Chapter 151: William in English, Guillaume in French (5) "My dear, you're going out again today? At least have a hearty breakfast before you leave."
"My dear, I don't have the leisure to sit down and eat right now. If this matter doesn't work out, even this mansion could end up mortgaged. I have to do something."
Charles Auguste Boehmer spoke to his wife as he slid a shoehorn behind his heel.
This might be the final opportunity of Boehmer's sixty-year life. If that was the case, shouldn't he gather as many people as possible and put them on a ship bound for England as quickly as he could?
"I'll be back by ten in the evening at the latest, so don't worry."
"Be careful on your way."
"Very well. I'm off."
Boehmer warmly held his wife's hand for a moment before opening the front door and stepping outside.
He took a deep breath. The cool air of autumn swept refreshingly through his lungs.
"Let's see, where should I start?"
Boehmer opened the notebook where he had written down the addresses of old friends from his days as a royal craftsman.
"I should begin with No. 31 Rue Montgautroy. Coachman! Could you give me a ride?"
"…Are you telling the truth? Monsieur Guillaume wants us?"
"Of course! Would Boehmer, the royal jeweler, speak two different words with the same mouth? Hurry and pack your things! Our suffering is over and happiness begins now! When we reach England—"
Boehmer grasped the hands of a friend he had not seen for nearly five years and shouted excitedly.
"Still… is it really right to leave the shop unattended?"
"If you don't want to come, then don't. I'll go alone. But don't complain later that I didn't take you."
"No, no, that's not what I meant—"
"Ten, nine, eight…"
"W-wait right there! I'll pack my things immediately!"
Jewelry.
"Isn't that Master Boehmer? I'm surprised you didn't starve to death!"
"Oh, Monsieur Marechal! It's been a long time! Have you been well?"
"Haha… well, I'm alive, though barely. But what brings you here?"
"I've received a job, and if you have the time, I'd like you to join me."
"Time? I'd be lucky if I don't starve to death tomorrow."
"Really? Then you can do it."
"Of course. How could I refuse?"
"Would you like to work with His Excellency the Controller-General?"
Clothing and accessories.
"Welcome! Where shall I take you, sir?"
"Do you also deliver letters?"
"Of course! Pay the fee and I'll take it anywhere except across the sea to England."
"Please deliver this letter to Monsieur Jean-Marc Vacheron in Geneva, Switzerland. If you look for the largest watch shop in Geneva, you'll find it."
"Yes, sir!"
"Who is it?"
"Are you Monsieur Vacheron?"
"That is correct."
"I've come with a letter from Monsieur Boehmer in Paris, France."
"Boehmer? Ah, the jeweler. Let me see… What? The Controller-General Guillaume de Toulon is planning a luxury boutique business? This is no small matter. Alexandre, I must go to Paris for a while."
Watches.
During his decades working for the royal court, Boehmer began gathering every connection he had ever made.
Good heavens. This rope was far stronger than I expected.
I grasped Monsieur Boehmer's hand and shook it vigorously, smiling from ear to ear.
"H-haha! Monsieur Boehmer, this is incredible! Truly incredible!"
"You flatter me, Your Excellency."
"It's astounding. Absolutely astounding."
I could not hide my amazement as I looked at the mountain of personal dossiers stacked across my desk.
In barely more than a week, he had gathered nearly a hundred talented people. Truly, after school ties, blood ties, and regional ties, the next strongest bond must be people of the same trade.
I sat down, poured wine into two glasses, and handed one to Boehmer.
"Please, take it. You've worked extremely hard."
"Thank you, Your Excellency."
We raised our glasses together and drank the wine in one swallow.
"How is it? The quality is quite good, isn't it?"
"You are absolutely correct, Your Excellency. It is truly excellent."
For a while the two of us sat quietly, enjoying the fragrance of the wine until we had finished the entire bottle.
Conversations become sincere only after a bit of alcohol. I opened the second bottle and poured Boehmer another glass.
"Monsieur Boehmer."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"In your opinion, which among these people must we absolutely take with us?"
We could not possibly bring all one hundred people. If we hired all of them, the salaries alone would be astronomical.
The best course was to select only the finest experts—people who could match a hundred ordinary workers.
"Hm. Everyone here is highly skilled, so it is difficult to rank them easily. But if Your Excellency truly intends to build what you called a 'luxury hall,' then for clothing you must bring Monsieur Marechal, and for accessories and watches you must bring Monsieur Vacheron."
"Marechal and Vacheron."
I tapped the desk lightly with my index finger before speaking again.
