The Robber Baron's Tears
The European royalty who attended Napoleon's funeral flaunted their blood ties to the fullest, reminding one another of the friendly bonds between their nations.
This was a diplomatic advantage exclusive to monarchies—something the French Third Republic, having lost its royal house, could never even dream of.
Waldemar believed that as long as the crown prince and his consort could maintain the honeymoon atmosphere between the two countries, it would yield positive results when the time came to divide the colonies.
With the condolence diplomacy concluded, the autumn of October 1879 turned cold.
Just as Waldemar had anticipated, Bismarck turned his blade from France toward Russia and concluded a defensive treaty with Austria-Hungary.
It was as good as a signal that he intended to regard Russia as a potential enemy.
In response to the shifting international situation, Waldemar moved quickly to restructure the ownership of the Branobel shares he already held.
"You want me to sell the Nobel company shares to Rockefeller?"
"Yes, that is what I said."
Waldemar reasoned that if he transferred the Nobel shares to America's robber baron, the Russians would be left with no recourse whatsoever.
"If Rockefeller senses Your Highness's weakness, he certainly will not pay a fair price."
Waldemar remained unperturbed by John Connor's concern.
"It's fine. Once Standard Oil takes additional stock off our hands, the problem will sort itself out."
Waldemar trusted in the power of a colossal oil field so vast that even the robber baron Rockefeller would have no means of resisting it.
If Rockefeller wished to keep his grip on the petroleum market, he would have no choice but to surrender whatever share of the pie Waldemar demanded.
From the clue Waldemar had given him, Connor realized that immense quantities of oil lay buried beneath the cheap land in Beaumont.
"I understand Your Highness's meaning. I shall open negotiations with Rockefeller's people at once."
John Connor made contact with Rockefeller without delay.
When John D. Rockefeller, the head of the empire, received Connor's offer to sell the Nobel shares, he regarded the man as a lunatic for a moment.
Why the hell is this bastard bringing me Nobel stock that's nearly impossible to buy even with money?
Rockefeller had already investigated the Englishmen who had taken his stock in the past and had a fair idea of their true identity.
According to the Pinkerton inquiry, the other party was the Prussian crown prince's household, operating under the borrowed name of the British royal family.
European royalty wouldn't sell precious shares in an oil company just because they were short a few coins. So what are they after?
To deduce their true intent, Rockefeller demanded more detailed information from the Pinkerton Agency while also sounding out the State Department on foreign developments.
It did not take him long to grasp why the Prussians were dumping their oil shares.
"So old Bismarck has poked the Russian bears, and now they can no longer hold onto those scalding petroleum shares."
Confirming the other side's weakness instantly improved Rockefeller's mood.
In that case, this negotiation would present no difficulty at all.
Rockefeller soon revealed his true colors as a robber baron.
"Two thousand shares."
At the official valuation, that amounted to a mere 840,000 marks.
"That's absurd."
Hearing the offer put forward by Rockefeller's agent, John Connor exploded in fury.
It was raw, unvarnished rage.
How could stock in which more than four million marks had been invested be hammered down to a paltry 800,000-odd marks—even granting that Rockefeller's company was worth several times its capital?
Nor was Nobel's performance poor. Despite massive facility investment, the firm consistently paid dividends of at least fifteen percent on its capital.
"Then you refuse to deal at this price?"
Rockefeller's side had been supremely confident from the outset.
They were certain the other party had no choice but to sell the shares to them.
"At that price I'd sooner sell elsewhere."
"To whom? German or British capital? The Russians will certainly obstruct any such deal. The French? I doubt a German royal would care to fatten the Third Republic—the Empire's mortal enemy."
Rockefeller's agent continued with easy composure.
"The Russian banks and government themselves have taken too heavy a beating from your short selling and Britain's to step in as buyers. So who, then, will come forward?"
Italy?
The Italians had no inclination to project capital beyond the Mediterranean.
There remained the greedy capitalists of Wall Street, yet they were no different from Rockefeller himself.
Selling to Rockefeller at least offered the prospect of recovering some return through Standard Oil stock—making him preferable to Wall Street.
That was the foundation of Rockefeller's side's brazen confidence.
"Even so, I cannot accept that price. I must have at least five thousand shares."
The two sides wrangled over terms for a long while.
After protracted negotiation, John Connor finally agreed to transfer the Nobel shares in exchange for three thousand shares of stock.
The talks had begun from a position of disadvantage, so Rockefeller's victory was only natural.
Connor left the hotel with an angry face, but the moment he climbed into the carriage his expression changed completely.
Arriving at the New York telegraph office, he sent a wire straight to Waldemar.
"Your Highness, Rockefeller has offered three thousand shares in return for acquiring the Nobel holdings."
"Is that so?"
Waldemar was unsurprised by the robber baron's greed.
Even this much was only for the sake of royal dignity; had the man shown his raw savagery, they might have been driven off with nothing but pocket change.
"Shall I reopen negotiations?"
