I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France-Chapter 57: After modification - What is there to be afraid of for a 17-year-old child?

Chapter 57: After modification: Chapter 57 What is there to be afraid of for a 17-year-old child?

Arman’s Brad Manor is only three kilometers from Paris, and because of its convenient location, it has become the gathering place for the "Tank Alliance."

Unlike before, this time it was Francis who summoned the others.

Nikola was reluctant to come. His excuse was that the tank business had nothing to do with him; all he had to do was receive payment and release news through Le Figaro. If someone told him what to do, that would be enough; there was no need for him to attend any meetings.

The real reason was that Nikola did not believe that Francis was any kind of noble.

In Nikola’s eyes, Francis was just a tractor salesman, and Nikola didn’t need to waste his time on such a person.

But shortly after, Grevy called Nikola: "Francis thinks you should be there, Mr. Nikola!"

"Oh, what could be so important?" Nikola laughed.

"Who knows? But if he’s insisting..."

"Alright, I’ll attend. But I might leave early; he’d better keep it short!" Nikola’s tone was full of contempt for Francis.

When Nikola arrived at the manor, everyone else was already there. He did not apologize but handed his cane and hat to the servant, looking travel-worn, and sat down on the sofa without even taking off his coat: "Gentlemen, I can only stay for a while; I have an appointment with Mr. Abel in an hour!"

"We won’t waste too much of your time, Mr. Nikola!" Francis nodded to Nikola.

Nikola looked at Francis somewhat surprised. Usually, Francis was timid and humble, but now he seemed very much in charge.

Nikola glanced questioningly at Arman and Grevy, who responded with smiles.

"Here’s the thing!" said Francis. "I recently found out that Shire has built a tractor factory next to his motorcycle factory!"

There was a few seconds of silence in the living room, then suddenly laughter broke out.

Arman handed Nikola a glass of red wine and said, "As far as I know, Shire is your grandson, Mr. Francis. Are you planning to have Mr. Nikola advertise your grandson’s new factory?"

Nikola’s lips curled into a mocking smile, but he humbly said, "Very willing to serve you, Mr. Francis!"

His exaggerated behavior drew laughter from the others once again.

Francis ignored their ridicule and simply emphasized, "A tractor factory, gentlemen, and it is producing the more advanced ’Holt 75.’ It has 83 horsepower and a top speed of 24 kilometers per hour, while my tractor only has 61 horsepower and a top speed of 15 kilometers per hour! What does this make you think of?"

Arman remained unconcerned, sipping his wine.

Nikola’s smile turned into resignation; he thought Francis was seriously giving an ad pitch, surely he wasn’t serious, right?

Only Grevy put away his smile.

"Your point is, Shire intends to compete with you?" Grevy asked.

"Competing with us, gentlemen!" Francis corrected. "If Shire modifies the Holt 75 to become a tank, it will undoubtedly be faster and have a greater load capacity than the Holt 60. Which one do you think the military would prefer?"

It was only then that the others realized the seriousness of the issue, and they also understood that they had misunderstood: Shire, in Francis’ words, was not his grandson but a competitor!

Arman hesitated for a moment, then shrugged: "What can he do? We hold the industrial property rights to the tank!"

"That’s right!" Nikola said. "We still have the right to speak!"

The advantage of the newspapers was this: once Shire dared to infringe on their industrial property rights, he would immediately face media and legal attacks, even if he was the inventor.

Grevy said nothing; he seemed to have guessed the problem.

Sure enough, Francis shook his head with a smile: "You underestimate Shire. If it were as simple as you think, he wouldn’t have built this tractor factory!"

"Tell us his capabilities..." Arman said with disdain. "Do you think we should be afraid of a 17-year-old?"

Francis was momentarily speechless. He glanced incredulously at Arman—a genuine fool who was actually a party leader and a legislator!

Of course, these words couldn’t be said out loud. Francis leaned back on the sofa, took a deep breath to relax, and spoke slowly:

"Gentlemen, I have a story!"

"The 1st German Army initially advanced toward Paris. They only needed to surround Paris from the west, and Paris would be doomed."

"However, I bought food and a machine gun factory and then told Gallieni that I would provide free supplies to the 5th French Army!"

"As a result, the 5th French Army changed their retreat route and gathered at Davaz."

"The 1st German Army, pursuing the 5th French Army, changed their marching direction, thus exposing their flanks to Paris..."

Arman interrupted Francis with a smile: "Are you trying to say that you are the savior of Paris?"

"No, Mr. Arman!" Francis sat up straight, staring at Arman, and answered word by word: "It was Shire; he is the savior of Paris. He had me do all these things!"

Everyone looked at each other in astonishment. They had never known this backstory, or rather, it wasn’t just a "story."

Because the protagonist was Shire. Shire was Francis’ enemy, and Francis wouldn’t praise his own enemy, so this "story" was very likely true.

Grevy seemed to have figured something out. He looked at Francis in shock: "You mean, Shire had already modified a tank from a tractor and was waiting for the Germans at Lavaz?"

Francis nodded: "Not only that, he also trained a team of soldiers to use the tanks and commanded this unit to defeat the Germans!"

The entire room was shocked. They had always thought these were just rumors among the people.

The official propaganda was that Major Brownie had trained the troops and led them to defeat the Germans, while Shire was just the inventor of the tank.

Francis added: "I saw it with my own eyes. Major Brownie merely followed Shire’s instructions. I think the tricycle battle was the same!"

"Unbelievable!" Grevy stood up without realizing it.

Shire was just a 17-year-old boy, yet he had such strategy and scheming, as well as those astonishing inventive ideas. How did he manage it?

Grevy had always known that Shire was excellent and outstanding, but he hadn’t expected him to be this brilliant. This was far beyond his imagination.

He muttered to himself: "If Shire is an opponent, he’s a fearsome one!"

That was exactly what Francis intended to convey:

"Now, do you understand what kind of enemy you’re facing?"

"Do you still think he’s just a 17-year-old kid with nothing to fear?"

Without waiting for others to respond, Francis continued:

"In front of him, tank property rights are insignificant, gentlemen!"

"If my guess is correct, he will soon develop a new tank, a new model based on the Holt 75."

"This tank will likely bypass all industrial property rights, and it might even be an entirely new tank. Whatever it is, it will undoubtedly be far more advanced than our tanks!"

Grevy nodded slightly: "Then our tanks will become obsolete, and we might not sell a single one!"

Arman sat on the sofa in a daze, contemplating the consequences. Losing money was a minor issue. If things progressed this way, the plan to increase right-wing influence and control in the military would undoubtedly turn into a mirage.