What Happened at Year's End
As December of 1884 arrived, Waldemar settled his accounts.
Benz Automobile Company, of which he now held a ninety-percent stake, had reached the mass-production stage, turning out three hundred vehicles a year. That figure would not have been attained until the late 1890s in the original timeline, yet the impossible scale had been made possible by an enormous initial investment of nine million marks and continuous support thereafter.
In the original timeline, Benz's annual production as a successful automobile firm stood at 572 units by 1899.
The quality of the cars themselves still lagged well behind the late-1890s standard, but measured against the competition of the present era, they were already excellent.
Even more encouraging was Siemens. Through steady share purchases Waldemar had secured a sixty-five-percent stake, and the firm was making breakthrough advances in light bulbs, early steam turbines, electricity, power generation, and phonographs.
Continuous capital injections had swollen its total capitalization nearly to eighteen million marks—half the thirty-five million marks Siemens would reach upon becoming a joint-stock company in 1897 in the original history. At the present rate of growth it might well surpass that mark within a year or two.
Bayer, bound by sales contracts, was growing spectacularly as well. Aspirin, phenacetin, and acetanilide—now the company's flagship products—together delivered more than eight million marks in profit every year, and the revenue curve was climbing steeply.
The Klondike gold mine remained an inexhaustible spring, guaranteeing a steady average return of roughly eight million marks annually.
Yet none of these companies could compare with the giants still to come. Carnegie Steel, forced into overwhelming scale by Waldemar's equity injections, was exploding the size of its smelters and the iron-ore railways that fed them to match the mines it had acquired.
Waldemar was confident it would surpass, within two years, the original-timeline target of twenty-five percent of American steel output that Carnegie had reached only in 1892. He owned forty percent of the colossal enterprise; by his private estimate that stake was already worth some two hundred twenty million marks.
Even Carnegie Steel, however, could not stand beside Standard Oil, of which Waldemar held 56.25 percent. Rockefeller's Standard Oil was the undisputed master of the petroleum industry, having slain every competitor in the market. Oil prices were whatever Rockefeller decided they would be.
He kept margins deliberately thin to choke off rivals, yet the sheer volume of production still generated substantial profits. Those profits were not paid out as dividends but plowed back into consolidating market dominance—an approach Waldemar fully endorsed.
As a result Standard Oil's grip grew ever tighter, and the value of Waldemar's shares soared. He had not yet attempted a precise valuation, but he calculated that by around 1890, when his own influence would cause oil demand to explode, the company would be throwing off more than thirty million marks a year. On that basis his stake alone would be worth at least two billion marks.
In the original timeline Standard Oil earned more than two hundred million marks in 1890.
The French vineyards produced a respectable income as well. After years of systematic restoration, grape cultivation alone yielded solid returns. Net of expenses the average profit per hectare (0.01 km²) was 250 francs—already reduced by the employment of minority labor—and across the entire hundred square kilometers of holdings that came to two and a half million francs.
Roughly 110,000 marks.
The magazine Playguy was another healthy earner. Selling an average of 150,000 copies a month and enjoying the advantages of mass production, it netted roughly one mark per copy, for a monthly profit of 150,000 marks—1.8 million marks a year.
Beyond these, the Amazon rubber company in Brazil exported some ten thousand tons of rubber at a profit of 840 marks per ton. After deducting shareholder dividends and other charges, Waldemar still cleared more than four million marks.
The raw-materials company in the Congo reinvested every franc into the colony itself, so it showed no current profit, yet its long-term asset value continued to rise. On top of everything else, foreign equities and mining investments threw off more than ten million marks in incidental income.
All told, Waldemar's economic empire now generated over eighty million marks in annual revenue and possessed a corporate valuation that already comfortably exceeded eight hundred million marks. At this moment he was, beyond any dispute, the richest man in the world. If he continued to compound his fortune at the present rate, his private wealth alone might one day finance a battle fleet capable of standing against the British Grand Fleet.
That, frankly, was pure fantasy.
The British were not fools; they would never sit idle while so vast a navy took shape under their noses. In 1904, upon becoming First Sea Lord, Admiral Fisher would propose the "Copenhagen" plan—to smash the German navy in its cradle before it could even learn to walk.
