Hello World (3)

Immediately after the Derby, the majority of my schedule in London was occupied by attending socialite parties.

One might complain about why this neighborhood held parties every single day, but surprisingly, this was less than half of what it usually was. This was because the official mourning period for the Queen’s late husband meant that formal parties or balls were effectively prohibited.

However, for the British upper class, who were more sincere about parties and luxury than I had anticipated, a mourning period was merely a trivial matter. If it was difficult to hold an official gathering, holding an unofficial one was enough.

In that sense, the pretext of "welcoming the young man who became Baron Eldery's son-in-law" served as a perfect excuse for a banquet. In other words, it was no exaggeration to say that I had become a kind of magical tool with a built-in function to host parties.

"Oh my, you are much more dashing than I had heard. Baron Eldery has truly found a wonderful son-in-law."

"You are too kind."

"Someone with such excellent investment instincts as Mr. Seuret must be very interested in the markets of the Great British Empire, yes?"

As expected.

The compliments from the noblewomen were bait, and the fact that an investment solicitation followed naturally was the template for a party welcoming me. On the surface, they were smiling elegantly while clinking champagne glasses, but I could feel their eyes glistening with the three letters: 'P-O-U-N-D'.

To the British nobility, who had plenty of honor but were running dry on cash, a young American with an annual net profit of 60,000 pounds was no different from a walking Bank of England.

In a way, this scene perfectly illustrated the changing times. A noble was trying to squeeze money out of a commoner—an American, at that—while showering him with sweet talk. This would have been unimaginable even fifty years ago.

Of course, having no intention of entertaining their proposals, I smiled it off and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠diligently guarded my wallet.

"Haha, how interesting. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shall review it when I return."

"I look forward to a positive response, Mr. Seuret!"

Review, my foot. They were clearly bringing me nothing but garbage investment proposals.

As the "investment briefing hell" disguised as hospitality, which had lasted for several days, was coming to an end, I sought out my father-in-law privately to bid him farewell before my departure for America.

Thanks to me, my father-in-law, who was currently "copying" both honor and wealth at the same time, couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear. It wasn't just the joy of marrying off his daughter. He was likely most pleased with his own rising status, as he was now emerging not just as a senior member of the Liberal Party, but as a core figure.

"Especially the Derby Stakes matter. You betting on that piece of dung... no, Caractacus, and hitting a 40-to-1 return was a stroke of genius."

"As I said, I was just lucky. I didn't know it would turn out that way either."

"Whether it was luck or skill, what does it matter? The result is what counts. Thanks to you, there isn't a single table in London society where your name isn't mentioned. Everyone is desperate to see you at least once, calling you the 'Horse Racing Master from America'."

It seemed that picking a 40-to-1 winner at the Derby, of all places, was indeed no ordinary feat. To anyone else, it was clearly luck, but in these matters, how it is packaged is often more important than the actual truth.

In particular, as Speaker Parr's horse-racing fanaticism made it into the London papers, I naturally acquired the strange image of being a peerless horse-racing master who had been lying low in America.

"I don't intend to let that reputation go to waste. I've already spoken with Speaker Parr about actively utilizing this when we return."

"Utilizing it, you say?"

"The horse racing industry in America is growing, so we should swallow it up. If necessary, I might have to sell the names of Prime Minister Palmerston and the Earl of Derby."

What better marketing could there be than the title of having an eye recognized by the bigwigs of England? Especially since horse racing originated in England, and the American cultural scene, which pretends not to but secretly wants to emulate England, would surely fall for the title "Recognized by the Earl of Derby". Speaker Parr himself was living proof of that.

The Baron slapped his knee and laughed heartily.

"Hahaha! You are a businessman through and through. Good, use it to your heart's content. Those men won't mind if their names are fluttering across the New World."

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, looking at me profoundly through the smoke.

"To be honest, I was worried at first. I apologize for saying this, but when you said an American—and a commoner without a pedigree at that—would become my son-in-law, the surrounding gazes were not kind."

"I know. That is only natural."

"But look at you now. On your first visit, you met both the Prime Minister of the ruling party and the leader of the opposition, and were recognized by them both. You accomplished in just a few days what even British nobles find difficult."

The Baron placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"My choice was not wrong. Accepting you as my son-in-law seems to have been the best investment of my life."

"I have much more to show you in the future so that your conviction does not waver. You can look forward to it."

This wasn't just a polite formality; it was the truth. If he was surprised by this much, there would be far too many things to be surprised by in the future.

"Yes, you must! At this rate, when you come to London next time, are you planning to see Her Majesty the Queen or His Royal Highness the Crown Prince?"

My father-in-law laughed it off with a joke, but I only responded with a cryptic smile and a nod. Seeing me look him straight in the eye, he composed his expression and held out his hand.

"Take good care of my daughter. She is a bit overly lively, but she is a child I raised with love..."

"Do not worry. I will make her the happiest and most precious noblewoman in the world, one that no Duchess ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in London will be able to envy."

I shook my father-in-law's calloused hand and said my goodbyes. He didn't mean it literally, but when I return to London next time, many things will have changed. By then, James Seuret will not be a promising young rich man, but the world's greatest tycoon, encompassing both England and America.

