mid-bite, quietly observing Charles. After a long moment, he said, “You seem very confident in yourself.”

“Of course!” Charles replied with a half-joking smile. “I’ve got at least a hundred ideas in my head—I just haven’t had the time to realize them all yet!”

Djoka smiled as well, resuming his meal.

After all, Charles was still a minor. He didn’t yet grasp the harsh realities of the world. Sometimes, even the best ideas weren’t accepted by society or the military.

But Djoka didn’t burst his bubble. He believed it was better to let Charles maintain his confidence and optimism rather than burden him with unnecessary pressure.

What Djoka didn’t know was that Charles truly had a hundred ideas, all of which had been validated by both society and real-world tests. They were sure to be accepted by the military.

“The second issue,” Djoka continued, “why would you choose to work with the military at a low price? That’s not how businessmen operate.”

At least, Francis wouldn’t make such a choice.

“True,” Charles mumbled through bites of apple, his words slightly garbled. “Ordinary merchants wouldn’t!”

“Ordinary?” Djoka was startled.

Was the family’s so-called business prodigy, Francis, merely an “ordinary merchant” in Charles’ eyes?

“Ordinary merchants only see money,” Charles said casually, focusing on his food. “Their vision is clouded by wealth, which blinds them to more important things.”

“More important things?” Djoka wondered if Charles was subtly criticizing him. He wasn’t sure what those “important things” might be.

Instead of answering directly, Charles posed a question. “Father, do you know who the most powerful capitalists in France are?”

“I know a few,” Djoka replied hesitantly, listing several well-known names in France. “Wintail, Steed, Jamison, and Wells.”

Charles nodded, pointing out their roles one by one. “The Wintail family controls Wintail Group, which monopolizes one-fifth of France’s steel production. Steed owns the Saint-Étienne Arms Factory, responsible for nearly all the French army’s small arms production. Jamison owns Schneider Arms, which manufactures artillery and warships. Wells oversees the Brest Shipyard, which has been building warships for France since the last century.”

Djoka grunted in acknowledgment, realizing Charles had done his homework.

Charles looked up at Djoka. “Do you think it’s a coincidence, Father, that the most powerful individuals control France’s military production?”

Without waiting for a response, Charles pressed further. “Did they gain power because they controlled arms production, or did they take control of arms production after becoming powerful? If it’s the latter, where did their power come from? Who gave it to them?”

Djoka was left speechless. He had never considered these questions before.

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