Chapter 163: The Crown's Jewels (7) "Do you think this will keep me from attracting attention?"
"Of course, sir. It's a very common design on the streets, so it won't draw anyone's notice."
Hmm. If Mr. Mareschal says so—he has a good eye for clothing—then it must be true.
I left the office wearing the modest dark-black suit Mr. Mareschal prepared for me, a bowler hat on my head, and even a cane that I normally would not have given a second glance.
"Tsk."
When I inhaled deeply, the air rushed into my lungs—cold and salty, just as one would expect from an island nation.
Cutting through the London air, I leaned lightly on my cane and walked toward the London Stock Exchange.
Mr. Mayer said the exchange had already been thoroughly wrecked according to our plan, but I still felt uneasy unless I saw it with my own eyes. It was a small habit left over from getting stabbed in the back rather spectacularly in my previous life.
And besides, a stock exchange collapsing from overwork—anyone who studied economics would consider it a rare spectacle worth witnessing.
There's an interesting stock exchange in London!
Thus Guillaume—no, Guillombayashi Toulonkon—took light steps forward in plain clothes.
"Ahem. I came to take a look at the trading floor."
"…"
"Excuse me?"
Tap, tap, tap.
After asking several times with no reply, I tapped the counter with my hand.
The employee—whose dark circles had practically sunk beneath his nose—finally raised his half-dead body and pointed at the next counter.
"…Go over there."
"Thank you."
When I went to the next counter he indicated, a zombie was staggering around changing numbers on the wooden board.
Judging by the papers in his hand and the way he kept switching the numbers, he seemed to be updating stock prices using documents sent from other trading teams.
But the stack of paperwork beside him had already piled up to nearly a meter high. It had clearly exceeded what they could possibly handle.
"Tsk."
I swallowed unconsciously.
Watching people collapse from overwork made me feel a little softhearted. But what sin had I committed? If I had any fault, it was simply making a decision for the future of our company.
Anyway, it's not my fault. Right.
Firmly strengthening my resolve, I left the stock exchange—where chaos, destruction, and oblivion were sweeping through—and entered a nearby café. If I stayed there any longer, I felt like I might be consumed by the dark aura myself.
"What would you like?"
"Something simple."
"Very well."
As I enjoyed the subtle aroma of the coffee the waiter brought, I looked out at that Sodom and Gomorrah of a trading floor and could not help thinking that I had used my head quite well.
The children attack the exchange with junk-stock transactions, and I pay them wages. The children then spend those wages at Isak Convenience Meal. I take that money again and use it to hire the children for another attack, pay the wages again, and repeat.
There was a reason I paid the children exactly ten pence.
If I wanted to cheat them, I could easily pay less. Honestly, buying a single sheet of paper on someone's behalf does not really deserve much money.
But ten pence is exactly the price of one Isak Convenience Meal. No more, no less.
Children who often go hungry even during their lunch break can spend ten minutes running an errand and get a warm meal.
It's like earning the price of instant ramen just for doing a quick errand while hungry.
Under this miraculous formula, aside from unavoidable costs like taxes and rent, I could bombard the stock exchange with relentless attacks without suffering any real losses.
The traders must be going insane.
If they block stock trading itself, the reputation of the exchange will collapse. But if they block specific junk stocks, the companies behind those "junk stocks" will certainly protest.
In the end, the stock exchange can only take endless jabs from somewhere—jabs that cannot be parried or blocked—until it falls into a groggy stupor.
To put it simply: growing children eat warm meat and fresh bread, I lose almost no money except transaction fees, and the exchange controlled by the East India Company gets hammered day after day.
What a beautiful cycle.
Tsk. Maybe I should have gone into finance instead of business in my previous life. If I had, I might have become the Korean Warren Buffett.
This was all my university professor's fault—and my platoon leader's too.
— Mr. Gichan, I read your business plan, and it has great potential! I have a junior in the business development department of a large corporation. I'm sure he could help you.
— Hey, Gichan. What are you planning to do after you get discharged from the military?
— Before I enlisted, a friend and I were planning a business. I'll probably take a leave of absence and try running it.
— A business, huh? Yeah, you'll do well. Hey, if I can't find a job later, you'll let me join your company, right?
— Of course! If you can't get a job after discharge, come find me! I'll keep a spot open for you, sir. Hahaha!
"Still… if it weren't for their encouragement, I wouldn't have gotten this far."
The man my professor introduced to me drained my finances dry, and I never kept my promise to my platoon leader—but things were not so bad even now.
At least I could confidently tell the people I once lived with that this was how I was living now.
Breathing in the faint aroma of coffee along with the lingering scent of the past, I spent a quiet moment in the café.
"We secured 514 shares in Liverpool."
"Two hundred fifty shares in Norfolk."
"There's nothing left to gather in Dover. Once we finish here, we'll move to Cardiff."
