I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Left Wing, Right Wing

Grevy had never felt this exhilarated before. It was as if the gates of the world had opened anew for him. In his excitement, he rushed overnight by carriage to the Armand estate.

“What happened, Grevy?” Armand emerged in his nightwear, the laughter of several women echoing from the bedroom behind him.

Grevy was unfazed, long accustomed to Armand’s peculiar preferences.

“Our army defeated the Germans at Davaus, Armand!” Grevy exclaimed with enthusiasm.

“Oh?” Armand skillfully poured two glasses of red wine from the cabinet, taking a small sip from one before handing the other to Grevy. His tone was icy. “And what of it?”

“They only used three hundred men to defeat several thousand Germans!” Grevy gesticulated wildly, as if he were a commander recounting the battle himself.

Armand leaned back lazily on the sofa, responding, “You came here so late just to tell me the story of three hundred Spartans defeating the Persian army?”

Three hundred Germans defeating thousands of French soldiers was plausible, but three hundred French soldiers defeating thousands of Germans? That was the stuff of fairy tales.

“It’s true!” Grevy grabbed Armand’s shoulders and shook him. “Wake up, Armand! You have no idea what’s happening out there! This news is already sweeping across France. A young man named Charles invented something called a tank!”

Armand uttered an indifferent “Oh,” then fell silent for a moment, seemingly convinced. He then asked, “And what does that have to do with us? Are you here to tell me the left wing has gained yet another advantage?”

The majority of the left-wing parties were composed of emerging capitalists who controlled banks, factories, and machinery.

The right-wing parties consisted of old capitalists, mainly aristocrats or landowners. While they possessed great wealth, they had little control over society and were perpetually at a disadvantage in the Chamber of Deputies.

Clearly, this so-called “tank” belonged to the domain of the emerging capitalists.

Grevy sighed and looked at Armand with a hint of helplessness. “Think about it, Armand. Why do we always lose to the left wing?”

Armand was the leader of the Royalist Party, while Grevy led the Bonapartist Party. Both belonged to the right wing that sought to restore the monarchy.

Strictly speaking, they were ideological opponents, supporting different emperors to rule France.

But with the left wing as a formidable common enemy, the two had long been forced into an uneasy camaraderie.

Perhaps exhausted, Armand reclined slightly on the sofa, raising his wineglass as he answered, “What can we do? They have machines that mass-produce rifles and cannons, allowing them to control the army and wield real power. We’re left with only farmers and their hoes!”

“But what if we had tanks?” Grevy hinted. “If we had equipment that allowed three hundred men to defeat thousands of elite German soldiers...”

Armand froze. Then, as if struck by lightning, he sat up abruptly, setting his wineglass on the table. After a moment of thought, he nodded. “You’re right, Grevy! This is our chance to regain the upper hand. With minimal troops and limited rifles, we could still rival the left wing!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Grevy snapped his fingers. “This is our chance, Armand. Perhaps our only chance!”

“But…” Armand hesitated, worry creeping into his voice. “The left wing—they understand the importance of this equipment, don’t they?”

“Which is why I came to you!” Grevy exclaimed. “We must unite our resources to secure the industrial rights to the tank. The army needs tanks, and this will strengthen our influence over them!”

A glint of determination reignited in Armand’s eyes, like a long-dormant fire roaring back to life.

No one could truly understand the despair of being marginalized in the political arena—waiting to be discarded, stripped of dignity, and rendered powerless. Such a fate transcended monetary loss; it was an anguish born of hopelessness and humiliation.

Now, an opportunity presented itself. It was up to them to seize it.

...

“Five hundred thousand francs!”

This was the opening bid Grevy and Armand presented to Francis.

Francis was astonished. That sum represented a tenth of his tractor factory’s total worth—and this was only the initial offer.

Were tanks truly this valuable?

Francis felt a pang of jealousy. He had spent a lifetime building his tractor factory into what it was today, while Charles had casually pieced together some steel plates, like a child playing with building blocks, and effortlessly achieved a tenth of that value!

But the shrewd and cunning Francis betrayed none of his feelings. Instead, he donned a look of concern and said, “Gentlemen, this equipment can win wars and lead France to victory!”

“Let’s not forget, during the Franco-Prussian War over forty years ago, we paid 5 billion francs in reparations alone!”

“Today, tanks can help France win wars, secure glory and honor, preserve countless French lives, and reclaim untold assets that would otherwise be plundered!”

“All of this—worth only five hundred thousand francs?”

Francis discreetly refilled the guests’ wineglasses and added casually, “I imagine Clissois might also be interested in such equipment.”

Clissois was the leader of the Radical Party on the left wing.

Francis knew how to provoke the two aristocrats before him.

As expected, Grevy and Armand exchanged a worried glance, their concern written plainly on their faces.

“Six hundred thousand francs. No more!” Grevy declared.

Francis inwardly scoffed. He knew the sum would climb—possibly reaching eight hundred thousand francs. That lucky boy Charles!

Of course, Francis wouldn’t just stand by and watch such a fortune land in Charles’s lap.

What excuse could he use?

At that moment, Simon, his butler, whispered something in his ear. Francis stood up and said, “Pardon me, gentlemen. I have a matter to attend to. Please continue discussing the details with Pierre.”

“Of course!” Grevy and Armand rose courteously, secretly relieved. Pierre was far easier to negotiate with than Francis.

However, to Grevy and Armand’s surprise, Francis returned soon after, his face ashen. He was accompanied by a middle-aged man and a youth whose shabby, ill-fitting clothes betrayed their poverty.

“Gentlemen!” Francis said, his expression strained. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Djoka and his son, Charles!”

“Charles?” Grevy leaped to his feet in excitement. “The boy who invented the tank?”

“Yes!” Francis nodded. “The industrial rights to the tank are in their hands!”

Once the tank’s industrial rights were successfully registered, there would be no circumventing Charles or his guardian Djoka in any business dealings.

Djoka silently rejoiced. Fortunately, Charles had the foresight to register the rights in time!

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