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

Chapter 33: A Smart Strategy

At Armand's estate, Grevy popped open a bottle of champagne amid cheers, with Francis basking in the glory of victory alongside them.

"Brilliant speech, Armand!" Grevy praised as he poured Armand a drink.

Armand chuckled and replied, "What I enjoyed even more was seeing Stede's face—did you notice? He just sat there, stunned, utterly helpless!"

"I did!" Nicolas chimed in, raising his glass. "I was sitting close to him. He looked like a statue, completely frozen!"

They burst into laughter.

Francis joined in with a somewhat awkward smile; he was the only one who hadn't attended the meeting, so he was completely in the dark about what had transpired. After a moment of hesitation, he gathered the courage to ask, "So… we won, right?"

"Of course, Francis!" Armand said proudly. "We've landed our first major order: fifteen hundred tanks, each priced at five thousand—"

Grevy cut him off with a loud "Ahem" and shot him a pointed look. What a fool, he thought. Francis doesn't need to know those details.

Armand shrugged, finding Grevy's caution excessive. So what if Francis knows? he thought. He's just a farmer-turned-businessman, after all.

Francis's eyes widened as he pieced together what had happened—they were selling each tank for 5,000 francs, while they'd acquired them from him for only 1,360 francs apiece, which even included a machine gun!

With a markup like that, multiplied by 1,500 units… my God, they would pocket over five million francs from just this order! Charles had only earned 1.1 million francs by selling the patent, and Francis himself had barely scraped together a pittance in comparison. These vile capitalists, wretched parasites, he thought. Bleeding our country's coffers dry!

"Is there a problem?" Armand asked, eyebrows raised as he noticed Francis's troubled expression.

"No, no, no problem!" Francis quickly forced a smile and raised his glass. "Gentlemen! To our victory…"

But the others didn't respond. Armand said flatly, "It's too early to celebrate, Mr. Francis. Let's wait until we've actually received payment for the order."

"You're right, Mr. Armand!" Francis withdrew his glass, embarrassed.

After a brief silence, Nicolas asked, "So, what should we publish?"

Nicolas Courchet owned Le Figaro. Unlike Le Petit Journal, which targeted a broad readership, Le Figaro catered to the aristocracy and the upper class. At a franc per issue, it was hardly affordable for the average citizen.

Thus, Le Figaro had an air of nobility: it rarely engaged with the concerns of ordinary people, instead focusing on national matters and parliamentary debates. However, this detachment often meant its reports were far removed from reality. Before the Franco-Prussian War, for example, Le Figaro claimed that France would effortlessly repeat its former glory, sweeping through Germany. It encouraged readers to relax with brandy and cigars as they awaited victory.

That… hadn't quite been the outcome.

"Victory, Nicolas!" Grevy replied. "All you need to report is victory—the tank's victory. Make everyone go mad for tanks. Make sure everyone knows Charles invented it! And then… we'll watch the wealth roll in!"

Armand looked puzzled. "Shouldn't we mention that we hold the tank patent?"

"No," Grevy said, shaking his head. "It's not the time. I want… Stede to try copying it."

Armand blinked, then understood. Grevy wanted to mislead Stede, making him think Charles still held the patent.

If Stede attempted to replicate or bypass the tank's patent, the Right Wing could publicly slap him with a lawsuit, leveraging media and legal channels to seize control of the narrative and even demand damages.

"Smart move!" Armand said approvingly, clinking his glass with the others, their crystal clinking in unison.

…

Francis returned to his villa, simmering with resentment. Why should those pompous fools get rich with just a few words, while I—who did all the hard work—barely make hundreds of thousands?

But business was business. He consoled himself: Times are tough, after all. I'm still making a profit when so many factories have gone bankrupt because of the war. I should count myself lucky.

"Simon!" he called to his butler. "Bring Joseph to me."

"Sir," the butler replied, "Joseph has resigned."

"Resigned?" Francis frowned.

"Yes," the butler explained. "I believe it's because of his son. His son lost a leg in the war and needs care."

Francis made a noncommittal sound and shrugged it off. "Then call for Thomas."

The butler hesitated. "Thomas has also resigned. While you were in Paris, more than seventy employees resigned. I left the list in your study. I believe Thomas is among them, but I can't say for certain."

This seemed unusual to Francis, who asked, "Where did they go? And why did so many resign?"

Even during the rumors of a German invasion, they hadn't resigned. But now, they were quitting en masse?

The butler looked stumped. Finally, he ventured an answer: "Word has it they were shaken by the soldier casualties. They fear they'll soon be drafted and are planning to work in England, where they believe they'll be harder to reach."

Francis nodded. The explanation made sense. People were indeed nervous about the growing number of draft notices.

Some might still be drafted abroad, but at least for now, they'd be out of the French government's reach.

Then Francis chuckled. "Fools. Didn't they consider that we're switching to tank production? As a factory providing vital equipment to the army, our employees won't receive draft notices!"

The butler sighed. "If they'd been a bit more patient or just a little smarter, they wouldn't have to go through such trouble. It's their loss, sir."

Francis soon forgot the matter; after all, with over two thousand employees, the loss of seventy didn't affect the tractor factory's operations. He was too focused on getting the tanks into production.

What Francis didn't realize was that this was precisely what Charles had hoped for.

The "rumors" had been intentionally spread by Charles through Joseph, who discreetly seeded the talk among the factory workers. Charles wanted to avoid tipping off Francis to his plans too soon.

(End of Chapter)

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