Thanks to the boss's scheme, Mayer Rothschild and his three sons extended the wicked Jewish-Guillaume's grasp and began buying up East India Company shares scattered across Britain at tremendous speed.
Previously, they had used multiple layers of proxies and sub-proxies to purchase stock. Now they only needed a single proxy, making it far easier to deceive the exhausted eyes of the exchange.
Everything was proceeding rapidly and according to plan.
Everyone believed the operation was unfolding perfectly.
Except the family patriarch, Mayer Rothschild.
He was frowning.
"Father, what is it? Isn't everything going according to your plan and the boss's?"
His eldest son, Amschel, asked in confusion.
The Eye of Sauron—the stock exchange that once monitored every move of the Rothschild family and Ears of the Nation—had long since collapsed under exhaustion.
To Amschel, it seemed there were no more obstacles.
"It's because our opponent is not an easy one."
"Not easy…?"
"Baring, of course. I knew he wasn't ordinary, but his mental fortitude is truly exceptional."
Mayer spoke to his sons with a deep frown.
Francis Baring.
Governor of Baring Bank and senior director of the East India Company.
A remarkable figure who had acquired two trading firms at the age of seventeen, used them as a foundation to establish Baring Bank, and built it into Britain's greatest bank—one so prestigious that the royal family granted it the title Royal.
True to that reputation, Baring displayed extraordinary endurance even while Ears of the Nation was practically burning down the doors of his house.
"Endurance?"
"From the day we attacked, the movement of Baring-affiliated companies in the market has clearly slowed. He must have realized something unusual was happening and chosen to restrain himself. Yet he still hasn't made a move. That level of patience is remarkable."
Mayer clicked his tongue.
It was not difficult to retreat cautiously when something strange happened in the market. Even pulling back after taking several blows to understand the situation was normal.
In street fights, people raise their guard to prepare a counterattack.
But taking blow after blow while waiting patiently for the moment to strike back—that was not easy.
Human beings had emotions, after all.
Yet Baring had endured nearly two months of attacks without responding.
Mayer could not help but admire it.
"Even so, he has clearly fallen into our trap, hasn't he?"
"For now, we have won. But if one day we become enemies again… who knows what will happen."
The dagger the boss used to stab the East India Company—with its complicated network of affiliated companies—was something pulled from an obscure corner of accounting law.
It was so refined it looked as though it could draw blood just by touching it.
Even Baring would have to expose his belly to such an attack at least once.
But if they ever faced Baring again in the future, and if Baring was not a fool, then tricks like this would never work again.
Next time, it would have to be an honest duel.
That future worried Mayer.
After all, financiers were people who invested every action with an eye toward the distant future.
"For now, we should focus on the present. Amschel, how much have we gathered?"
"We should reach the target by tomorrow."
"Good. Worry about the future later."
Mayer summoned a messenger and handed him a short letter.
"Deliver this to Sir Richard Wellesley. Tell him the time has come."
"Yes, Mr. Mayer."
Mid-February, 1792.
Leadenhall Street.
London office of the East India Company.
The heavy door made of high-quality North Sea timber burst open, and a group of men rushed inside.
"W-who are you people!"
The company clerk sitting at the desk jumped up in shock.
"Are you police!?"
The men simply exchanged glances and ignored him.
Angered, the clerk stormed out from behind the desk and pointed a finger at them.
"This is private property of the East India Company! Police searches without a warrant are unconstitutional!"
"Oh? Is that so?"
A burly man who seemed to be the leader stepped forward.
"Of course! This is a clear violation of corporate property rights and a threat to the free market! Withdraw your officers immediately!"
The clerk puffed out his chest confidently. He assumed the police captain was backing down because of his argument.
Police were crude fellows. If you spoke to them forcefully, they usually crawled away with their tails between their legs.
But the burly captain stroked his chin and smiled mockingly.
"In that case, it should be perfectly fine if a company with the proper rights conducts the audit instead."
"…What?"
"We're from the affiliated company, Price Accounting Firm. Under the authority of an affiliated company, we need to inspect your office. Step aside."
"An affiliated company? I've never heard of it!"
"Then you're hearing about it now."
At the captain's nod, the men behind him grabbed the clerk and tossed him aside.
"Gah!"
"You've made others cry tears of blood before. Time for you to shed a few tears yourself! Hahaha!"
What were these people? Not police? Gangsters?
"I'll call the police! Leave now if you don't want to be arrested!"
"What nonsense. We're simply exercising legitimate corporate authority. Isn't that right, gentlemen?"
"""Manager Oudinot is absolutely right! Hahaha!"""
Laughing noisily, the men began stuffing every document in the office into blue boxes.
"The boss said he'll treat us to a big drink after we finish today! Move fast so we can go celebrate!"
"""Yeah!!"""
"W-what on earth is happening…"
The employees of the East India Company could do nothing but watch as their workplace was completely wrecked.
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