The name recalled Nelson's surprise attack on the Danish capital during the Napoleonic Wars, which destroyed the Danish fleet while Denmark was still neutral.
Mindful of that British aggressiveness, Waldemar harbored no unrealistic dream of building a navy large enough to overawe Britain. The collapse of Russia alone would be sufficient to keep his empire safe.
He handed the tax reckoning to John Connor's accountants and turned his mind to next year's investment program.
1885. In the original timeline that year had been a critical moment in great-power diplomacy. Britain and Russia collided in Afghanistan, the Russians prevailed, and in retaliation British forces occupied Geomun Island off Korea—the Great Game at its zenith. At the same time Anglo-French rivalry climbed toward its peak as France, already in Indochina, eyed Burma while Britain sought to protect the security of India.
In this world the picture had changed considerably. Russia still wished to compete with Britain, but it had no money. Even if it invaded Afghanistan there was no guarantee of victory; a Russian defeat would probably cancel the occupation of Geomun Island altogether. France was little better off.
Hostility toward Germany ran higher than in the original history, and the Paris stock-market crash had been deeper; the appetite for colonial rivalry with Britain had accordingly weakened. Viewed in that light, 1885 might turn out to be a quieter year than expected.
Yet the same butterfly effect could amplify conflict in unexpected quarters. If Russia pulled back from Afghanistan, St. Petersburg might fixate even more obsessively on the Balkans than it had in the original timeline—a development neither Germany nor Austria would welcome. Taking that possibility into account, Waldemar framed his investment plan for the coming year.
Then start with the German and Austrian railways.
He regarded railways as an indispensable strategic industry for national defense and resolved to invest accordingly. Fortunately 1885 was a railway boom year, making the sector attractive as a pure investment vehicle as well. He decided to put eighty million marks into it.
Cumulative investment in the German railway system as a whole already stood at ten billion marks.
After railways came barbed wire.
Machine guns plus barbed wire—if those are ready, even the worst-case scenario can still be defended.
As majority shareholder of Carnegie Steel, which stamped out steel by the ton, Waldemar could obtain as much of the metal as he wished.
"You ordered me to buy the barbed wire patent?"
"Yes."
He was investing in German defense for his own protection, but he had no intention of making a free gift of it. If war truly came, he meant to recoup every pfennig of cost through the barbed-wire patent.
Half my blood is Anglo-Saxon. I have to calculate with an Anglo-Saxon mind—no discounts. If I give my brother a discount and my father a discount, who looks after me?
The thought of barbed wire reminded him of his pen-pal friend Moltke; he decided to promote the idea to him as well. Moltke's first reaction was skepticism.
"If it turns out to be useless, just regard it as a free donation to the army."
"In that case I shall mention it to my uncle."
Waldemar spent the remainder of the year in a whirl of preparation for the next. The schedule he set himself, however, proved too tight.
"You promised you would come for Christmas this year."
Complaining letters from his young childhood friend—or rather, quasi-fiancée—began to pour in.
"Well, that is—"
He tried to soothe Alix, but this time her anger would not be cooled. She not only stopped writing; she returned every gift. For the first time Waldemar found himself in a cold war with Alix.
While he was still debating whether to travel to Hesse and placate his little childhood friend, his new pen-pal Hammerstein dropped another engagement into his diary.
"Your Highness, if you can spare the time, I should like to introduce two or three gentlemen from our party. What do you say?"
Waldemar could not refuse so influential a friend. The conciliatory trip to Hesse vanished from the calendar.
At that point even those around him began to worry about the relationship.
"Baldi, Alix seems truly furious. You must do something to calm her. You said yourself you were serious about the girl."
He wanted to. There simply was no time. Whether from cold treatment or sheer exasperation, Alix finally translated her grievance into action.
"Alix is going to Russia to visit her sister."
"What?"
Waldemar could not tell whether this was a jealousy ploy involving Nikolai or something else entirely, but he understood that the situation had become serious. His young quasi-fiancée was not yet securely in his hand.
He postponed every appointment and prepared to fly to Russia. The decision was taken just before the New Year of 1885.