The Cotton Empire (2)

It was a startling reality that those who had caught the scent of money in the North were already in the process of buying up Southern assets.

Honestly, Americans—their sense of smell for profit is truly terrifying, isn't it?

Their thought process was simple.

The South was collapsing in real-time, but the demand for cotton itself remained untouched. This meant that as long as they bought at rock-bottom prices now, they were guaranteed not to lose money.

With this logic, Northern capitalists flooded in to secretly purchase Southern assets, yet the South ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠remained oblivious. The "Southern Normalization Show" that Chairman Pharr and I were putting on had captured everyone's attention, effectively masking the presence of these carpetbaggers.

In that sense, the fact that Carnegie and Rockefeller had begun buying up land on a massive scale had, quite unintentionally, become a genuine service to the South.

Of course, my reputation—having suddenly become the one to report this situation and cry out for the protection of Southern assets—had skyrocketed, piercing through the clouds and reaching the stratosphere.

"How on earth did you know?"

Nathan Bedford Forrest, who had rushed over with a newspaper in hand, was trembling all over. The emotion in his eyes was not mere surprise; it was the awe of a devotee witnessing insight that bordered on clairvoyance.

"You must have been incredibly busy with the Emergency Committee, yet you even managed to detect those Northern hyenas infiltrating our assets! It’s truly goosebump-inducing."

"Exactly! If it weren't for Mr. Seuret, we would have been forced to watch those Yankee bastards strip our assets bare without knowing a thing."

The KKK executives who had accompanied Forrest—the six "Grand Earthworms"—poured out endless praise.

To be honest, even I hadn't realized the Northern capital had infiltrated so extensively. However, it had already become accepted as an established fact in the South that I had compiled information gathered during my committee activities and made it public.

Right now, not just the KKK, but other Southern legislators and journalists were moved to tears, cheering on my activities.

Ah... yes. Indeed, I am a man who loves the South more than anyone else in the world.

How could I stand by and watch those Yankee bastards try to strip the land of the South, where I reside? The cotton fields of this land are all mine—they are the pride and soul of our Southern people.

"I simply lost sleep worrying about my homeland, and while investigating various things, I happened to stumble upon it. We cannot stand by and watch this land, which our Southern brothers protected with their blood, be handed over for a few scraps of paper. Even if we lost the war, we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠must maintain our pride."

"Ah..."

Forrest bit his lip, overcome with emotion. A shadow who does not reveal himself, moving solely for the South without anyone knowing. This was, after all, the true image of a leader they had dreamed of.

"Truly... a dragon who protects the South from the shadows. The wisdom of the Invisible Dragon is beyond the reach of a mere mortal like me."

No, that's not quite right, though the rest is fine.

"The Invisible Dragon! What a perfectly fitting title!"

"A guardian who protects us from the unseen!"

"The dragon among dragons leading our Grand Dragon!"

Yeah, go ahead and enjoy it while you can. If you guys are happy, what am I supposed to do?

Regardless, thanks to this happening, a strange craze swept across the South. Newspapers headlined the warnings of Northern capital intrusion daily, and the terrified—or perhaps enraged—Southern landowners eventually created a slogan:

"Listen, President Seuret. Please acquire my farm. Those dirty Yankee bastards offered a good price, but I can't bring myself to take their filthy money!"

"That's right! The only person who can protect our family's pride is President Seuret. Please, buy it!"

Even the banks, unable to ignore such pressure and public opinion, quietly leaked lists of landowners who were asking for loans to me.

Instead of picking up guns in anger like during the Civil War, everyone was uniting to overcome this crisis. How beautiful and touching this patriotism was.

So, this is what it means to unite hearts, isn't it?

To reward their precious and desperate hearts, I tucked the land deeds—purchased at a price shaved down by "patriotic discounts"—deep into my safe.

Thus, a company managed by a true Southern patriot, Seuret Cotton, was truly becoming the pride of the South.

