The Avatar of Justice (2)

To 19th-century Americans, slavery was an unbearable shackle.

Northerners opposed the institution, yet they still endured European criticism labeling their nation as a barbaric state that tolerated slavery.

Southerners faced an impossible dilemma: without slavery, their economy would collapse, yet outsiders who contributed not a single cent demanded its immediate abolition.

Of course, they manufactured every conceivable justification and twisted logic to rationalize their reality. In the end, the South was thoroughly beaten by the North, and slavery vanished from the United States.

Yet if one viewed the situation with cold objectivity, America had every right to feel wronged.

Nations like Britain, France, and Germany sneered at the United States, calling its people savages who still dealt in human chattel. They framed America as the sole Christian civilization that defended slavery.

Was this true?

The answer was, naturally, no.

Spain, which currently ruled Cuba—the very island the South had its eyes on—had maintained a perfectly functional slave system from ancient times until the present day.

Beyond that, both the Netherlands and Portugal were still openly operating slave economies even at the outbreak of the American Civil War.

Once the war ended, the Netherlands quietly abolished slavery in Suriname and the Antilles. However, they displayed remarkable pettiness by attaching a splendid little clause requiring freed slaves to perform compulsory labor for another ten years.

Even so, they were practically saints compared to Portugal, which continued to uphold slavery in its African colonies. The Portuguese had promised to emancipate their slaves within twenty years, but only a fool in Africa would believe such a claim.

In reality, Portuguese slavery persisted to this day. Yet because no one cared about their African holdings, they escaped international condemnation.

When Spain was added to the equation, it became clear that the European powers had no moral ground to criticize the United States.

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Nevertheless, America was painted as a pack of traitors who had abandoned divine justice. No wonder their mood was less than pleasant.

“Governor Orr’s words do carry some weight. Quite a few people in the South are displeased that Spain still controls Cuba.”

After the Southern congressmen—who had suddenly reinvented themselves as human rights crusaders dedicated to rescuing Black people from oppression—departed, Chairman Farrar chose his words with care. Even so, he did not completely dismiss their position.

“So you’re saying we should become the righteous South that champions Black liberation? Are you serious?”

I personally didn’t mind, but could they really plaster their faces with that much iron?

“Hmm… this is rather a delicate issue. Right after the war ended, quite a few Southerners actually considered emigrating to Cuba. In fact, many openly supported Spanish rule over the island…”

“But the situation has completely reversed now, hasn’t it?”

Human psychology is a truly treacherous thing.

Immediately after the war, when the Southern economy lay in ruins and every foundation had crumbled, they looked at Cuba with pure envy. Those people are still living large off slave labor while we suffer like this? The sense of deprivation was overwhelming. Countless individuals packed their bags and tried to flee to Cuba.

But what about now?

“Thanks to my Serget Cotton, cotton exports have already surpassed pre-war levels. The Southern economy is stabilizing faster than ever before. Once their bellies are full and their backs are warm, they finally notice what’s happening next door.”

We fought a war to preserve slavery, got beaten like dogs, and nearly fell into the abyss.

Yet those Spanish bastards are sucking up all the honey without paying any price?

Huh? That’s infuriating.

Dixies were not saintly enough to simply stare at forbidden fruit. Their average disposition was to chop down the entire tree rather than merely steal the persimmons.

Having repented and become good boys, they now demanded that others also receive a sound thrashing and be forcibly converted. A truly splendid display of resentment.

“And as you know, Mr. Chairman, every single person shouting that we must save Cuba is a shareholder in our company.”

“Haha, is there anyone among the Southern propertied class above a certain level who doesn’t own Serget Cotton stock?”

Just as Farrar said, there wasn’t a single fool with money in the South who hadn’t bought Serget Cotton shares. Why would they? Simply holding the stock made the price rise every month and printed money like a machine.

To them, Serget Cotton had transcended the goose that laid golden eggs. It was a literal dollar-duplicating device.

The more the company prospered, the more their assets skyrocketed, and the quarterly dividends defied imagination.

Therefore, the reason they suddenly began screaming for Cuban liberation was painfully obvious.

Once Cuba escaped Spain’s grasp, Southern capital would flood in first. The company leading the charge would be my Serget Cotton. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Share prices would soar, and by touting how they had saved the Southern economy, their political approval ratings would rise as well. What could be a happier business than that?

It was hardly surprising they had suddenly donned the mask of human rights warriors.

“I won’t deny that Cuba is an appetizing target. However, Mr. Chairman, I oppose immediately annexing Cuba under the American flag.”

“Oh? That’s unexpected. I thought you’d want to swallow it whole right away.”

“You have to break up a choking morsel before you eat it. A hasty merger would only increase the political burden. The racial issues are complicated too. First, we should support independence and establish a pro-American regime. Absorption can happen later—slowly, naturally. There’s no rush.”

“So you’re still saying we should absorb it eventually.”

The real question was not whether to annex Cuba, but how.

