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

Chapter 25: A Bargain Deal

In the end, they acquired the motorcycle factory for 350,000 francs.

Throughout the negotiations, Charles repeatedly cautioned Derek, almost pleadingly:

"Father, the war is still ongoing, and the outcome is uncertain. Shouldn't we think this over more carefully?"

"We might not even be able to find enough workers—they've mostly fled by now!"

"With cars selling at just 910 francs, can we really expect motorcycles to sell well?"

Charles spoke the truth, but Derek, known for his soft heart, reluctantly replied, "Charles, we should own a factory ourselves. Besides, Mr. Francis needs funds urgently. Let's go ahead and buy it."

Francis outwardly agreed but inwardly mocked Derek: Now you see why I've sidelined you? With this attitude in business, you'll give everything away to the other party, you fool!

What Francis failed to realize was that all of this was staged for his benefit. Charles had strategically leveraged Francis's perception that Derek would make decisions based on emotions to drive the price down.

Derek was no longer the same person he once was. He now embodied the kind of person Francis expected—someone out to take revenge on the Bernard family, especially Francis, albeit for the sake of protecting Charles. Derek didn't want Charles to repeat his mistakes, or worse.

After the contracts were signed and the check written, Charles maintained an angry, resentful expression. Francis, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow in satisfaction, as if saying, You were right, Charles! I totally agree with you, but as a minor, there are things you simply can't decide.

They left in silence, with Derek cranking the car's engine and Charles sulking beside him—silent throughout the entire ride. At that time, a Ford still required a hand crank, as electric starters wouldn't be invented for another five years.

Once they'd driven a fair distance, Derek and Charles finally looked at each other and grinned.

"Great teamwork!" Derek said, chuckling. "You're a natural actor!"

"You're not bad yourself!" Charles retorted.

They'd snagged an amazing deal. The motorcycle factory was originally valued at about a million francs. Francis had acquired it for 500,000 francs and hoped to sell it for 600,000, but they had haggled him down to 350,000.

From Francis's perspective, he hadn't lost out. He'd cut his losses, focusing on the munitions factory, which was churning out guns and bullets for the military. Losing 150,000 francs on the motorcycle factory seemed justified.

What he didn't foresee was that the motorcycle factory would eventually be a gem of its own.

"Now it's up to you," Derek said, steering as he glanced at Charles. "Do you have a plan for the factory?"

"No need for a plan," Charles replied. "We just produce—and wait."

Derek was confused. That simple?

Yes, that simple.

During World War I, communication technology in the military was primitive. While telephones existed, they were too expensive for widespread use, especially in the military. Communication between units relied on runners and available vehicles, making agile, speedy motorcycles the ideal transport for dispatch riders. During the war, the British military alone deployed over 20,000 motorcycles.

For the French military, the potential was even greater. They acquired around 30,000 motorcycles during the war, limited by finances and production capability. For an army of several million, 30,000 motorcycles could hardly meet demand.

With such a market before them and a motorcycle factory in hand, why would they need a plan?

Derek suddenly thought of something. "And about that 'Holt Model 75' tractor you mentioned yesterday—aren't you worried Francis might be preparing for it, too?"

Charles understood his father's concern.

As the earliest importer of the Holt tractor in France, Francis should theoretically be tracking Holt's developments. If Francis knew about the "Holt Model 75" and bought it first, Charles's plan might fall apart.

"He knows about it, but he won't import it," Charles replied calmly.

"Hmm?" Derek murmured in confusion, his hands slipping slightly on the wheel.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Father," Charles advised, then explained, "It's simple: all of Francis's equipment and trained workers are geared toward producing the 'Holt Model 60.' Switching over to the Model 75 would require new machinery and extensive worker retraining—something he simply can't afford, especially now."

Derek nodded, realizing the point.

Francis's tractor factory dominated the French market, with the "Holt Model 60" claiming 70% market share. No other factory in the country could compete. As long as he maintained this position, Francis wouldn't see any urgency in upgrading to the Model 75.

And with the wartime economy, investing in an upgraded tractor model made even less sense. The issue wasn't that the tractor was outdated but that war had killed demand for it altogether. Upgrading would be a foolish, unnecessary expense.

Knowing about the "Holt Model 75," Francis might even hide the news, keeping French farmers convinced that the "Model 60" was still the best tractor in the world.

"It's like you've thought of everything," Derek laughed. "I'm not sure how you cram it all in that little head of yours. Why didn't you show this brilliance in school?"

"Because schoolwork isn't business," Charles replied. "Studying is agony."

Derek sighed with a slight smile, "Who cares! The whole point of studying is to make a living, anyway."

Just then, a powerful explosion reverberated from the Marne River direction, like thunder booming in rapid succession. Stray shells whistled overhead, landing in nearby fields and sending townspeople scattering in panic.

Derek tensed up, flooring the accelerator as he cursed, "Damn it! Our army's attacking the Germans—now of all times!"

When they pulled up to the house, Camille hurried out in a panic.

Derek practically dragged Charles out of the car, yelling at Camille, "Inside, to the basement—now!"

The three of them dashed indoors, huddling into the basement as Derek bolted the door. He took deep, calming breaths, visibly relieved once they were safely inside.

The sound of artillery and gunfire continued, punctuated by shouting and screaming in the distance. Camille trembled, but she tried to comfort Charles with a whisper, "It's going to be okay. We're safe here."

Derek turned on the dim overhead light, illuminating the basement, which smelled of dust and mildew and was strewn with old, cluttered belongings.

"Don't worry!" Derek reassured them. "We're safe here."

After a pause, he added, "Our army's strong—we'll drive the Germans back soon."

Many shared that hope. General Gallieni had brought in the Sixth Army from Paris, now combining with the Fifth Army to trap a single German army.

Two armies against one German army—victory should be certain, right?

But war is never simple, and it's far more than a numbers game.

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