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

Chapter 34: Are You Really Young Master Charles?

One day, Charles accompanied Deyoka on a visit to the motorcycle factory. Deyoka took the opportunity to remind Charles of a pressing issue.

"Our expenses are piling up, Charles!" Deyoka said, holding up an account book. "The motorcycle factory cost us 350,000 francs. Our initial payment for the tractor production line in England was 200,000, and that might not even be enough. The field hospital is costing us around 18,000 francs per day, and that's with volunteers working for free. Restarting the motorcycle plant will need more funding. At this rate, we'll be bankrupt in no time!"

Charles couldn't help but think how quickly money was slipping away. Although 990,000 francs was a substantial sum, establishing himself as a "conscientious capitalist" who could rally the public's trust came at a high price. The expenses might seem moderate—18,000 francs per day—but with no way to grow their assets, it was only a matter of time before everything was depleted.

"Don't worry, Father," Charles replied. "I heard the motorcycle plant has unsold stock piling up. We can start by selling some of that."

"There is inventory," Deyoka agreed, but looked doubtful. "The real question is… who's going to buy motorcycles right now?"

Without explaining further, Charles decided to check out the factory himself.

The motorcycle factory was right next to Francis's tractor plant, though it was smaller, with a staff of over 800 workers before the war—a decent-sized business. Despite this, it covered a vast area of 32 acres, double the tractor plant's footprint. When Deyoka's car entered the gate, they had to drive quite a distance before reaching the factory buildings.

The motorcycle plant needed so much land because, at this time, buying a motorcycle meant getting training as well. This required enough space to let multiple customers learn to ride simultaneously, with various terrain types available.

Deyoka parked near the warehouse. As they got out, he said, "I think Paul would be perfect to manage the motorcycle factory. He's got a knack for socializing, and his injury is minor. Your mother and I think he's a fine young man, and his connections could help with sales."

Paul, a wounded soldier who'd gained a good reputation helping the hospital's volunteers care for patients, had become well-liked.

"No, Father," Charles said, walking along the path between buildings toward the warehouse. "You should be wary of Paul. Never let him anywhere near my factories, and when he's recovered, make sure he leaves."

"Why?" Deyoka hurried to catch up, looking puzzled.

Charles kept walking. "Did you notice his injury?"

"Of course!" Deyoka replied, walking beside him. "He injured his hand, lost two fingers. But that doesn't affect his work—you're not concerned about that, are you?"

"His right index and middle fingers," Charles emphasized. "Do you really think it's a coincidence? Those are the exact fingers used to pull a trigger. Yet he happened to lose them, making him unfit for combat."

Deyoka stopped short, stunned. "You mean…?"

"Better to lose a couple of fingers than his life, Father," Charles replied. "Paul is just that type—he's afraid to face the enemy. But he's clever enough to disguise it, making people believe he's a good guy. He's deliberately trying to win your trust."

Deyoka was dumbfounded. He hadn't considered this possibility, but as he replayed Paul's behavior in his mind, it seemed to align with Charles's assessment.

But… how had Charles seen through it so easily?

While Deyoka pondered, a faint sound came from the warehouse next door where spare parts were stored.

Deyoka gestured for Charles to stay put as he approached and threw open the door.

The people inside froze, startled, before relaxing when they saw it was just Deyoka and a young boy. There were two young men and a balding middle-aged man inside.

The balding man held a hammer in his hand. He nodded at the other two. "You here for some parts too?"

Deyoka quickly understood—they were stealing spare parts. Thieves.

He was about to step forward to chase them off when Charles stopped him.

"Yes," Charles said, intrigued as he stepped closer. "We came to see if there's anything of value. What are you doing?"

The balding man eyed Charles warily, then said gruffly, "Nothing here but scrap metal. Everything in this place is junk."

With that, he returned to his work, carefully tapping away and tightening screws.

"But you—" Charles started.

"Guillaume here's different!" one of the young men interrupted. "He can turn trash into treasure. Broken parts become good as new when he fixes them. Like this shock absorber!"

The other young man glared impatiently at Charles. "Go find whatever you're looking for. Don't bother us."

Charles stayed put, studying the three men and trying to figure out their story. The balding man, Guillaume, seemed to be a factory worker with real skills; he could fix parts by hand or piece together broken parts to make them function like new.

The two young men were likely motorcycle buyers or enthusiasts, eager to get their hands on Guillaume's handiwork.

"Guillaume," Charles said, puzzled. "With your skills, why aren't you working in the factory?"

Any owner would value a worker like Guillaume, Charles thought.

Guillaume scoffed and kept working as he replied, "Offer those capitalists a suggestion for improvements, and they'll just say, 'No, that won't work,' or call it 'a dumb idea.' Then, they take it and patent it as their own. And I get nothing for it!"

Guillaume glanced at Charles. "If you were in my shoes, would you be that foolish?"

Charles nodded in understanding. The greed and short-sightedness of the factory owners meant that even a skilled worker like Guillaume had learned to keep his ideas to himself for fear of exploitation.

"What if," Charles ventured, "there was a capitalist willing to fully support you, who would ensure that all your inventions belonged to you…?"

Guillaume laughed heartily. "The only one who'd do that would be that 'Young Master Charles' everyone talks about. They say he bought this factory—maybe I'll give it a shot then."

Charles raised his hands with a shrug. "No need to wait, Mr. Guillaume. I'm hiring you to manage the motorcycle factory, and I'll respect and protect all your intellectual property."

Guillaume stared at Charles in shock. After a moment, he found his voice. "You… you're Young Master Charles?"

(End of Chapter)

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