Chairman Farrar nodded, seemingly in agreement. Untangling the complicated knot that intertwined political and economic problems would require touching more than just one or two areas.

“And though no one has mentioned it, we must also consider public sentiment in Louisiana.”

“The sugar planters?”

“Yes. If Cuba becomes American territory and the tariff barriers disappear, cheap Cuban sugar will flood the market. The Louisiana sugar farms that have only just begun reconstruction will all wither and die. We cannot ignore their backlash.”

“Hmm… that is indeed troublesome. It could spark conflict within the South.”

“That’s why I’ve come up with one possible solution.”

If they couldn’t compete, then they simply needed to create a structure where competition wasn’t necessary.

“The Louisiana plantation owners and Serget Cotton will form a consortium to devour the sugar industry. We provide the capital, they provide the technology and manpower, and together we purchase shares in Cuba’s liberated sugar sector.”

If we could control Cuban production, the Louisiana farms would survive, Serget Cotton would grow even richer, and Southern influence would be solidified.

It was a move perfectly befitting the title of a patriotic corporation that served the South.

“An excellent idea. If we do that, those Louisiana fellows won’t oppose it—they’ll beg us to start immediately.”

Chairman Farrar, who bore the responsibility of coordinating opinion across the entire South, nodded with a much brighter expression. If they could claim to protect domestic industry while expanding abroad, every member of the Southern Democrats would agree.

“Finally, the most important task remains.”

“Securing the government’s approval?”

“No, that will naturally follow. First, we must silence Europe—especially Britain and France.”

“Indeed… if we can preemptively block their intervention, nothing would be better.”

“Exactly. Realistically, if we move to intervene in Cuba, Europe will foam at the mouth and throw a fit. But if we strike first and shape public opinion, they won’t be able to act even if they want to.”

The moral high ground that the European great powers had so cherished throughout the 19th century.

We would now turn the very justification they had gleefully used to beat America with back against them.

“We’ll slip some money to the newspapers in London and Paris and have them raise a fuss. They can denounce Spain as a barbaric nation and a disgrace to Christianity for still operating slavery.”

“That sounds immensely satisfying. So we’re returning the exact treatment we received?”

If the British or French governments showed any sign of siding with Spain, we could thunder at them with solemn dignity:

If anyone other than America—especially the South—said such words, would Britain’s abolitionists stay silent?

If I were a respectable British citizen, I could never tolerate such humiliation.

“Good. Very good. Then we’ll report this proposal to His Excellency the President and obtain his approval.”

“…Pardon? Me?”

“Of course. You will go and deliver the report yourself.”

Had our dear Chairman’s memory grown hazy?

I am the Asian trade advisor, not the Caribbean one. Or had Cuba somehow relocated to Asia?

“Mr. Chairman, this is clearly an issue the Southern Democrats should push as official party policy. Wouldn’t it look better if a Democratic congressman went to coordinate? Must it really be me?”

After all, I could simply pull the strings from behind and still collect every last crumb. Why should I have to go in person and deal with the hassle?

Besides, I had already been meeting Lincoln far too frequently lately. Any more and it might invite unnecessary suspicion.

Yet Chairman Farrar shook his head with a mysterious smile, as if he could see straight through my thoughts.

“That’s precisely why you should go. You stand to gain the most from this affair. It is only proper.”

…When he hits me with cold, hard facts like that, I have no room to argue.

He still couldn’t tell one horse from another, yet somehow his political tongue had grown remarkably sharp.

Cuba had always been the most important overseas territory in the Spanish Empire, and its governor-general wielded correspondingly enormous power.

He controlled both civil and military administration, could expel anyone without trial, and held authority to censor all publications and mail.

There was only one condition for exercising such absolute authority:

Send as much money as possible back to the mother country.

As long as the gold kept flowing, Madrid turned a blind eye to whatever corruption the governor-general committed in Cuba.

Naturally, Cuban governors squeezed every last drop of wealth they could, sent the required tribute to Spain, and pocketed the rest. It was the standard practice.

A truly paradoxical position—essentially a temporary emperor.

The current Governor-General of Cuba and Captain General, Domingo Dulce, was no exception.

Under normal circumstances he could have reigned like a sovereign of a small kingdom, but with the mother country’s finances on the brink of bankruptcy, he faced pressure more severe than anyone else.

“…So this is the directive sent from Madrid?”

Dulce let out a hollow laugh as he reread the urgent dispatch from Madrid.

“Eight million? What kind of dog’s name is that? Even if Cuba is a land of gold, do they think real gold actually grows there?!”

Crash!

Unable to contain himself any longer, the Governor-General hurled a crystal inkwell at the wall. Dark blue ink oozed grotesquely down the expensive wallpaper, but the adjutants lined up in the room didn’t dare make a sound.

Spain’s situation had deteriorated to the point where such outrageous demands were being issued.

The ambitious re-annexation of the Dominican Republic had ended in humiliating defeat at the hands of local guerrillas, wasting vast sums of war funds. The Pacific War against Chile and Peru had become a money-devouring monster, scraping the Spanish treasury down to the bone.

