Chapter 59
Chapter 59
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: JP Morgan
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After my conversation with Theodore Roosevelt wrapped up,
the consultations between the United States, Venezuela, Germany, and Britain on the Venezuelan crisis proceeded swiftly.
Venezuela's own will had almost no say in the matter, of course.
That was because Herbert Bowen, the U.S. envoy plenipotentiary, had stepped in to represent the Venezuelan government entirely in the negotiations.
He claimed it was to represent the Venezuelan government's intentions to the fullest, but naturally, few believed him.
Still, I couldn't attend the official diplomatic conference among the four nations.
I wasn't a formal diplomat; I was more like an unofficial envoy dispatched on the sly.
I could negotiate a secret deal with Roosevelt on behalf of Wilhelm II informally, but it was realistically impossible for a non-diplomat like me to insert myself into official talks.
Not that I had any intention of doing so, since my job was already done anyway.
Besides, even if I did join them, I'd just be stuck for days listening to my dear imperialist friends drone on about how much money they could squeeze out of Venezuela.
Following Benjamin Franklin's maxim that time is money, I left the agreement in the hands of the German ambassador to the U.S. and decided to make the most efficient use of the two short days I had left before returning to Germany.
"While I'm in America, I should try contacting DeForest first."
From my personal investigations, DeForest was currently backed by an entrepreneur named Abraham White and had founded the American DeForest Wireless Telegraph Company, where he was conducting wireless communication research.
He already had a place to stay, so hiring him directly as a partner like Tesla would be tough, but I hoped to get his help with developing the triode vacuum tube.
If he refused like at the Pesenden fiasco, I'd have to dump yet another task—the triode vacuum tube—onto Tesla, who was already swamped with radio research.
As a kind employer, I didn't want to work my slave number one too harshly.
Not yet, anyway.
Knock knock.
"Baron, a letter has arrived for you."
I tilted my head at the knock on my suite door and the voice that followed.
'A letter for me?'
It wouldn't be from Germany.
If it were, it would've come via much faster cablegram, not mail.
'The U.S. government, then?'
I had no idea.
But I couldn't just leave the messenger standing at the door.
I rose from the sofa I'd been lounging on, opened the door, and took the letter from the bellboy.
The stationery was high-quality paper, luxurious at a glance.
Whoever sent this was clearly loaded.
"Huh?"
But when I saw the signature at the top of the stationery, I couldn't believe my eyes.
The sender was the last person I would've ever expected.
[From J.P. Morgan to Baron Hans von Choi.]
John Pierpont Morgan.
The infamous robber baron known as J.P. Morgan, head of J.P. Morgan & Co., had sent me a letter.
'Why the hell is J.P. Morgan contacting me here?!'
It made no sense.
I wasn't involved in business or finance, so what reason could J.P. Morgan possibly have to write to me?
"Maybe it's about Tesla?"
That was the only thing I could think of that might pique J.P. Morgan's interest in me.
The Wardenclyffe Tower, which I'd blown up along with those ugly memories to recruit Tesla.
And Wardenclyffe had been Nikola Tesla's project, funded by J.P. Morgan.
Was it possible J.P. Morgan knew I was the one who destroyed Wardenclyffe?
No, that couldn't be.
If so, he wouldn't wait a full year to bring it up.
Besides, there was no evidence.
Even if he suspected me, I could just deny it and demand proof.
No matter how crafty J.P. Morgan was, he couldn't strong-arm someone with the German imperial family as backing without evidence.
Especially not now, when I was Wilhelm II's special envoy to America.
One wrong move, and it'd escalate into a major diplomatic incident.
Even Roosevelt, the trust-busting president who'd wielded antitrust laws against robber barons in the original history, would jump at the chance to hammer J.P. Morgan.
In my view, the financial giant J.P. Morgan wasn't that stupid.
'First, let's see what it says.'
I carefully slit open J.P. Morgan's letter with the letter knife.
Whether it was his own handwriting or a secretary's, the script was impeccably neat, filled with a lengthy message.
Mostly useless flowery ornamentation, though.
Boiling it down to three sentences:
[Dear Baron Hans von Choi,
I have long taken an interest in you.
If you have time, I would like to meet and talk.]
My suspicions and questions only grew.
J.P. Morgan wanted to talk to me? No matter how I spun it, my gut screamed headache-inducing trouble.
"......Should I just refuse to meet?"
But I quickly shook my head.
No matter his intentions, you don't brush off an overture from someone of J.P. Morgan's stature lightly.
I couldn't properly judge yet if meeting him would benefit or harm me, but ignoring the invitation felt wrong.
Decision made, I went to the desk and began drafting a reply to J.P. Morgan.
And the next day, J.P. Morgan appeared at the Willard Hotel in Washington, D.C., where I was staying.
As if he'd been dead certain I'd agree to see him.
"It's an honor to meet you, Baron. I'm John Pierpont Morgan."
"Pleasure's mine, Mr. Morgan. Baron Hans von Choi. I've heard plenty about you even in the German Empire."
My first impression of J.P. Morgan: That nose is huge.
No joke.
The finance king's nose was so impressively massive it made me forget any tension I'd felt.
"Please, have a seat."
At the big-nosed man's—no, J.P. Morgan's—invitation, I sat down.
A quick glance around showed hotel staff scurrying about in a panic.
Makes sense; for them, a titan like J.P. Morgan showing up unannounced would be chaos.
