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

Chapter 20: The Smiling Man

Derek and Charles got out of the taxi in front of Francis's villa. They waved goodbye to Browning and the others as the car drove off towards the Marne, where sporadic gunfire could be heard, along with the occasional booming of artillery. Charles guessed it was the French Army's 75mm field guns being fired.

A servant guided them into the villa. From the entryway, they could see Francis and Pierre in the sitting room, discussing business with a few guests, with glasses of red wine set out.

Derek started to lead Charles over to greet them, but the butler, Simon, politely intercepted them.

"Mr. Derek, Master Charles, the master is in a business discussion with guests," Simon said with his usual courtesy. "He asked that, if you arrived, you wait for him in the study. He has something he'd like to discuss with you."

Derek gave a small nod, then led Charles upstairs.

Charles deliberately slowed his steps, trying to catch pieces of the conversation below. Though he couldn't make out much from the distance, he clearly heard the word "tank" and immediately understood what this meeting was about.

Derek noticed Charles lagging behind and turned to ask, "What's wrong, Charles? Tired?"

"No, Father, I'm fine," Charles replied, catching up to him.

In the elegantly furnished study, Simon brought in coffee for Derek and Charles. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you, Simon," Derek replied, settling into his chair and stretching out his arms. The cramped taxi ride had given him a lingering sense of being compressed.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Derek glanced over at Charles, who was browsing the bookshelves, and asked, "Are you certain there's someone offering a better price for the tank's patent?"

Derek wasn't fully convinced yet. If they couldn't sell the patent to someone else, they'd face suppression from the well-established industrial powers within the Two Hundred Families. Derek wasn't confident they'd be able to contend with their overwhelming wealth, influence, and connections.

Even if they had to fight them, he thought, now was not the time. Selling the patent to strengthen their own position seemed like the smartest option.

"Absolutely," Charles replied calmly. "Because they're downstairs right now."

"Clang!"

Derek was so startled that he dropped his coffee cup onto its saucer, splashing some onto his pants.

"You're saying…?" Derek stammered as he wiped his pants with a handkerchief. "The people downstairs meeting with Francis—they're here to buy the tank patent?"

Charles pulled out a book, Victor Hugo's The Man Who Laughs, a story that revealed the corrupt and decaying nature of France's aristocratic society. As he flipped through the pages, he replied in a casual tone:

"If I'm not mistaken, they must have offered a rather attractive price." Charles paused before continuing. "The reason Mr. Francis asked us to stay upstairs is so that he can…"

Charles trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence that might sever his father's last thread of familial loyalty.

Derek's face turned pale, his gaze becoming unfocused. Staring into his half-empty coffee cup, he slowly completed Charles's thought: "So he can take the profit for himself?"

Charles stayed silent; it was something Derek needed to judge for himself.

"No, it's not possible," Derek murmured, shaking his head slightly. "He wouldn't do that. You're his grandson…"

"Father," Charles interrupted, "when Mr. Francis comes up in a moment, he'll likely find some reason to ask us for the patent, or to negotiate an 'exchange.' You might want to consider how you'll respond."

Derek fell silent, struggling between disbelief and an irrational urge to take Charles and flee.

…

Downstairs in the sitting room, Simon leaned down and murmured a few words into Francis's ear. Francis gave a slight nod, excused himself with a polite bow, and said, "My apologies, gentlemen, but I have a matter to attend to. Please carry on discussing the details."

He gestured subtly at Pierre, who picked up the thread of the conversation with their guests, effortlessly easing into laughter and pleasantries.

Francis took a damp cloth from a servant and wiped the sweat from his brow and hands, then tossed it back to the servant. With a final glance upstairs, he began walking toward the study, reflecting as he went:

"I'm sorry, Derek, and you too, Charles."

"If it hadn't been for Camille, maybe I would have treated you equally, just as I have Pierre's family."

"But it's been nearly twenty years of neglect—how can I be certain that Charles isn't motivated by vengeance, or that you yourselves haven't harbored resentment?"

In the sitting room, Pierre glanced over his shoulder, watching Francis ascend the stairs with a look of subtle satisfaction and relief.

Francis paused momentarily outside the study, then opened the door with a wide, welcoming smile. "Derek, Charles! Have you been waiting long?"

"No, Father," Derek replied without expression. "We just arrived a little while ago."

Francis noticed Derek's lack of enthusiasm and cocked his head. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, nothing at all," Derek quickly covered. "It's just that…Camille was frightened by the sounds of artillery. I was a little worried about her."

Francis chuckled. "There's no need to worry. Our defenses have held steady. Reinforcements arrived from Paris, and I hear the Sixth Army is mobilizing for a counterattack. We'll soon be pushing back the Germans."

With that, he turned his gaze to Charles, his face glowing with warmth. "All thanks to our dear Charles here that we even have this chance."

"I was just doing my duty, Mr. Francis," Charles replied courteously.

Francis gave him a nod of approval, then as if remembering something, said, "By the way, have you heard? Jared is coming back!"

Jared was Pierre's eldest son and Francis's chosen heir, who had been studying in England.

"Is that so?" Derek replied, his expression unreadable.

"Yes!" Francis sat down at the head of the desk, raising his eyebrows. "Next time, bring Camille along. I think it's high time we had a Bernard family gathering."

Derek froze in surprise. His father had never invited Camille before—could this mean… he was finally acknowledging her and Charles?

A wave of relief washed over Derek, and he responded, clearly moved, "Yes, Father! It would be an honor, I…"

"The past is the past," Francis interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "You've raised my grandson well, and that deserves recognition."

He cast a look of approval toward Charles.

Derek exhaled in relief, casting a meaningful glance at Charles, as if to say, See? You were wrong this time—Grandfather just wants to accept us!

But Charles continued flipping through his book, his expression unchanging. He knew that in such matters, the real intent often came in the next part of the conversation.

Francis's tone shifted. "There's just one issue, Derek."

"What is it?" Derek asked.

"It's like this." Francis's expression grew serious. "Jared received his conscription notice, so he'll have to return. We need to find a way around this."

Derek felt a knot tighten in his chest. "You mean…?"

"I was thinking we could assign the tractor factory's tank and machine gun production rights to Jared. That way, he'll qualify for an exemption as a specialized worker. In exchange, I'll put Charles in charge of the motorcycle factory."

The joy on Derek's face faded, replaced by disappointment, anger, and sorrow.

Francis, sensing Derek's reaction, shrugged. "I realize this isn't exactly fair to Charles, but… you wouldn't want Jared to be conscripted, would you?"

Not fair? That was an understatement.

Charles had tapped into the tractor's potential, creating an opportunity for massive sales. But now Francis wanted to take it from him.

And he wanted to claim Charles's tank invention as well—along with the machine gun factory that Charles had negotiated to secure.

What was left for Charles? Only a motorcycle factory that held no promise. And even then, Charles would only be "managing" it, not owning it. Francis could take that away with a single word whenever he wished.

He was stripping Charles of everything, in exchange for nothing more than a token acknowledgment of his and Camille's place in the family.

Unfair? It was beyond that.

Derek rose slowly, his voice strangely calm.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"It so happens that we just returned from Paris, where we registered the tank's industrial patent and even found a buyer."

"So, if Jared wants the production rights, I'm afraid there might be… complications."

Francis was stunned. "You've registered the patent? And already found a buyer?"

Charles stared in shock. He knew this wasn't true—they hadn't finalized any sale for the patent. His father seemed almost like a different person.

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