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

Chapter 62: The Philosopher

The meeting continued through the afternoon with only a one-hour break at noon, as the left and right wings bickered over trivial topics. When they finally emerged from the Chamber of Deputies, Grevy and Amand took a few deep breaths of the fresh air under the misty sunset.

With a victorious grin, Amand turned to Grevy. "What's next on your agenda?" he asked.

Grevy, however, showed no expression of triumph. To him, getting Charles stationed with Gallieni was not a significant win—true, it was the military, but Charles would still have time to oversee his factories. In other words, Charles remained a competitor.

After a brief hesitation, Grevy replied thoughtfully, "I believe I should speak with Charles directly."

Amand gave Grevy a startled look. "Don't tell me you're actually trying to recruit him? That's absurd—he's a capitalist!"

"So is Francis," Grevy countered calmly. "Besides, what do we have to lose?"

In truth, it was Charles's talents that intrigued Grevy. He felt that, if there were even a one-percent chance, it would be worth a shot. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered with him at all.

"Fine," Amand sighed. "I'll wait to hear how it goes. Honestly, I'd rather not have to go after a kid."

Grevy said nothing further, merely gesturing to his driver, who brought the carriage around to him.

As he stepped in and settled down, Grevy gave his driver a brisk command: "To the motorcycle factory."

"Yes, sir," replied the driver, flicking the reins to start the carriage toward L'Oise.

When Grevy's carriage arrived at the factory, he was surprised to find himself barred from entering.

Grevy leaned out and saw several French soldiers standing guard at the entrance. An officer with four golden stripes on his sleeve approached and asked politely, "Your identification, sir."

Grevy retrieved his papers confidently, sure he would be granted access. After all, he was both a nobleman and a deputy, clearly stated on his credentials.

To his shock, the officer barely glanced at the documents before coldly replying, "Apologies, sir, but I can't let you through. Please turn back."

Grevy's face tightened as he forced himself to keep his temper in check. Maintaining an icy politeness, he explained, "I'm here to speak with Mr. Charles. I know him personally."

"Sorry," the officer said, handing back the papers. "This is an industrial facility. We're under strict orders—anyone without direct business with the factory is not allowed inside."

Realizing the military was likely concerned about security leaks, Grevy nodded in reluctant understanding. What he didn't know was that this was actually Laurent's "special protocol" for dealing with the nobility.

Gallieni had already guessed that Francis had likely allied himself with the old aristocrats against Charles—if Deyoka could deduce it, so could Gallieni. And so, his first order to Laurent was to bar any nobles from approaching the factory, making them priority subjects for surveillance.

Not just the factory but the entire town of L'Oise now had military patrols and checkpoints under the guise of "spy checks," their real purpose being to safeguard Charles.

Seeing his attempts blocked at every turn, Grevy ordered his driver to pull the carriage over to the side. But before they even finished parking, Laurent approached once more to shoo them off. "I'm afraid you'll need to leave, sir," Laurent said firmly.

Grevy finally lost his patience, his expression hardening. "You don't have the authority to remove me, Major, nor does anyone else."

As a parliamentary deputy, Grevy wasn't used to being told he couldn't stay somewhere as simple as a factory.

Laurent replied, "Sir, if I suspect you're here spying on military manufacturing, would I still lack the authority?"

For a moment, Grevy was speechless. Being labeled a spy would indeed damage his political career.

Just then, a car rolled slowly out of the factory gates, and Grevy spotted Charles in the back seat. Jumping out of the carriage, he moved into the road to flag the car down.

"Mr. Deyoka, I'm Grevy, the one who bought the tank rights. I'd like a word with Charles."

In the carriage, Deyoka recognized Grevy and instantly declined, "No, there's nothing to discuss."

"Wait, Mr. Deyoka!" Grevy insisted, turning to Charles. "Just a few minutes!"

Charles nodded to Deyoka. "It's all right, Father. He won't try anything."

Grevy, an elected official, was unlikely to risk anything reckless in such a situation. Charles stepped out of the car, and Grevy exhaled in relief, thanking him.

He led Charles away from the factory and toward the Marne River nearby. Deyoka trailed behind in the car, and Laurent also followed closely, flanked by a group of guards, watching for any threat.

Grevy looked over his shoulder at the entourage, then said to Charles with a faint smile, "They protect you well."

"I manufacture their sidecars," Charles explained. "They wouldn't want production to be disrupted."

Grevy nodded. "A fair point." Then he paused, choosing his words. "Was this all you wanted to talk about?" Charles asked.

"No, of course not," Grevy replied, stopping to gaze thoughtfully at the Marne. "You're a clever young man, Charles. I'm sure you must see things with perspective—greater insight, perhaps. Would I be wrong?"

"What do you mean by that?" Charles asked, a bit puzzled.

Grevy pointed to a patch of land by the riverbank, overgrown with weeds, and said, "This area used to be fertile farmland, full of potatoes. But in just a few short years, it's turned into this. Do you know why?"

Charles glanced at the rows of factories and answered, "The factories, I assume?"

Grevy nodded slightly.

"Once the factories arrived, the fields gave way to industrial lots. Farmers became laborers, and capitalists bought up the land in swaths. Tell me, what do you think this country will look like if this continues?"

"Someday, the capitalists will own all the land and control everyone's lives. A single word from them will ruin or even starve the workers. Isn't this just another form of domination? And do the rights and freedoms they claim to uphold mean anything at that point?"

Grevy looked back at Charles, his gaze piercing. "They call you a 'moral capitalist,' Charles. Surely, you don't want to see this future, do you?"

Charles understood what Grevy meant by "greater insight" and "perspective."

A philosopher, indeed! And France certainly had a penchant for philosophers—Voltaire, Montesquieu, Rousseau…

(End of Chapter)

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