Of course, to become someone whom even the Queen or the Crown Prince would desperately want to see, I must become more than just a rich man. But very thankfully, the Parliament of the Great British Empire had kindly provided me with that ladder.

It was a very rewarding business trip. As I left London, even the Thames, which felt like it would infect you with poison just by getting close, looked beautiful.

After the Civil War, Southerners were gripped by a deep sense of defeat and helplessness. Not only had they lost the war, but the black slaves were being freed and pretending to be their equals, the economy was in shambles, and even Northern capitalists were coming in to snatch up their land at bargain prices.

It was a desperate situation; it was no exaggeration to say they had become citizens of a fallen nation. The KKK had tried to suppress and crush the black population to revive the spirit of the South, but unfortunately, they couldn't act actively due to the overlapping disasters of the President's assassination and the attempted coup in Congress.

If they went around beating up black people, they might be suspected of having connections to that madman who tried to assassinate the President.

Just as they were swallowing their resentment in silence, waiting for someone to unblock this stagnant blood flow, telegrams from England began to plaster the front pages of Southern newspapers.

Articles that made Southerners gulp down a bowl of "Southern pride" poured out one after another.

"Look at that! No matter how much those Northerners ignore us, the true nobles recognize us!"

"Did you see the picture of the British Prime Minister laughing with his hand on Chairman Seuret's shoulder? Kyaaa! This is the class of the South!"

They had been crushed after losing the war, but their representative was still thriving, having gone all the way to England to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the British Prime Minister and display the spirit of the South. Yes. The South was not dead yet. As long as the cotton industry was alive, the South was not dead, and we must push for more capable figures who will make this cotton industry bloom even further.

Of course, this trend was not spontaneous.

"Chairman, three more columns praising Seuret Cotton were published this week. We conducted a poll, and your approval rating is almost akin to a religion."

"Keep it in check. If you hype me up too much, there will definitely be people who get jealous later."

I am happy to gain support, the media is happy because newspapers are selling well, and Southerners are happy because they can gain strength from reading the articles. It was the completion of a world where everyone is happy and no one gets hurt.

As the resentment toward Northern capital and the praise for me intertwined, the territorial expansion of Seuret Cotton knew no bounds. The map hanging on the wall of my office was turning redder by the day.

However, I was not blindly optimistic about the current situation. I am sustaining them by filling them with "Southern pride," but why do you think it's called "pride"? It makes you forget the pain of reality for a moment, but when the effect wears off, withdrawal symptoms are bound to follow.

To be cold about it, what I am doing is not growing the South's pie, but a monopoly structure where I eat the entire limited pie by myself. When they start coming to their senses later, someone will surely raise a question. Why is only Seuret the world's richest man when they haven't gained anything in their hands?

Of course, the majority of small farmers or the poor, who were far from being planters to begin with, wouldn't care about such things, but the landlords who lost their land or competitors who were jealous would be ready to stab me in the back at any time.

So, I need to start growing the pie. Enough so that even if I eat a lot, a sweet share can return to those around me.

I took an envelope out from deep within my desk drawer. The letter that Prime Minister Palmerston had slipped into my pocket before I left London. The intersection where the ambition of the Great British Empire and the surplus energy of America met.

"Leo, send this to the White House. Directly to President Lincoln."

"What should the content be...?"

"Just send it, and he'll contact us. And prepare a speech for Congress. I need to stir up some wind in advance."

A few days later, at the Mississippi State Capitol. I stood on the podium at a ceremony that also served as the dissolution of the Emergency Committee. The eyes of numerous lawmakers, spectators, and reporters were poured toward the podium. I opened my mouth with a feigned, solemn expression.

"Respected brothers of the South. We are struggling to stand up after overcoming the wounds of war. But alas, the road ahead is rugged, and the mountains we must climb are far too high."

Even though they had barely avoided military rule, the economy of the South itself had not recovered. The audience, facing the cold reality, became solemn.

"Northern factories are running without rest, but how long must our cotton only look toward London and Liverpool? How long must we carry this unstable structure where the entire South wobbles even if the price drops just a little!"

Most of the markets that consume Southern cotton are in Europe. But with Europe alone, no matter how much demand increases, the limits are clear. To grow the pie, this fundamental structure needs to be torn down and rebuilt.

"Cotton is the soul of our South! But the European market alone has its limits. Expanding the market so that the entire world can use our cotton is the way for our South to survive!"

"Hear, hear!"

"Across that sea, there is a land of opportunity where hundreds of millions ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of people live. If they wear clothes made from our cotton, the wealth of the South will become ten times, a hundred times what it is now!"

It wasn't just about me living well. I would open new markets and give the entire South room to breathe. The Dixie people were swept away by this sweet vision and cheered like mad.

"I, James Seuret! Together with Speaker Parr, I will do my utmost to ensure our South can pioneer new markets!"

"Kyaaaaaa!"

"James Seuret! I knew I could trust you!"

Having stirred up this frenzy bordering on madness and gathered the support of the South, I naturally received an official call from Lincoln.

- Let us have a proper discussion.

A new era, a new market, was calling to me.