Chapter 164: The Crown’s Jewels (8)
Chapter 164: The Crown’s Jewels (8)
London, Royal Baring Bank.
Inside the governor’s office—decorated with paintings that were clearly expensive at a glance, along with furniture made from costly Indian leather and Norwegian timber from the North Sea—two men sat facing one another.
One was a man who looked to be around fifty, carrying himself with authority. The other appeared to be his secretary.
The older man wore gold-rimmed spectacles. As he read the documents handed to him by the secretary, he turned his head and asked,
“…What was the name of that firm again?”
“Yes, Governor. It is Price Accounting Firm. The founder is—”
Governor Francis Baring waved his hand dismissively.
“Ah, that’s enough. Founder or not, that fellow is probably just a front man. What I want to know is who’s behind him.”
“Th-that is… we are still gathering information…”
“Tsk.”
Francis Baring frowned briefly in dissatisfaction, then returned his gaze to the document.
“Whoever did this… he’s no ordinary man. In all my life, I’ve never seen anyone carry out financial terrorism this precise and refined.”
“…I-is that so?”
“Can’t you see the trick behind this game?”
“I… I don’t understand, Governor.”
To think such a man was his secretary. The governor clicked his tongue again.
“My apologies, Governor!”
“…Enough.”
Even as the secretary bowed his head in apology, Baring did not spare him a glance. His eyes remained fixed on the papers.
Ha. Look at this.
“It’s art. Pure art. How does someone even come up with something like this? I almost wish my own sons could see this and learn from it!”
As someone who had spent his entire life in the world of finance, Francis Baring could not help feeling fascinated whenever he looked at the documents prepared by this mysterious financier whose face he did not even know.
First, someone with this level of skill should have been sitting proudly in one of the financial institutions filling the City of London. Yet somehow he had remained hidden outside the public eye all this time.
Then again, there were plenty of fools with less talent than this man who opened offices in the City of London simply because they were good at flattering people.
Second, what kind of grudge did this fellow have that he had smashed the East India Company—and therefore Baring himself in the back of the head—with what felt like a cricket bat?
It was certain that Pitt was involved somewhere.
If the mastermind had truly remained in obscurity until now, could he be a civil servant?
No, that was impossible.
Someone who slipped through the legal net this easily working as a government official? Even a passing dog would laugh.
Baring stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“You there.”
“Yes, Governor.”
“Bring me every contract the East India Company signed in the past three years. I need to examine them.”
If he combed through the company’s ledgers that had been struck so hard by this attack, he might find at least a single thread leading back to the culprit.
Long ago, in the kingdom of Goguryeo, the king bore the surname Go—the lineage of Go Jumong—but five great noble houses assisted him and governed the state.
Likewise, in this gloomy island kingdom of Britain, whose air smelled of salt and damp, many great families rose after the House of Hanover ascended the throne and became pillars supporting the nation.
But alas.
One of those pillars, the Wellesley family, had fallen into decline.
Because of the previous head of the family, Garret Colley Wesley, whose extravagant lifestyle and failed investments forced him to sell even the hereditary estates passed down through generations.
Everyone lamented the downfall of such a loyal and honorable house.
However, the current head of the family and one of the highest members of the Board of Control for India, Richard Colley Wellesley, Earl of Mornington, could not simply watch his family vanish into history.
Determined to restore his family’s declining fortunes, Richard Wellesley obtained a special loan of a considerable sum—with the permission of the current Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer, William Pitt—and decided to invest it in a promising accounting firm.
That firm was Price Accounting Firm, located on Riverside 7th Street in London.
Coincidentally, around the same time, the former French Controller-General of Finances, Guillaume de Toulon, also invested in the firm and commissioned it to handle business services for the smooth establishment of his companies in Britain.
It seemed that successful people often had similar instincts.
Quite coincidentally, the accounting firm that received Wellesley’s investment decided to invest in the East India Company, successfully acquiring a substantial amount of its shares.
And quite, truly coincidentally, after securing enough shares to obtain the legal status of an affiliated company, Price Accounting Firm one day discovered—within the East India Company’s ledgers obtained through entirely “legal” means—a large amount of corruption and accounting manipulation.
The firm then reported this discovery to its corporate shareholders, Richard Wellesley and Guillaume de Toulon.
“Hmm. Your talent for writing scenarios is not bad at all, Controller-General.”
“Haha. Is that so?”
Well, I did read a lot of corporate casebooks when I was still studying at university.
Executives sitting in wheelchairs receiving IV drips. Security thugs blocking the doors of shareholder meetings so minority shareholders could not enter. And many other incidents.