"...But aren't 95% of the employees here Black people like us?"

"Yeah... do those people even know that fact while they're cheering?"

Ben and Henry, having seen the article in the Southern newspaper praising Seuret Cotton, blinked in confusion, wondering what on earth was going on.

As the status of Seuret Cotton rose, the treatment of the Black employees working for the company—which had suddenly become the pride of the South—was also becoming vastly different from that of other Black people.

It goes without saying that just because Southerners liked James Seuret, it didn't mean they liked the Black people under him. Some white people thought that if the master looked good, the dog he raised also looked good, so they were better than other Black people.

However, the white people of the South in this era were incarnations of discrimination, born into this land with the supreme command to ignore every action and word of Black people.

Whether they were free men or made good money, their algorithm was that if the skin color was dark, they had to be despised.

Of course, since Black people these days would squirm if you openly discriminated against or bullied them, more delicate and subtle harassment was needed. The Dixies began to exert their creativity to the extreme to make the lives of Black people more difficult.

"We only sell goods to customers who know how to read. It's store policy."

"But... I don't know how to read..."

"Then, unfortunately, I cannot sell you food."

Of course, it was no problem at all for a white hillbilly standing right next to them, who couldn't even write his own name, to buy liquor. The rules were like rubber bands, applied only to those with dark skin.

"The carriage is full. Can't you see?"

"But the seats over there are completely empty?"

"They look full to my eyes. If you don't like it, buy your own carriage and ride that."

Trains and ships were no different. They were often kicked out for "not having tickets" even when they offered to pay, and being forced to ride in the cargo hold was routine. It even happened frequently that Seuret Cotton employees who had booked first-class tickets were pushed out by the station staff's local hostility.

Every time that happened, Seuret would fire off lawsuits for obstruction of business and administer "financial therapy," but this alone was not enough. Writing lawsuits every time was a chore, and above all, the problem was that the morale of the employees suffering on the front lines was being broken.

Seuret decided to introduce a more intuitive and essential solution.

'I'll just make the excuse I used last time a reality.'

The Seuret Cotton uniform, which had been used to "educate" a tailor in the past, was issued to all employees.

So that no one would fail to recognize them.

All Seuret Cotton employees were issued dark navy uniforms with "Seuret Cotton" embroidered in white on the back and chest.

The effect was immediate.

"Get out! How dare a nigger step into my store... oh?"

The store owner, who had been about to rush in with a broom, hesitated. The clear white letters on the dark uniform of the Black man in front of him stood out. It wasn't just about the Black man; if he made an enemy of the company behind that guy, he would just be inviting unnecessary trouble for himself.

If you antagonized Seuret, the hero of the South, not only would it be impossible to receive support from judges, but if you were unlucky, you could be mistaken for a rebel supporting someone like Albert or Booth.

Moreover, the fact that those who looked down on and discriminated against Black people harbored a contradictory desire to admire Seuret, who reigned above them, also played a part.

"Ahem, ahem. Well... I'm selling this out of respect for President Seuret. Got it?"

With a groveling excuse, the goods were placed in the hands of the Black employee. As this happened a few times, Seuret Cotton employees didn't take off their company uniforms even on their days off. No, they actually cherished the uniforms like treasures and walked the streets proudly wearing them.

In the Black community, the Seuret Cotton uniform was not just a work uniform. It was an armor of the Holy Spirit that deflected the absurd discrimination of white people, and a symbol of success that elevated one's status the moment it was worn.

White people also activated a logic of miracles to protect their own mental health.

'This isn't treating a nigger well. It's showing respect to President Seuret.'

'Right, you can't treat the parts of a great company carelessly.'

One day, as this precarious compromise continued, inside a rattling train car, a white man who seemed to be from out of town approached a Black man sitting in a seat with a menacing expression.

"Hey, move. Are your eyes blind? This is where people sit, not where animals sit. Who are you to be sitting here so shamelessly?"

