Chapter 82: Everyone, Paris Is Safe! (1) Florian's lips dried out, parched.
He lifted the cup on the table and wet his lips once more with the tea inside.
Every contract season, Florian always felt that the Americans' obsession with money was astonishingly strong.
Of course, because of the incentive system and other measures the boss introduced this time, Florian had also become just as obsessed with results.
Damn it. Was the boss some kind of Satan like that Lavoisier fellow claimed? He devised a bizarre compensation system that made it impossible not to work.
The more you worked, the more money was effectively "replicated." How was anyone supposed to resist that?
Was he sitting in Versailles doing no work, spending every day thinking only about ways to run people ragged?
After adjusting the third digit of the amount written on the contract, Florian handed it to the American seated across from him and spoke again.
"…If you do not like the terms from a moment ago, then how about these terms instead? In return, we agree to these contract conditions through next year."
The American calmly reviewed the contract, then gave a grin.
"Hmm… At this level, even the merchants who entrusted me with agency will be quite satisfied. Very well, Mr. Florian. Through next year, I will exclusively front the payment for American grain for Ears of the Nation."
"Thank you, Ambassador Short."
Alexandre Florian, Vice President of Ears of the Nation, said with a beaming smile at the words of William Short, the United States ambassador to France.
The contract bearing the names William Short and Alexandre Florian side by side felt to Florian like a 200-livre banknote.
"I always feel this, but it is remarkable how well I can speak with you, Mr. Florian."
Seeing Florian grinning as he gathered up the contract, the American ambassador said so.
"Haha, if anything, I am the one who should say that. Ambassador Jefferson—no, should I say Secretary of State now? In any case, when Secretary Jefferson returned to America, my heart nearly stopped, but I am only glad someone like Mr. William Short came as his successor."
"Haha, to compare me to someone like Secretary Jefferson—that is far beyond what I deserve."
"My, for a public official first appointed by President George Washington, you seem rather too modest, do you not?"
To think that the man who once shrank in fear at people bragging about being the owner of this or that company, the head of this or that factory, had now learned to smoothly converse even with a diplomat of a nation.
Florian still sometimes suspected he was dreaming.
Perhaps in a very good mood at Florian's words, Ambassador Short stood up with a smile and spoke.
"It was only good fortune. Ah, the weather is lovely—shall we take a walk? The new gardener I hired is quite skilled. I would like to show you."
"Hah, this is an embassy—would it really be acceptable for an ordinary man like me?"
"Of course. How could I fail to do even that much for the Vice President of Ears of the Nation, our American grain merchants' long-time partner? If anything, I would fear that if I treated you poorly, the merchants back home might threaten to kill me."
"Haha, I cannot allow you to end up in danger, Ambassador Short."
"A wise decision."
Following Ambassador Short out of the embassy, Florian saw a bright garden warmed by the gentle air Paris gave off in late May.
"The gardener you mentioned hiring is truly impressive."
"Not bad, is he? We Americans possess aesthetic sense as well—on par with Europeans, in our own way."
After they exchanged social pleasantries and toured about half the garden, William Short spoke casually.
"These days, the homeland—America, that is—has tremendous interest in France."
"That is only natural. His Majesty the King changed, and did not many things change as well?"
An Assembly came into being, and the legal distinctions of status disappeared. Of course, those noble lords still styled as this lord or that viscount remained, but people did not change overnight simply because the law changed. That could not be helped.
"Well, that is certainly a hot topic, but there is something else that captivates Americans even more."
"Hmm, I am not sure what you mean."
"A democratic republic."
"…Well. I am too busy living my own life, and I have kept politics at arm's length, so it would be difficult to answer you rashly."
Florian said this while turning his head slightly aside.
"Haha, do not be like that. Everyone knows the man you serve is the Controller-General of Finance in the current government.
"And everyone knows your boss leaves all the work to his Vice President and wanders around outside."
"Hmm. Is that so?"
"It is."
"My apologies, Vice President. That was my slip. We Americans are the type who absolutely melt at the word 'republic.'"
Florian brought a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat.
