I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Why Should I Sell You the Cash Cow?

Bonnet was feeling quite smug.

As the owner of The Daily Post, his greatest advantage was his access to information.

The moment tanks appeared on the battlefield, he received the news—even before Gallieni got wind of it.

While Gallieni had to navigate multiple channels to obtain military intelligence, Bonnet's information came straight from the battlefield. He had arrangements with numerous mid- and lower-ranking officers: whoever provided the most valuable intel first would receive a handsome reward.

By the time tanks were still charging the enemy on the battlefield, a phone call had already been placed to The Daily Post office, narrating the entire event.

The article was quickly written, with real intelligence embellished and paired with illustrations. After editing and typesetting, it was rushed to print overnight. The next morning, it hit the streets while other newspapers were still clueless about what had happened. The Morning News, for instance, was still speculating that France might lose the war.

Bonnet chuckled softly. No wonder The Daily Post sold a million copies daily.

In a country like France, with a population of fewer than forty million, what did selling a million newspapers a day signify? Excluding the illiterate and those unaccustomed to reading, almost everyone had a copy of The Daily Post in hand!

Now, leveraging his network, Bonnet had intercepted Charles as he was filing for industrial property rights.

"Gentlemen!" Bonnet removed his coat and hat, handing them along with his cane to Manuel. "Apologies for keeping you waiting!"

Bonnet’s path to success lay in maintaining utmost politeness, which he believed was the cheapest price to pay for earning respect, information, and business. Why not?

He took a seat before the two men, pulling a cigar from his breast pocket and offering it to Djoka. "Care for one, Mr. Djoka?" he asked politely.

"No," Djoka declined, his eyes tinged with hostility.

Charles, however, appeared indifferent, as though he had already anticipated this scenario.

After all, this was a tank—a device capable of altering the outcome of wars. How could capitalists not sense its value? Charles was merely surprised at how swiftly they had acted. The man in front of him seemed to have better intelligence channels than even France's intelligence service.

Bonnet refrained from lighting his cigar, instead raising an eyebrow and returning it to his pocket. He didn’t want to appear overly arrogant—hardly a productive stance for business negotiations.

"Relax, gentlemen," Bonnet said with a friendly smile. "I’m merely here to talk business. I hope to buy, and you have every right not to sell. That’s all!"

"Mr. Bonnet!" Djoka said, his guard still up. "If you owned a cash cow, would you sell it?"

The question cut straight to the heart of the matter. The industrial rights to the tank were in Charles’s hands, and the Bernard family had a tractor factory. By modifying tractors into tanks, they could sell them to the military and the state for enormous profits. Why should they sell it to you?

If you wanted to buy it, how much could you possibly offer for this cash cow?

Bonnet nodded slightly, as if he had already considered this. Not going into a battle unprepared was another key to his success.

"Do you think it will be that easy?" Bonnet countered, remaining calm.

"What do you mean?" Djoka narrowed his eyes, the tension in the room rising. He suspected a veiled threat in Bonnet’s words. "Allow me to remind you, Mr. Bonnet, that if you plan to use any underhanded tactics, you’ll be dealing with the Bernard family!"

While the Bernard family wasn’t among France’s top two hundred aristocratic families, its reputation and influence in the tractor business made it no easy target.

"No, no, you misunderstand me!" Bonnet explained. "Are you familiar with the Maxim machine gun?"

Djoka nodded blankly. "What does that have to do with us?"

Bonnet continued, "Everyone knows the Maxim machine gun is excellent—far superior to the machine guns we currently use. So why hasn’t the French military adopted it?"

"Because it wasn’t invented in France..." Djoka replied without much thought.

Bonnet chuckled meaningfully and asked, "Really?"

Djoka quickly realized the truth. That excuse was merely a lie concocted by banking capitalists to deceive the public. The real reason was this: importing the Maxim machine gun wouldn’t allow the bankers to profit.

Seeing that Djoka had grasped the point, Bonnet continued, "They control the military, Mr. Djoka. Of course, they can decide what the military buys!"

"If they want, your tanks might not sell a single unit."

"After all, besides the military, who else would buy a tank? Isn’t that right?"

Djoka froze. The situation seemed to align with Bonnet’s reasoning. After all, even a machine gun factory required government authorization—and the government was under their control.

Still, Djoka remained unconvinced. "But tanks can help the military win battles, saving countless soldiers' lives..."

"They have their ways!" Bonnet interrupted. "That’s the difference between the Saint-Étienne and the Hotchkiss machine guns!"

Djoka was puzzled, but Charles nodded slightly, indicating agreement.

Bonnet, ever observant, noticed Charles’s reaction and was somewhat surprised. This young man’s ability to invent the tank seemed less coincidental than it first appeared—he clearly possessed a deep understanding of military affairs and equipment.

Bonnet elaborated, "The Hotchkiss machine gun is excellent, but it wasn’t owned by the banking capitalists. So they replicated it, making slight modifications to create the Saint-Étienne machine gun!"

Djoka finally understood. "You mean to say they’ll replicate the tank, making minor modifications?"

Bonnet neither confirmed nor denied it, maintaining his smile. A shrewd businessman never made his words too explicit—it could offend others. Yet his tacit acknowledgment was clear.

Djoka stood up in anger. "That’s shameful theft! They can’t do this. We’ll resist them to the end..."

"And what can you do about it?" Bonnet asked rhetorically. "Sue them? Take them to court? Litigation is their specialty!"

Hearing this, Djoka lost confidence. Sue the top two hundred families? Even the judges might be on their side. It would be better to give up altogether!

He sat back down reluctantly, brooding for a while before muttering, "Then what difference would it make if we sold it to you? They can still ‘replicate’ it!"

"There’s certainly a difference!" Bonnet leaned back confidently, crossing his legs. "I have The Daily Post. If they dare do such a thing, I’ll publish it in the newspaper, and by the next day, all of France will know their disgraceful deeds! No lawyers needed—the people of France will judge them guilty!"

Then Bonnet uncrossed his legs, leaned forward slightly, and said with conviction, "So, selling the industrial rights to me is your best option, Mr. Djoka!"

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