I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

Chapter 115 - A Perfect Script

When Francis saw Vartan off, Deyoka and Charles arrived just in time, jumping out of their car and rushing over without a second thought for the drizzle falling around them.

"Mr. Vartan!" Deyoka called almost pleadingly. "Please, let's discuss this again! We can offer you an even better price..."

Charles stayed silent, taking in Francis's smug expression. From his look, it was clear a contract had already been signed. Charles sighed and slowed to a stop.

Vartan ignored them completely, climbing into his carriage and calling out to the driver, "Paris!" With a shout, the coachman set off, wheels spraying mud that splattered across Deyoka's pants.

Francis turned to Deyoka and Charles, smiling with satisfaction. "Deyoka, Charles! Long time no see." He looked directly at Charles, his tone faux-concerned. "Day off, is it, Charles? Perhaps delayed by something? You should have come sooner; perhaps your fine words might have convinced Mr. Vartan. But alas..." Francis shrugged, pretending to console him, "There will be other opportunities. It's only eighteen hundred tractors, after all!" He chuckled.

Deyoka and Charles exchanged bewildered looks, unsure of what to say.

Francis's expression darkened suddenly, and his voice turned cold. "I've been in this business for decades. I'm not so easily defeated, young man. Mind your own affairs." With that, he turned away, his butler opening an umbrella for him as he strode back into his villa.

Deyoka wiped the rain from his face, feeling somewhat disheveled as he led Charles back to the car.

"Let's go," Deyoka sighed. "There's no turning this around."

They climbed in and drove off, their spirits dampened as much as the sluggish car trundling down the road.

Watching from his doorstep, Francis allowed himself a smile as the car disappeared in the distance. He was thrilled. Despite Charles's many attempts to get ahead, he had won this round. At the perfect moment, he'd managed to sell off all his unsold tractors. A stroke of luck, indeed.

"Sir!" Simon, the butler, asked, "Now that we've cleared our stock, shall we bring back the workers and resume production?"

"No!" Francis replied without hesitation. "That kind of client is rare. The 'Holt 60' will never compete with the 'Holt 75.' We're stopping tractor production entirely and focusing on tanks."

"Understood, sir," Simon replied.

As the car drove on, Deyoka looked back toward the villa, which was now just a blurred outline in the rain. He and Charles exchanged a relieved smile, letting the tension roll off them.

"Francis took the bait!" Deyoka nodded at Charles with a sense of admiration. "In all these years, no one's been able to fool him—except you!"

Vartan wasn't an Algerian aristocrat at all; he was a stage actor from Paris that Deyoka had hired for 100 francs a day, complete with a "servant" and an expensive-looking carriage.

Charles remained calm. "It's different, father. If we'd tried to cheat Francis out of his money, it would have been next to impossible. But now we're handing him money!"

"No, Charles," Deyoka laughed, shaking his head. "You crafted every detail perfectly—the Algerian coffee, the plantation owner background, the drafting of troops from Algeria. This was a masterfully written play. You knew exactly how to play on Francis's habits and mindset."

"We can't relax just yet," Charles cautioned. "Right now, we've only put down a deposit. If Francis realizes what's going on, he could still back out, even if he has to pay a penalty. He could easily make a huge profit that way."

Deyoka nodded. Military contracts typically paid two or three times the standard price. Francis could have made a clean four or five million francs in profit. But now, selling his tractors at a loss of 900 francs per unit, the entire sale would only bring him about 1.62 million, and he was obliviously patting himself on the back.

Thinking back on Francis's smug face moments ago, Deyoka pushed aside the last bit of guilt he'd felt about the ruse.

"We're doing what's right!" Deyoka said with conviction. "Both for ourselves and for France."

Charles nodded in agreement. Without question:

For themselves: they would profit handsomely. For France: the military would get critical equipment at a fraction of the cost, directly impacting the outcome on the battlefield.

What Charles didn't know was that, for Deyoka, "doing what's right" was about more than money; it was about dealing with Francis.

Deyoka then set out to complete the deception, keeping the actor on hand for a follow-up meeting to pressure Francis into delivering the tractors quickly. Francis, of course, had no doubts. He was handling real money and feared losing the deal, so he had the tractors sent immediately to the location arranged with Vartan in Paris.

In just one day, eighteen hundred tractors lined the lot Deyoka had rented, covered with tarps and waiting to be sold to the military.

As Deyoka told Charles, "Now we've invested everything we had. We've barely got ten thousand francs left—hardly enough to pay next month's pilots. If your predictions are wrong, we're bankrupt!"

Charles only laughed, his confidence undiminished. As someone who'd "been there before," his predictions wouldn't fail. And besides, Charles had no intention of letting anyone—least of all Gallieni—take advantage of him.

The next day, the command headquarters was bustling more than usual, given the tense standoff developing along the front. The lines stretched from Switzerland to the English Channel, a grueling 300 kilometers that weighed heavily on France's resources.

Charles ignored the commotion and went directly to Gallieni. Standing at attention, he delivered his report: "Unfortunately, sir, I was unable to complete the task you assigned."

"Task?" Gallieni frowned; he didn't remember assigning Charles any particular duty.

Charles, in a deadpan tone, explained, "I couldn't persuade Charles to lower the loan rate below 10%. He says that without monthly interest payments, he'll withdraw his investments in the flight club and the pilots, or simply sell everything off."

Gallieni blinked, taken aback by Charles's bold move.

All around, officers paused in their work to look over curiously, chuckling at Charles's demand. Many thought it was only fair.

After all, who would want to contribute money and effort for free? Colonel Fernand even gave Charles a discreet thumbs-up from across the room.

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