"No need. Consider that money interest on the tears Rockefeller is going to shed."
Waldemar shifted the conversation to the land purchases around Beaumont.
"How is the acquisition proceeding?"
"We have secured thirty square kilometers so far. Acquiring the full extent Your Highness desires will take a little more time."
"Time and money are no object—proceed carefully. The vital point is that Rockefeller must not catch wind of it."
"I took precautions on that score the moment I heard Your Highness's instructions."
Waldemar trusted John Connor's caution, yet every enterprise admits the possibility of unforeseen variables.
In December 1879, a chance accident snagged on Pinkerton's antennae and threw a wrench into Waldemar's plans.
"Local ranchers are protesting and suspecting a lobby because foreigners are buying up state land on a massive scale in Beaumont, Texas?"
Allan Pinkerton, head of the agency, caught a subtle scent in the affair.
Ordinary foreigners would find it far from easy to acquire so much land.
He immediately ordered an investigation into the identities of the foreigners involved.
The result was mildly startling.
"Men who used to work as bank clerks in England are flooding into Texas—where they have no connections whatever—and engaging in real-estate speculation? That smells wrong."
Something was off.
He dispatched men to London to dig up their precise backgrounds.
The detectives Pinkerton sent soon located one of them.
Howard Gordon.
Allan Pinkerton carefully examined the investigation report on this unfamiliar Englishman.
While scrutinizing Gordon's history, he found a link to a target his client had previously ordered watched—John Connor.
He used to work under John Connor. And John Connor is the bastard who screwed over Mr. Rockefeller.
There had been a prior incident in Texas in which Connor had discovered an oil field and forced losses on Rockefeller.
The only difference then had been that the British royal household's property managers had fronted the operation.
Allan Pinkerton immediately drafted a report and sent it to Rockefeller.
Rockefeller was stunned when he received it.
Don't tell me those bastards have found another oil field?
The idea was hard to believe, yet their talent for prospecting was anything but ordinary.
These same people had once bought land wholesale in Canada and swallowed an entire giant gold mine.
If by any chance they strike oil again…
The thought alone brought on a headache.
"Is anyone outside?"
"You called, Mr. Chairman?"
"Tell Pinkerton's people to go to Beaumont at once and identify every landowner. Right now."
"Yes, sir."
"And send the geologists immediately. Cost is no object—buy even a few acres of the land those bastards are after and sink some test wells!"
"Understood."
"Have Finance determine the precise limit of what we can borrow on Wall Street and put it on my desk within the hour."
"Yes, Mr. Chairman."
True to the man who had climbed to the summit of the Gilded Age's law of the jungle, Rockefeller responded at once.
If there really is oil in Beaumont, I will not yield it to those Prussians. America's oil is mine.
By mid-December, when Rockefeller finished preparing to leap into Beaumont, Waldemar had already secured fifty square kilometers—half the target area.
Progress had been slow, but quieting the ranchers and speculators who had flocked in scenting profit required time.
The work will be finished by next summer at the latest.
That was what Waldemar thought—until bad news arrived.
"Your Highness, Rockefeller's side has begun to move."
"What? We haven't even drilled a single well in Beaumont, and they've already caught the scent?"
"Yes. The fault is ours."
John Connor frankly confessed that an accident had occurred during the land-purchase negotiations.
"How bad is the situation?"
"Rockefeller's people have started buying land aggressively. They are clearly trying to encircle the exact area we intend to acquire."
Rockefeller's design was obvious.
He meant to surround Waldemar's holdings with a fence of iron and force them to sell—an utterly high-handed method worthy of a robber baron.
"What scale?"
"They bought two thousand acres in a single day."
Roughly 0.8 square kilometers.
The speed astonished Waldemar.
"Then we shall pick up the pace as well."
"Pardon?"
"Buy every parcel in the vicinity, even if you have to take out loans."
With Waldemar's financial strength there was no real need for loans. In other words, it was an order to pour money without limit if that was what it took to seize the land.
"Understood, Your Highness."
John Connor stepped to the front and personally directed the land purchases with aggressive energy.
The rivalry between Waldemar and Rockefeller doubled land prices in the Beaumont region within a week.
"Good Lord. Even stocks don't behave like this."
The landowners squealed with delight.
Waldemar and Rockefeller had to keep sweetening their offers simply to persuade them.
It was a hemorrhage of capital, yet neither side could afford to yield.
This was a fight for dominion over American oil.
The contest only reached a provisional end in January.
I never imagined land purchases alone would cost eight million marks.
Waldemar felt tears rising at the bloody competition, but Rockefeller was shedding tears of blood as well.
"Those damned Prussian royals."
In the end Rockefeller failed to fence in John Connor's holdings with barbed wire.
"Mr. Chairman, what should we do now?"
Rockefeller tasted bile rising in his throat, yet he was forced to admit that negotiation with Waldemar's side was unavoidable.
"Contact them. Tell them I want to inspect the scale of the oil field myself."
Acknowledging his weaker position, Rockefeller chose to negotiate.