Chapter 145: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity (9)
Chapter 145: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity (9)
“Good heavens… what is all this…”
“Hahaha! We swept the Saint-Domingue Governor’s Office clean, boss! It felt refreshing to move my body again after such a long time.”
I could only stare blankly at Mr. Oudinot as he placed hundreds of sheets of documents on the table with a refreshed expression.
Come to think of it, there was something my grandparents used to say: “Even the governorship of Pyeongan Province means nothing if the person doesn’t want it.”
What did that mean? It meant that the Governor of Pyeongan held a position dripping with honey.
Later, when I grew older and looked into it, it turned out that Pyeongan Province made enormous profits from trade, so even if the magistrate siphoned money through a straw, the concentration of “honey” was on an entirely different level from other regions.
The Governor of Saint-Domingue held exactly the same kind of position.
Ah. You don’t quite understand why Saint-Domingue is comparable? Very well. Let’s revisit the memories of Lim Gichan, a twenty-first-century Republic of Korea Army sergeant who completed his service while picking up cigarette butts on a bridge over the Han River.
In twenty-first-century Korea there were countless companies. But only a handful of ultra-global corporations were recognized by all seven billion people on Earth.
LG, SK, Hanwha, Doosan—names that everyone had heard on television or in newspapers whether they liked it or not.
And the largest among them was Samsung.
Yes—Samsung, the colossal corporation responsible for roughly twenty percent of South Korea’s annual GDP.
Even if you asked a spy, he’d say, “Oh that company? Of course I know it. What kind of spy wouldn’t know that?”
Samsung was common knowledge among Koreans.
In some rural village in Pakistan, a shepherd named Abdullah might open YouTube on a Samsung smartphone and enjoy a small moment of escape. Meanwhile in Dallas, Texas, a man named Johnson cheering for the Texas Rangers might become a furious keyboard warrior on a Samsung laptop while ranting about some foreign baseball mercenary who ran off with his signing bonus.
Naturally, it was common sense to every Korean that Samsung was the number-one company. There was even a saying on stock forums that Samsung was unbeatable.
Now look at Saint-Domingue.
This island, whose name makes it sound like it contains nothing but palm trees, was a honey pot producing more than forty percent of France’s GDP.
What? You think you misheard?
No. You heard correctly. Forty percent of GDP.
One Saint-Domingue equals two Samsungs.
Wow. Samsung duplication!
A miraculous equation where 1 + 1 = 1 had somehow become reality.
In this world, a handful of sugar shipped from Saint-Domingue to France on a cargo vessel was worth more than the plowing of a farmer working diligently near Toulouse.
“Sugarcane and coffee occupy the same strategic position as semiconductors. And among them, French sugarcane and coffee are the best in the world—something that can be proven by taste!”
What a sweet and beautiful idea.
Anyway, setting all that aside, I now found myself examining thirty-two secret ledgers created by a corrupt bureaucrat appointed to this two-Samsung-sized gold mine.
All I could do was sigh.
Damn it. Once this is over, I really should resign.
As for the next suitable candidate…
Yes. I know someone quite well.
Smart, kind-hearted, almost like a jolly grandfather—someone like him could surely lead our Ministry of Finance well.
“Guillaume. Are you plotting something vicious and wicked again?”
“Vicious and wicked? Marquis de Condorcet, if someone heard you, they’d think I was a bad person.”
“Oh really? Then storming into the Mint because you needed manpower and dragging the director and employees here wasn’t a bad thing?”
“Well, we’re all one family under the Ministry of Finance anyway. Mutual cooperation! Hahaha!”
“One family? Do you think it’s reasonable to keep your ‘family’ working for two days straight without letting them go home?”
“Come on, we’re professionals. Why are you acting like amateurs?”
What’s wrong with our Marquis de Condorcet today?
“Guillaume! I’m newly married! Let me go home!”
“Newly married? You’ve been married for over two years. Stop calling it a honeymoon phase and finish the examination. There are still thirty ledgers left.”
“Ah… Sophie, my love! It seems Condorcet will die here from overwork. Please carve on my tombstone that I died rolling like a dog under Guillaume…”
“If you don’t want to die of overwork, you should hurry up and finish and go to bed.”
Hey now. We’re not enemies. Why are you glaring at me like that?
If you keep doing that, Santa Claus might not bring you any presents at Christmas.
“Guillaume. I think you might not make it to heaven when you die.”
“And why is that?”
“Perhaps because you can’t see the faces of the people outside.”
Condorcet pointed toward the hardworking Ministry of Finance employees who sat at their desks drinking coffee with hollow eyes and deep dark circles.
“They’re doing very well. What’s the problem?”
“They’re cursing you constantly. Even God seems indifferent.”