The only colony still generating profit was Cuba.

But there were limits to how much blood one could squeeze from a stone.

“We already raised taxes last year and the Creoles nearly revolted! If we squeeze them any harder, my head will roll!”

Sugar prices were already far below previous levels, and the plantation owners’ discontent was reaching the heavens.

And now they wanted to raise the target to eight million pesos?

Eight million pesos was roughly eight million dollars in American currency, or 1.6 million British pounds—an absurdly enormous sum.

This was no different from ordering the Governor-General to wring out every last drop, endure a torrent of curses, and then step down next year.

Yet no matter how much he raged, refusing Madrid’s demand would result in immediate dismissal.

While he sat there helplessly chewing on his cigar, an adjutant cautiously approached with a silver tray.

“Your Excellency, a letter has arrived through the United States consulate.”

“America? They’re not raising tariffs again, are they?”

“No, sir. This is a business proposal sent by a private enterprise called Serget Cotton, with the approval of the American government.”

“Serget… Cotton?”

Dulce frowned.

He had heard the name often lately, but he couldn’t fathom why a cotton trader would send him a business proposal involving Cuba.

“Isn’t Serget Cotton just some backwater Southern outfit that sells cotton? And they dare send a letter directly to me, the Governor-General?”

“It is currently the largest enterprise in the American South and is said to effectively dominate the Southern economy. The chairman’s name is James Serget.”

“James Serget… how old is he?”

“We estimate he is twenty-nine or thirty this year.”

The moment he heard “twenty-nine,” Dulce’s eyebrows twitched violently.

“What? Is this a joke? A man not even thirty is the chairman?”

A green, wet-behind-the-ears brat—and a mere merchant at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that—dared request a private audience with him, the representative of the Spanish Empire?

This was a clear diplomatic discourtesy and deception.

“Those insolent Dixie bastards must be blind. Tear up this worthless scrap of paper right—”

“Your Excellency, please calm yourself and read the contents first.”

The adjutant, who would normally have echoed the Governor-General’s mood, urgently grabbed Dulce’s arm.

“This man James Serget is no ordinary figure.”

“No matter how much money he makes, he’s still just a merchant showing off—”

“Didn’t Russia sell Alaska to the United States recently? The purchase price of 6.2 million dollars was financed by Serget Cotton purchasing government bonds in a single lump sum.”

“……What?”

The hand that had been about to rip the letter froze in midair.

“Not the government budget, but a single company paid that enormous sum in cash?”

“Yes. It is confirmed fact.”

A brief silence fell.

6.2 million dollars.

That was nearly eighty percent of the eight million pesos he was currently agonizing over sending to Madrid.

Was there a single financier in Spain capable of paying such an amount without blinking?

Not even the greatest British aristocrats could easily produce such a sum.

Dulce hurriedly unfolded the letter he had nearly destroyed.

The moment he read the proposal written inside, a wave of gratitude toward the adjutant who had stopped him washed over him.

“Haaah…!”

A gasp escaped Dulce’s lips.

Advance payment.

With this, he could immediately shut the mouths of those old wolves howling from Madrid.

No, it was more than that. This was an achievement that could earn him the crown of “the competent Governor-General who resolved the colonial fiscal crisis.”

Of course, the conditions demanded in return were by no means light.

Designation of an exclusive Serget docking zone and warehouse site within Havana harbor for fifty years, rent-free.

Exemption from acquisition taxes and full administrative support for farms and sugar mills invested in by Serget Cotton.

Under normal circumstances he would have jumped up and screamed about national wealth leaking abroad, but right now those conditions looked like perfectly reasonable business expenses.

What did it matter if he gave away a corner of the harbor? Was a little tax reduction coming out of his own pocket?

The important thing was that this Dixie tycoon could resolve the crushing pressure of eight million pesos in one fell swoop.

“I must report to Madrid immediately that this agreement must be concluded.”

Who had resolved the fiscal deficit and attracted American capital to revitalize the Cuban economy?

It was him.

With this single document, his term would be extended by three years—no, five years.

“Your Excellency, what shall I do? Shall I send a reply?”

“Of course! Tell them we must meet as soon as possible!”

Dulce shot up from his seat.

“And immediately dispatch agents to thoroughly investigate Chairman Serget’s preferences. Prepare the highest-class banquet. If necessary, provide women—anything at all. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Remember this: under no circumstances must Chairman Serget be dissatisfied with our reception.”

The Governor-General, who had moments ago been calling the man a mere brat, was already standing before a mirror, straightening his disheveled uniform and adjusting his medals to their most flattering positions.

“By the way… did you say Chairman Serget is coming in person?”

“Yes. He asked whether it would be acceptable for him to arrive personally, accompanied by his negotiation team and executives.”

The fact that the chairman himself was coming—and bringing his executives along—delighted Dulce more than anything.

As expected, men of business knew how to show proper respect.

The Governor-General could not stop smiling as he imagined how he would present this contract to Madrid as entirely his own achievement.