"Ahem. That caught me off guard."
"Haha, as a diplomat, I must always read the atmosphere of the country. Please understand."
When they reached the end of the garden, William Short extended his hand and said,
"Then, I hope we meet again over good business."
"Until next time."
Politicians, honestly.
"Deputy Mirabeau."
"What is it, Controller-General?"
"Since the Assembly is not functioning anyway, could the work of the Controller-General of Finance not be handled in Paris?"
"I do not particularly mind, but…"
"Deputy, think about it. If we remain in Versailles where there is nothing but bickering, will efficiency not fall to its lowest point? Even examinees study best where they are comfortable. If I work where my body and mind are at ease, would my efficiency not increase as well?"
"…Very well. Do as you please, Controller-General of Finance."
"Commander Lafayette."
"What strange matter have you come to speak of this time, Controller-General of Finance?"
"That is hurtful. Someone went all the way to the Cordeliers Club and earnestly pleaded—yet you treat that person so coldly."
"…What do you want?"
"May I relocate my office to Paris and work from there?"
"Well, that much… I believe you may do as you wish, Controller-General of Finance."
This feel of the chair. This texture of the desk. Yes—this was home.
You can continue grinding one another down in that inhuman hellscape of Versailles. Resolve it among yourselves. I intend to live leisurely in Paris.
"Ah, this is comfortable. Yes—home truly is the best, is it not?"
"…."
"What? Why are you looking at me like that, Mr. Florian?"
"No. It is only that you called the office your home, so I thought you had finally lost your senses completely."
"…Mr. Florian, did I do something wrong to you?"
"No. Not that. Just consider it the complaint of a salaried employee stuck with a boss."
Come to think of it, what happened with the printing press?
"Ah, Mr. Florian—how is the printing press matter progressing?"
"I wondered when you would ask. For the past few days, Dr. Guillotin and British engineers have been devoted to assembling it, and they say it can now be operated steadily enough to print around thirty thousand copies per day."
Excellent. Perfect. In any era, engineers were most productive when pushed hard.
"Is there anyone among those British men worth bringing into our company?"
"…Let me see. Someone named William Murdoch is already employed by James Watt, so that will be difficult. However, a young man named Richard Trevithick is merely a mining technician, so with proper persuasion, it might be possible."
"Not bad. After work today, may I meet him once?"
"I will send word to them first."
"Is Mr. Sade writing well? I scolded him a few days ago."
"As for the magazine company, Mr. Pétion would know better than I do. Mr. Pétion."
At Mr. Florian's call, Mr. Pétion, who had been sorting documents, hurried over.
"Yes? Ah, yes. Vice President. Did you call for me?"
"The boss has something he wishes to ask."
"Mr. Pétion, how are matters progressing on the magazine side?"
"First, the general magazine you mentioned, Forbes, is scheduled to begin publication the day after tomorrow. And that… project that Editor-in-Chief Saint-Just and Mr. Sade are dedicating themselves to is scheduled for publication about three days from now."
Mr. Pétion took a notebook from his pocket and relayed several details.
Good. Very good.
"Our new gold mine—the magazines—are finally about to see the light of day."
"…Boss. There is something I am curious about."
"What is it, Mr. Florian?"
"Why did you name the magazine Forbes? Is there some special reason, or a person you drew the name from?"
"Why? 'Selected by Forbes,' 'Number one in whatever!' Does that not sound excellent?"
Mr. Florian tilted his head.
"I do not understand… Then why is Maxim called Maxim? There is no one around you named Maxim."
"Why? An adult magazine called Maxim. Does it not roll off the tongue?"
"…Sometimes, you appear rather strange, boss. It is almost like looking at Nero."
"Nero? That is excessive."
"…Running away after assigning work to others feels somewhat similar… Ah, it is nothing, boss."
"Then the two of you, devise a method to sell our magazines in America and other countries. This Nero intends to rest now."
At my words, Mr. Florian's face twisted unpleasantly.
If someone dislikes you, you might as well give them a reason to.
Accept it calmly, gentlemen.
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