“Cursing me?”
Sigh. This is all because of that bastard Blanchelande.
Because of his scheming, the employees of the Ministry of Finance are suffering.
Yes. It’s all Governor Blanchelande’s fault.
Completely.
Well… I may have done something just a little—just a tiny bit—that might earn their resentment…
“W-What are you doing?! Let us go home!”
“Hehe! You can’t!”
“Why are you doing this?!”
“You’re all going to work here with Guillaume.”
This was a sacrifice for the greater cause. I swallowed my tears.
“Damn it… I want to go home…”
“Why are all three meals convenience food? We want warm rice! Warm meat! Good wine!”
“Director, I’m starting to see numbers overlapping people’s faces.”
On the first day, everyone blamed me.
After all, I had locked the front gate of the Ministry of Finance and sat on the key beneath my chair.
But that resentment didn’t last long.
“Everyone! You’re half asleep, aren’t you?”
“…Yes…”
“Director, is that even a question?”
“Instead of blaming me, think carefully. Why are we spending nights like beggars?”
“Because of you.”
“Director, do you want to be overthrown in a revolution?”
“I’m drinking coffee in rags just like you. Think about the real cause!”
“…Because there’s work?”
Oh, that answer is perfect. Exactly what I wanted.
I’ll add five points to your performance review.
“Then who created that work?”
“…Director. You sent a ship to Saint-Domingue to bring these documents.”
Why are these people attacking me?
At the very least, I didn’t abandon you and run away.
“No, no. Let’s think more fundamentally.”
“…The Saint-Domingue Governor’s Office?”
“Yes! Why are we working like dogs? Because the Governor’s Office in Saint-Domingue made a complete mess of things!”
“Guillaume… perhaps a superior shouldn’t use vulgar language…”
“The reason we’re working like hell is because Saint-Domingue made a hell of a mess!”
“…Forget I said anything.”
“…Is that so…?”
The agents I had quietly planted among the staff began speaking.
—Sir, one moment.
—Yes, Director.
—I heard your wife gave birth to a daughter recently? That’s your fourth child now. Congratulations.
—Haha, thank you very much, Director.
—But raising four children on your salary must be difficult.
—It… is. Honestly, I’m quite worried about it.
—Perfect. Just the person I needed.
—M-Me?
—Do one thing for me and a promotion is guaranteed. How about it?
—Of course, Director!
“Boo! Down with Saint-Domingue! Down with corruption!”
“U… ugh!”
“That’s right! The reason we’re stuck here working like dogs is because of Saint-Domingue! Down with Saint-Domingue! Down with corruption! Down with Blanchelande!”
It was satisfying to see those hyenas, desperate for something to bite, whipped into a frenzy by the whispers I planted beside them.
Remember what I once said?
If oil is the best fuel for automobiles, then the best fuel for humans is anger.
“Let’s bring down Saint-Domingue for making us work like this! Waaah!”
“Section Chief! Couldn’t this be added as a bribery charge?”
“Damn right! Add it to the charges immediately!”
If it took Robespierre an hour to turn the courtroom into his temple, it took me only ten minutes to turn the exhausted Ministry of Finance into my temple dedicated to destroying corruption.
But why are you looking at me like that, Marquis de Condorcet?
“Josef.”
“Yes, General.”
“Don’t worry so much. I am Tadeusz Kościuszko, after all. The future is already dark enough—if even the young men who carry the torch of our nation lose their light, that would be a disaster. Hahaha!”
Unlike the senior officer who laughed cheerfully despite the situation, Josef squeezed his eyes shut.
They could die tomorrow. Or even tonight.
How could someone remain so calm?
“…General, will you not reconsider? You know as well as I do that Poland no longer has the strength to continue resisting.”
“Josef.”
“Yes, General.”
“Someone must remain on this land and show those tyrants wearing crowns the spirit of the Polish people.”
Perhaps some would call it a meaningless death.
A futile struggle.
But if that struggle could create even the smallest ripple upon the still surface of a lake, that would be enough for me.
The senior officer gently patted Josef’s shoulder.
“So you must set aside dark thoughts and wait for an opportunity. France has now shown liberty, equality, and fraternity even to black men. They will not scorn the Polish. Earn their respect and assistance by using that fact. Opportunities always come.”
“…Will such an opportunity truly come?”
“Of course! Do you not know me? I once liberated the New World from British pirates.”
“So wait for the opportunity—the single chance that will come someday. If you seize it, then when we meet again we will embrace and shed tears of joy.”
“For God, Honor, and Fatherland (Bóg, Honor, Ojczyzna).”
“For God, Honor, and Fatherland (Bóg, Honor, Ojczyzna).”
And with those words, Józef Poniatowski boarded the last Polish ship bound for France.