The memories of those outrageous corporate scandals from the twenty-first century—like the burning taste of spicy ramen—still lingered in my mind and inspired me endlessly.
Ah, Professor… so that was why you kept calling me back to your office even after the semester ended. To teach me lessons like this.
This foolish disciple has finally understood your noble intentions.
The one who pulled me out of my nostalgic reverie was Sir Richard Wellesley.
“You’re almost on par with the worst Jewish financiers out there. Hahaha.”
“…I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I shot Wellesley a glare as he chuckled.
Really, he could have stopped after the first sentence. But no—he always had to add one more remark. Truly the temperament of a bureaucrat.
Ah, wait. Considering that I had four Rothschilds working under me, including Mayer Rothschild, perhaps “Jewish financier” was not entirely inaccurate.
Come to think of it, if this kept up, perhaps a hundred years from now conspiracy theories might mention the name Guillaume de Toulon even more than the Freemasons.
The shadowy “Jewish capital” manipulating America, the police of the world. Behind that Jewish capital stands the Rothschild family. And behind the Rothschild family stands Guillaume de Toulon.
At this rate, two hundred years later my name might be mentioned regularly on Korean Sunday morning television programs. Perhaps right after that Bohemian corporal with the mustache.
“What are you thinking about so deeply, Controller-General?”
“Oh… nothing important. Just idle thoughts.”
I waved my hand dismissively, then continued.
“By the way, did the Treasury officials under you say anything, Sir Wellesley?”
I had already handed over the East India Company ledgers that Manager Oudinot acquired to Wellesley and the British Treasury.
After all, if a former high official from a country that had been Britain’s enemy only ten years earlier personally opened the books of one of Britain’s major corporations, it could provoke considerable resentment.
In matters this sensitive, history had shown many cases where some insider became offended and exposed the secret or stabbed someone in the back.
Even Julius Caesar, who built the mighty Roman Empire, was stabbed by a trusted subordinate.
There was no reason some Englishman here might not suddenly lose his temper and shout,
“We cannot give such information to a cunning French frog who insults British pride! Return to where you came from!”
—and then shoot a bullet into my stomach.
Furthermore, after the South Sea Bubble several decades earlier—an event that wiped out the fortune of the genius Isaac Newton, discoverer of universal gravitation—the British Treasury had become notoriously strict and meticulous about accounting and taxation.
If I tried to analyze the books myself and missed even a single number, it would be humiliating. And if something went wrong while the ledgers were in my possession, I alone would take the blame.
And I absolutely did not want that.
If we die, we die together. If we live, we live together.
Anyway, Wellesley nodded in response to my question.
“Ah, yes. I have received word from friends I placed inside the Treasury.”
“Is that so? What did they say?”
“They say the evidence is sufficient. Embezzlement, breach of trust, proxy accounts, inflated costs—it has everything. If the Treasury presses the issue now, the East India Company will suffer a major blow.”
I could not help narrowing my eyes.
“…A major blow means we cannot bring them down with this alone.”
“Indeed. You are perceptive.”
Tsk. After spending so long dealing with that man Talleyrand back in Versailles, how could I not recognize such phrasing?
I sighed.
“There was someone I used to meet often who always spoke in circles. When he said he understood, it meant he would consider it. When he said he would consider it, it meant no. And when he said no, it meant absolutely not.”
“A fine politician. I’d like to meet him someday.”
Wellesley stroked his chin with interest.
I barely managed to suppress another sigh.
“Let’s set aside small talk. Sir Wellesley, even with this evidence, is it difficult to overturn the East India Company?”
“It is.”
“But we have the evidence.”
“We have the evidence, yes. But we have no one willing to support us.”
Wellesley shook his head regretfully.
“The Whig Party has Bengal pounds from the East India Company stuffed into their pockets. And within our Tory Party, many people have invested significant sums in the company. As for the Admiralty, the company has provided them with jobs. No matter how righteous a cause may be, many hesitate when their own money is involved.”
“No. Last time you said the odds were fifty percent.”
“Controller-General, politicians only fight battles they know they can win.”
“…You are making my distaste for politicians even stronger.”
In other words, unless we persuaded at least one of the following—the Whigs, the pro–East India Company faction within the Tories, or the Admiralty—we could not secure a complete victory.
“The Whigs…”
“There is no point discussing them. Those people will never change.”
Wellesley shook his head.
“Then what about the Tories? You are a Tory member yourself.”
“Of course. I am trying to persuade them.”
“And the Admiralty?”
“I know nothing about naval affairs.”
Please do not look so regretful.
“Then what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Well… someone of high standing mentioned that you received a letter, Controller-General…”
“…Prime Minister William Pitt?”
Ah—don’t smile and nod like that. I really hate that.