I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Who Would Buy a Motorcycle Factory?

The next day, Djoka made another trip to Paris. He cashed the check and transferred the money into his account since Charles, being underage, couldn’t open one himself.

Djoka also picked up a checkbook. This was for future business needs. For now, he had to pay Francis a commission of 110,000 francs, and using a check would be far more convenient.

On his way back, Djoka drove home in a Ford Model T. The black paint gleamed, the leather seats were smooth and soft, and the silver grille sparkled... As he reached the front door, Djoka deliberately pressed the horn a few times.

Djoka hadn’t informed Camille about this in advance. He wanted to surprise her.

Inside, Camille was preparing lunch and muttered complaints about the rude person honking outside someone else’s house.

Peering out, she saw Djoka sitting in the car, smiling and waving. “Hey, beautiful, care for a ride?”

Camille gasped, covering her mouth in shock, then let out a delighted cry. She dashed to the door but quickly turned back, shouting to Charles, who was reading in his room, “Charles, it’s your father! Come see what he’s brought home!”

Charles closed his book with a knowing smile and walked out. He had already guessed that Djoka would come back with a car.

After the last time they were stranded in Paris, they had decided it was necessary to own an automobile.

Compared to the 990,000 francs they had recently earned, the price of a Ford Model T was negligible—just 1,248 francs, and it came with three free maintenance services.

(Note: The Ford Model T cost $260 at the time, which converted to 1,248 francs at the prevailing exchange rate.)

Moreover, that was the earlier price. With the Germans advancing near Paris, causing widespread panic, cars were becoming hard to sell. Manufacturers worried that leaving them in warehouses might lead to them falling into German hands, so steep discounts were being offered.

As soon as Charles stepped outside, Djoka, brimming with pride, announced, “Can you believe it, Charles? I got it for just 910 francs in the end!”

It seemed the Germans had done something useful for once—the car was a quarter cheaper than usual.

Camille was overjoyed, inspecting every inch of the car with care, as if afraid even a slight touch might scratch the paint.

Was this real? She could hardly believe it. It felt like a dream! She had never thought she could live such a life and wasn’t prepared for this sudden happiness—it felt almost overwhelming.

“What are we waiting for?” Djoka called, waving them over. “Hop in!”

The car drove smoothly down the street, drawing envious glances from their neighbors.

If it had been someone else riding in the car, the neighbors might have cursed, “Damn bloodsuckers, flaunting their wealth earned from us!” and spit on the ground.

But seeing Djoka’s family in the car, they waved warmly instead:

“A fine car, Mr. Djoka!”

“Happy for you!”

“Drive safely, Mr. Djoka. The road toward Thiéry is still under repair!”

...

The neighbors thought this was well-deserved. Djoka was a conscientious capitalist—there weren’t many like him anymore, and they needed such people!

Djoka nodded and greeted them in return. Camille, sitting on the soft seat, felt a little shy under the attention. She waved back cautiously, thanking everyone.

It was only when they reached the open road, away from prying eyes, that Camille relaxed. She stretched her hand out of the car to feel the wind and shouted with childlike delight, her happiness shining through in her smile.

Suddenly, she turned and hugged Charles, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you, Charles. You’re my pride!”

“Mom?!” Charles protested, looking embarrassed.

Djoka burst into hearty laughter, his eyes moist.

Camille had said what he wanted to say—he was deeply grateful to Charles.

Djoka had always dreamed of providing a happy life for Camille and Charles, but he hadn’t been able to achieve it. Now, thanks to Charles, that dream had come true.

What more could he ask for?

This was everything he had ever wanted. Perhaps that was why Francis looked down on him.

...

After lunch, Djoka and Charles visited Francis’s villa, driving the car there.

Francis, standing by the window in his study, saw Djoka’s new car. When Djoka and Charles came in, Francis greeted them with a smile, “Congratulations, Djoka. That’s a beautiful car!”

Then he sat down in his chair and added sarcastically, “You’ve got a good son—unlike me!”

Besides being selfish and unfeeling, another thing about Francis that was hard to stomach was his biting sarcasm.

Djoka seemed used to it. He pulled a check from his pocket and placed it in front of Francis. “Here’s your commission, Father.”

For some reason, the word “Father” came awkwardly to him now.

Francis retrieved a gold-chain monocle from his drawer, placed it on, and examined the check. “Hmm,” he murmured, glancing at Djoka and Charles. “Have you given it any thought?”

“Thought about what?” Djoka feigned confusion.

Charles had already told him that if Francis took the bait, he would bring up the motorcycle factory at this point.

“The motorcycle factory,” Francis said. “At the price we agreed upon earlier!”

Djoka looked at Charles.

This made Francis sneer in disdain. What a weak man, letting his child make decisions!

Still, Charles was impressive. Too bad...

“Mr. Francis!” Charles gestured toward the window. “I believe you’ve noticed—we bought a Ford. We don’t need motorcycles.”

“But you could manufacture motorcycles to sell to others!” Francis argued. “I was planning to leave the motorcycle factory for you to manage, anyway.”

Djoka found this ironic. If that were the case, Francis should have “left” the factory to them, not “sold” it!

“Apologies,” Charles shook his head. “We’re unfamiliar with the motorcycle market. It would be dangerous to invest in it before understanding it fully.”

Though ostensibly about themselves, Charles’s words were aimed at Francis.

Francis felt the sting—they struck at his weakness.

Despite a lifetime of business experience, Francis had only dealt with two industries: textiles and tractors. Motorcycles were unfamiliar territory, and keeping the factory would only drain his finances further.

Djoka raised an eyebrow and said, “Perhaps I can ask around to see if anyone is willing to buy it, Father.”

With that, he took Charles and made to leave...

This was, of course, all for show. Every word had been rehearsed in advance.

Francis’s first reaction was: Who would want to buy a motorcycle factory at this time? Spending 600,000 francs on it would be sheer madness!

“Wait!” Francis called out, stopping Djoka. “Let’s discuss this further.”

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