As the surrounding passengers watched with bated breath, the young Black man, Nick, did not panic and slowly straightened his clothes.

"Who am I, you ask?"

He then tapped the badge on his chest.

"I'm a Seuret Cotton employee. Does that answer your question?"

"...Seuret Cotton?"

The white man's pupils wavered as he looked back and forth between the badge and the Black man's face.

A moment later.

"Damn it. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠If you're a Seuret Cotton employee, wear your uniform so it's visible!"

Realizing the man was not someone he could mess with, he disappeared into another car as if fleeing.

A small gasp erupted among the passengers, and Nick, sitting in his seat, crossed his legs with a feigned air of arrogance.

My success story began after the Seuret Cotton uniforms and badges were issued. While it couldn't be said that they were completely equal to white people, the Black group was now one that even white people could not easily ignore. Seuret Cotton was clearly carving out its own position.

After introducing the uniforms, employee satisfaction hit a new high every day, and naturally, my desk began to pile up with things that were more like love letters than "letters of heart."

"Ahem, ahem. My, I didn't even tell them to do this, why are they all like this?"

I was reading the letters with a satisfied smile, trying to suppress the corners of my mouth from reaching my ears, when the office door burst open and Cecilia walked in, fluttering a piece of paper.

"James! Are you busy?"

"No, I was just reading some love letters from the employees. What's up?"

As I cleared the mountain of letters to the side, Cecilia revealed the hand she had been hiding behind her back with a flourish.

"What do you think this is?"

It was a card decorated with gold leaf on high-quality linen paper, looking expensive to anyone's eyes.

"Don't tell me... a party invitation? What charity party is it this time?"

"No! You're wrong. Here, look."

My eyes widened as I took the card she held out.

"The war is mostly settled now, and you're no longer a slave owner, right? Father is insisting that we shouldn't delay the ceremony any longer."

"Ah..."

"And since it's his only daughter's wedding, he says he won't tolerate us doing it roughly in some corner of the American countryside. He gave strict orders to hold it grandly in London."

Well, Baron Eldery is a key figure in the British ruling party, after all. For such a nobleman's daughter to get married, holding a modest ceremony in a region where war was raging just a few months ago wouldn't be good for the family's face.

It's not bad for me either. No, it's actually good.

It wouldn't be a bad idea to go to London and firmly establish ties with the British political scene while I'm at it. If Seuret Cotton is to grow into a global enterprise, I need to utilize British finance and markets more aggressively.

I nodded and toyed with the card.

"Fine. Let's go to London as your father says. But... who did you send these invitations to? I need to know the scale to prepare."

"Hmm... I sent them mainly to Father's acquaintances. First of all, Lord Henry John Temple—Prime Minister Palmerston—said he would come."

"...The Prime Minister?"

"Yes. And Foreign Secretary Russell and Chancellor of the Exchequer Gladstone also replied that they would definitely attend. Oh, and the Duke of Somerset said he would clear his Admiralty schedule to come."

The Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and First Lord of the Admiralty. It was surprising that the key heavyweights moving the British cabinet were coming to my wedding, but it wasn't entirely unexpected.

However.

"Besides them, quite a few members of the House of Lords will likely come... Oh! I almost forgot. The Earl of Derby and Benjamin Disraeli said they would come to congratulate us too. Isn't that strange?"

"...Who?"

My eyes, which had been reading the text on the invitation, froze at the names I hadn't even imagined. If my memory and knowledge were correct, those were figures from the Conservative Party, not the ruling party.

"Yes, Father was also troubled, but we can't tell them not to come when they want to congratulate us, right? And surely, nothing will happen at a wedding."

Key figures of the opposition party insisting on showing their faces ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the wedding of a former slave owner?

No, no, that can't be. Surely, high-ranking British power brokers wouldn't commit the indecency of engaging in partisan fighting at someone else's wedding.

Please, just congratulate us quietly and leave. Please.