"I usually order champagne at the Willard, but I'll pass today."
"Ahaha, I'm still a ways off from drinking age anyway."
Though even as an adult, I doubt I'd indulge except when necessary.
Couldn't hold my liquor in my past life either, and I doubt this one's any different.
"Then we'll settle for coffee and desserts today. Manager!"
"Yes, Mr. Morgan."
"The best you've got. Understood?"
"Of course."
The hotel manager bowed, face taut with nerves.
I'd thought I was getting unusually good treatment for an Asian noble here, but J.P. Morgan was on another level.
In this money-worshipping era of America, the rich truly were kings.
Not much different in the 21st century, come to think of it.
Moments later, waiters began ferrying trays of assorted desserts to our table.
The spectacle was so grand it was almost entertaining.
A bit gaudy and tacky, though.
No wonder European nobles scorned American capitalists as nouveau riche.
'Look at me, turning into a proper noble.'
They say people adapt to their positions; maybe I'd been influenced without realizing.
Just like that, J.P. Morgan and I forgot to talk and spent quite a while devouring desserts.
Morgan, true to his hefty build, had quite the appetite.
I half-wondered if he'd come just to eat Willard desserts.
"So, Mr. Morgan, why did you want to meet me?"
In the end, I spoke first, the sweets starting to wear on me.
J.P. Morgan glanced at me, set down his fork, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
"Do you prefer beating around the bush, or getting straight to the point?"
"Straight to it. I've had my fill of diplomacy with President Roosevelt. It's inefficient besides."
"Inefficient—a word I like. Then I'll be blunt."
J.P. Morgan said,
"The radio that Nikola Tesla is making at your estate, Baron."
"!"
"I want to invest in it too."
His words left me stunned.
Only I—and Princess Margarete's family, who'd ended up with Tesla by chance—knew about the radio.
"That look says, 'How the hell do you know?'"
"We thought we'd kept it airtight."
"As someone who once backed Tesla, let me give you some advice: he's not the cautious type."
Tsk. I'll have to chew him out when I get back to the German Empire.
I'd told him over and over to be careful, and he blabs to J.P. Morgan of all people?
'But why would J.P. Morgan care about Tesla, who'd sailed off to Germany?'
The guy who'd coldly cut funding when Tesla showed no results wouldn't suddenly pine for him now.
Was it the Wardenclyffe incident after all?
As I pondered, J.P. Morgan spoke up.
"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. I'd like to be friends with you, Baron."
"Friends? I know that from someone like you, Mr. Morgan, it rarely means anything good."
"Haha. Fair enough in the past, but not this time. I just want to make a lot of money."
"You're already one of America's richest men."
"It's a curse that plagues those who handle money. And......"
The 'radio' between you, the Baron, and Tesla reeks of thick profit potential.
With that, J.P. Morgan tapped his massive nose with a finger.
Impressively large and sturdy, as I'd noted before.
"What do you want in return?"
"Exclusive rights to the radio business in America. In exchange, I'll invest whatever funds and support you need for radio research and development."
Exclusive rights in America.
You couldn't say that without grasping the radio's value.
And honestly, it wasn't a bad deal, but...
My pride wouldn't let me bend over backward for J.P. Morgan.
"Exclusive radio rights in America. I didn't know you were into media too, Mr. Morgan."
"Isn't it time to end the era where newspapers monopolize the press?"
"Pulitzer and Hearst won't like that."
Joseph Pulitzer of the Pulitzer Prize fame, and William Randolph Hearst.
The newspaper kings who dominated American media wouldn't welcome J.P. Morgan encroaching with radio.
Radio wasn't just a gadget to hear distant voices; it was a new media that could upend the newspapers' monopoly.
"You'll have to deal with Marconi too, who practically owns wireless."
"That's my problem. Or rather, wouldn't it benefit you if I handled it? Don't you think?"
He had a point.
Once Tesla and I unveiled radio, we'd clash with Marconi inevitably.
I'd planned to borrow the German Empire's might then, but...
Having J.P. Morgan fight Marconi for me wasn't bad either.
'Pulitzer and Hearst aren't my concern, as Morgan says.'
"But will Tesla welcome you, Mr. Morgan? From what I know, he was grinding his teeth over the Wardenclyffe funding cut."
"Over sponsorship? Ha! You know how useless that iron tower was, Baron."
True enough.
"In a way, that 'unfortunate' accident was a blessing."
"Ah, that 'unfortunate' accident."
I exchanged meaningful smiles with J.P. Morgan.
Don't forget: it was just an unfortunate accident, nothing more.
"But the past is the past. We should look to the future, no?"
Snap!
Morgan snapped his fingers, and a man who looked like his secretary placed a black briefcase in front of me.
"Of course, I'm not making this proposal empty-handed."
"Pardon? What's this... Uh?"
Click!
The secretary opened the case, and I lost my words.
Inside gleamed a brilliant golden light.
Very, very brilliant gold.
'Hello!'
Gah! A hallucinated voice I shouldn't hear rang in my ears...!
Get a grip. If I fold this easily, I have no excuse with Tesla.
"Mr. Morgan! Are you trying to buy me off with mo—"
Thud!
Before I finished, two more identical briefcases—gold bars peeking out—landed on the table.
"There's plenty more."
I said to J.P. Morgan,
"You brought the contract, right?"