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

Chapter 24: Who Would Buy the Motorcycle Factory?

The next day, Derek made another trip to Paris. He cashed the check and transferred the money into his own account, as Charles was still too young to open one. Derek also picked up a checkbook, anticipating future business needs. For now, he planned to pay Francis his 110,000-franc commission, and paying by check would be far more convenient.

When Derek returned, he drove a Ford Model T—a sleek, black car with shining leather seats, a gleaming silver grille, and luxurious detailing. As he pulled up to the house, he honked a few times for good measure.

He hadn't told Camille in advance, hoping to surprise her. Busy in the kitchen preparing lunch, Camille grumbled at the inconsiderate driver honking outside, parked right by someone's door.

When she peeked outside, she saw Derek smiling and waving at her from the car. "Hey, beautiful! Want to go for a ride?"

Camille covered her mouth in surprise, then burst into excitement. She ran to the door but turned back, shouting to Charles in his room, "Charles, it's your father! Come see what he's driving!"

Charles set down his book with a smile. He already knew Derek would be driving a car home. They had both agreed it was time to own a vehicle, so they wouldn't get stranded again like they had in Paris.

Compared to the 990,000 francs they'd just made, the cost of a Ford Model T was practically nothing. It was only 1,248 francs, and it came with three maintenance services included.

Note: At the time, a Ford Model T sold for $260 USD, which was approximately 1,248 francs at the current exchange rate.

And due to the current wartime situation, the car was even cheaper. With the Germans advancing toward Paris, people were panicking, and cars weren't selling. Manufacturers worried that their inventory would end up as war trophies, so they'd slashed prices.

As Charles stepped outside, Derek greeted him with a triumphant smile. "Can you believe it, Charles? I only paid 910 francs for this beauty in the end!"

He had the Germans to thank for that discount—nearly a quarter off the usual price.

Camille walked around the car in awe, carefully admiring every detail as if too much pressure could chip the paint. She could hardly believe it was real; it felt like a dream.

She had never thought they'd live a life like this. She wasn't prepared for such happiness, and it seemed almost overwhelming.

"What are you waiting for?" Derek called, beckoning them over. "Hop in!"

The car glided smoothly down the street, drawing envious stares from neighbors on both sides.

If it had been someone else in the car, they might have cursed, "Damn bloodsuckers, flaunting their wealth in front of us!" and spat on the ground in disgust.

But seeing Derek and his family in the car, neighbors waved in greeting instead:

"Nice car, Mr. Derek!"

"Good for you!"

"Drive carefully, Mr. Derek. The road toward Thierry still needs repair!"

This was their reward, the neighbors thought. Good-hearted capitalists like the Dereks were rare, and they needed people like them.

Derek nodded in response to each greeting. Camille sat awkwardly in the plush seat, unused to the attention and uncomfortable being in the spotlight. She waved shyly to each passerby.

It wasn't until they hit the open road, leaving the town behind, that Camille relaxed. She reached her hand out the window, letting the breeze run through her fingers, laughing and basking in the joy of the moment.

Suddenly, she turned around, hugged Charles, and kissed him on the forehead.

"Thank you, Charles. I'm so proud of you!"

"Mom!" Charles protested, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Derek laughed heartily, his eyes misting up just a little. Camille had voiced what he had felt all along—deep gratitude to Charles. Derek had always wanted to provide Camille and Charles with a happy life, but he'd struggled to achieve it. Yet Charles had made it possible.

What more could he ask for? This was all he had ever wanted. Perhaps this was why Francis had always thought him unambitious.

...

After lunch, Derek and Charles drove to Francis's villa. Seeing the new car from his office window, Francis greeted them with a sly smile as they entered the room.

"Congratulations, Derek. That's a fine car!" He took his seat, smirking as he added, "You have a good son—not like mine!"

Besides being selfish and cold-hearted, Francis was also known for his sharp, cutting remarks. But Derek had grown used to it.

Derek reached into his pocket, took out a check, and set it on Francis's desk. "Here is your commission, Father."

For some reason, Derek found it harder than usual to say the word Father.

Francis took out his gold-chain monocle, examined the check, and then glanced up at Derek and Charles. "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider?"

"Reconsider what?" Derek asked with a blank expression.

Charles had warned him that if Francis took the bait, he'd use this moment to try and sell the motorcycle factory.

Francis said, "The motorcycle factory. We could still go ahead with the price we discussed."

Derek looked to Charles.

Francis sneered at this display. Weak! Taking orders from his own child! Though he had to admit, Charles was impressive. Such a pity…

"Mr. Francis," Charles replied, gesturing out the window, "as you can see, we bought a Ford. We have no need for a motorcycle."

"You could still produce motorcycles to sell to others," Francis suggested. "I originally intended to have you run the factory for me."

Derek found this ironic. If that were the case, Francis wouldn't be selling it to them but actually letting them manage it.

"Sorry," Charles said, shaking his head, "but we're unfamiliar with the motorcycle market. It would be risky to invest without understanding it fully."

Though he was speaking about himself, he was really hinting at Francis. And the words struck a nerve.

Francis had spent his entire career in just two industries: textiles and tractors. Motorcycles were indeed a mystery to him, and keeping the factory was only draining his funds further.

"Well," Derek raised an eyebrow, "maybe I could ask around and see if anyone else is interested in buying it, Father."

With that, he and Charles turned to leave. It was all part of the act, and they'd rehearsed it in advance.

Francis's first thought was, Who in their right mind would buy a motorcycle factory right now? Spending 600,000 francs on that would be insane!

"Wait!" Francis called out, stopping Derek. "Let's discuss this further."

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