I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France

On September 1, 1914, exactly one month after Germany declared war on France, the German Army swiftly penetrated Belgium and entered French territory using the "Western First, Eastern Later" Schlieffen Plan.

At this time, the German Army's vanguard was only about 30 kilometers from Paris, and all efforts by the main forces of the French Army to thwart the German right wing had failed.

Paris was in imminent danger!

...

About ten kilometers east of Paris, in the town of Davaz by the Marne River.

Old Francis sat on the sofa with his clothes on, holding a lit pipe in his right hand, silently watching the dancing flames in the fireplace. His eyes were hollow and deep, as if he was making a difficult decision.

Seated beside him were the two sons of the Bernard family, the eldest son Pierre and the younger son Dejoka.

But none of them spoke; darkness and silence occupied most of the living room.

Francis's expression was slightly stiffer than usual. He slowly brought the pipe to his mouth and drew lightly, his white mustache, shaped like two scimitars, rhythmically moving in the firelight.

The eldest son Pierre finally couldn't hold back any longer. He stood up and said:

"Make a decision, father, staying here is not a wise choice."

"Government officials have already left Paris, which means they have abandoned the place. Everyone is escaping now, if we don't leave, it will be too late!"

The always silent younger son Dejoka leaned forward slightly, his tone pleading:

"Pierre is right, father. Leave, you cannot stop the German Army, nothing is more important than staying alive!"

Francis calmly moved the pipe away and exhaled a long puff of smoke. He responded in a hoarse yet firm voice:

"You have not experienced that time, I was just 20 years old then!"

"Although young, I already owned a textile factory, the largest in Paris."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Just like today, the Germans came, took everything they could, and then arrogantly crowned themselves in Paris!"

At this point, Francis coughed a few times, and Dejoka thoughtfully handed him a cup of water.

Pierre frowned. He knew his father was talking about the Franco-German War 43 years ago. He was just born then and certainly hadn't experienced it, but every French person knew about that war and always regarded it as a humiliation.

(Note: The French refer to the Franco-Prussian War as the Franco-German War)

After all, France paid 5 billion francs and ceded Alsace and Lorraine.

Since then, every French person, from top to bottom, had the desire to defeat the German Army and wash away the shame!

However…

"Now it's meaningless to mention these," Pierre was somewhat agitated: "The point is the Germans are coming again, they will invade Paris just like last time and take our factory again!"

Francis took a sip of water and put the glass on the coffee table beside him, speaking calmly:

"Last time, I left my factory. This time, I plan to hold on until the end!"

After the Franco-German War, Francis started from scratch again and spent nearly half his life painstakingly building an agricultural tractor factory.

Now, this factory had more than two thousand employees and could produce over five hundred tractors a month.

This was Francis's life's work, and he wouldn't easily give it up.

Absolutely not!

Pierre looked at Francis incredulously, perhaps this was what people often called a generation gap.

He even thought that the reason his father dared to stay was because of selfishness.

Their 63-year-old father didn't have much time left to live anyway, but the younger generation shouldn't have to do this. They could completely sell everything they had and enjoy the rest of their lives.

Dejoka patiently persuaded:

"Father, if we lose our lives, keeping the factory and the machines is meaningless, even money becomes meaningless..."

Francis merely "snorted" and turned away.

They would never understand.

He wasn't purely chasing money over life, but this might be an opportunity, an opportunity to double the assets.

The greater the risk, the greater the reward is an unchanging principle in business. Now was the time to take a risk and place a bet!

Unfortunately, his two sons hadn't considered this, they didn't have the courage and vision, they merely thought of him as a stubborn old man...

At this moment, a slightly immature voice gently sounded:

"Mr. Francis, if you plan to stay here, why not place a bigger bet?"

Francis was stunned, someone actually saw through his thoughts?

He turned his head to the corner from where the voice came, it was that grandson he did not acknowledge.

Dejoka hurriedly stopped him:

"Shut up, Shire. This is a matter for adults!"

Dejoka turned his eyes back to Francis, carefully explaining:

"Camille went to take care of her mother, so I brought Shire…"

Eighteen years ago, Dejoka married Camille, a maid, against Francis's wishes. Francis had always held a grudge and refused to acknowledge the marriage.

This was the reason Shire called Francis "Mr." rather than "Grandfather".

Francis ignored Dejoka and asked the boy: "So, how do you think we can place a bigger bet?"

Dejoka looked at Francis in fear, his father had taken Shire's words seriously.

Just as Dejoka was about to say something, Francis stopped him with a glance: "Let him speak!"

Originally sitting in a chair with a blanket over him, Shire sighed, got up leisurely and said in a mature tone that didn't match his age:

"Mr., as far as I know, next to your tractor factory is a sizable motorcycle factory, which recently switched to producing machine guns, isn't it?"

Francis's eyes lit up immediately:

"Yes, the Cidaki Motorcycle Factory!"

It switched to producing machine guns half a month ago.

After the outbreak of the war, the government found that ammunition and firearms could not meet the front-line supplies, so it transferred part of the firearms and ammunition production to private enterprises. The Cidaki Motorcycle Factory was one of the fortunate private enterprises that received government orders and equipment support.

Shire slowly walked to the fireplace and squatted down, calmly adding two more logs, saying:

"In wartime, the most profitable business is arms, I suppose you don't object to this, Mr.?"

Francis made a noise in agreement, which was obvious, but then he frowned:

"What if my reserve funds are far from enough to buy this motorcycle factory and its machine gun production line?"

He was unwilling to admit his lack of sufficient liquid funds, although this was precisely what he meant.

Shire didn't expose Francis. Instead, he simply understood the predicament facing the tractor factory.

Two months ago, the shot heard in Sarajevo had Europe shrouded in the shadow of war.

Farmers or farm owners didn't know whose land it would be in the future, nor did they know if they would be conscripted to the battlefield, so naturally, no one wanted to buy tractors for farming.

Tractors couldn't sell, and a large number of orders were canceled, putting the tractor factory in a predicament.

Turning to military production was Francis's best way out!

Shire turned back, half of his handsome face illuminated red by the fire, the side facing Francis even darker. He suggested:

"I heard, Mr. that you still have two subsidiary factories in the south. Why don't you use these two factories to exchange?"

Francis was stunned:

"The two subsidiary factories combined are still less than half the value needed…"

Shire interrupted Francis:

"He will agree to the exchange, Mr. This is Paris, the Germans won't advance beyond here."

"Meaning, the two subsidiary factories in the south are safe!"

Francis instantly understood Shire's meaning.

The two subsidiary factories, though only half the value of the motorcycle factory, were crucial because they were safe.

What could be more valuable in wartime than safety?

Francis hesitated for a moment, then stood up quickly with a "thud" and swiftly walked to the coat rack to retrieve his bowler hat and coat:

"Hand me the flashlight, Dejoka!"

"I should go talk to Cidaki. If I delay, that guy might abandon the factory and run away!"

Pierre wanted to stop him, but Francis had already taken the flashlight handed over and left, without looking back.

Pierre and Dejoka looked at each other in dismay. They hadn't expected their father to still think about business at this hour, and even be willing to gamble the last bit of safe assets.

Dejoka turned his gaze to Shire, his eyes full of doubt, feeling he no longer recognized his son!