"Monsieur Boehmer, are those two truly as skilled as you say?"
"Marechal is the finest leather craftsman and designer in Paris. And Monsieur Vacheron is the greatest watchmaker—one of the cabinotiers—in all of Switzerland and indeed Europe."
"Oh? Then there's a reason you insist we must bring them."
A leather craftsman who was also a clothing designer, and a master watchmaker. Their value alone was more than enough to justify bringing them.
I made a note to mark those two as priority targets.
Then I tapped the desk again and continued.
"So, Monsieur Boehmer, does that mean the problem of personnel is now solved?"
Boehmer answered with a confident expression.
"Indeed, Your Excellency. With those people, the dream you imagine can certainly become reality."
"Then are all the obstacles to our business now gone?"
Boehmer flinched slightly at my question before speaking in a dark voice.
"…There is one matter that concerns me, Your Excellency."
"What is it?"
"The distribution network that once supplied us with gemstones and luxury fabrics has practically disappeared since the Revolution."
The distribution network had disappeared? What kind of thunderbolt was that?
"…Do you mean there is none at all?"
"There was one. Now there isn't."
Ah. That was troublesome.
I could feel the bridge of my nose throbbing with stress in real time.
Before the Revolution, most merchants and distributors colluded constantly. If goods were cheap, they would conspire to raise prices. Even when goods became so expensive that public resentment exploded, they never lowered them. Since every merchant participated in the collusion, consumers had no choice but to swallow the inflated prices.
After years of such ruthless collusion—enough to make Scrooge look generous—the French commoners exploded. They seized muskets from the Invalides armory and stormed the houses of those money-mad traders.
Many of the notorious merchants and distributors who had joined the collusion died under the citizens' fiery spears and righteous lead bullets. Most of the rest fled abroad with nothing but their clothes and jewelry.
Of course, as the political situation gradually stabilized, many distribution networks had begun to recover. But they were mostly for necessities. Luxury goods were out of the question.
That was inevitable. When people were starving, who had the luxury to transport luxury items? When even a single sack of wheat or a single gram of oats was lacking?
Furthermore, most of those who had handled luxury-goods distribution had been nobles of the Old Regime—so-called "reactionaries" who supported the feudal order. Even three years after the Revolution, the distribution networks for luxury raw materials still had not recovered to their former state.
So what did it mean when the distribution network was gone? It meant stable access to raw materials was impossible.
And if raw materials could not be secured steadily, the gears of production and sales could not always turn properly. The company would inevitably suffer enormous losses.
Wages and time would continue to accumulate, yet without production and sales, losses were unavoidable.
Since we had decided to pursue the luxury business, we would have to secure a distribution network somehow—or open a new one ourselves.
Fortunately, there were still enough materials left in Boehmer's warehouse for at least one round of production and sales. The real problem would come after those materials were exhausted.
After all, we could not end this business after a single season simply because we ran out of raw materials after establishing a market route.
Right, Monsieur Florian?
"…We're not even familiar with this business, and you're saying we should build a distribution network as well? That's like smashing our heads against bare stone. Is that even possible, boss?"
Our dear Monsieur Florian—
"That's why you and I should put our heads together and think about it."
"Why is it that you always start trouble and then dump the work on me?"
"We're comrades in arms, aren't we? Comrades."
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
Florian glared at me with a weary expression.
"Ahem. If you want to keep receiving a vice-president's salary, you should support the president diligently."
"…Damn. I can't argue with that."
Money truly was powerful.
Having easily suppressed the company rebellion with the power of money, Florian and I began digging through the trade ledgers we had borrowed from the Ministry of Finance.
Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, luxury fabrics, and many other items.
"Most of the gemstone mines seem to belong to the British East India Company."
"Doesn't Britain siphon enormous wealth from India?"
The more I looked at the trade ledgers and the world map, the more ridiculous it seemed.
Those British pirates had spread across the world like a plague, planting their flags on every profitable place and stamping the grotesque Union Jack onto every valuable commodity.
"No matter how I think about it, the easiest option is to source gemstones and fabrics from Britain. In fact, aside from British goods, there seems to be no stable supplier at all."
"…That's a problem."
The conclusion was obvious.
If we wanted stable access to raw materials, there was only one solution.
I looked at Florian and spoke.
"We'll have to go to Britain and open trade with the East India Company."
"That sounds fine. But what about the craftsmen besides Monsieur Boehmer who have no materials? There isn't even enough to divide among them, is there?"
I stared at the ceiling for a moment before answering.
"Monsieur Florian… have you ever heard of catalog sales?"
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