Chapter 24: Cold Damage (1)
Chapter 24: Cold Damage (1)
A cup of coffee.
An elegant brunch.
And—
“Leisurely time.”
Khhh. This is it. This is what life tastes like. This is a human life. Yeah—what was weird was me getting ground down while working all that time. I’m a person, not some yellow cow or black cow.
It had been nearly three months since I brought in Secretary Mr. Florian. And he had not gotten into the University of Paris for nothing.
At first, I had only hired him to handle simple paperwork.
But the speed at which he got things done was not normal. After just a week on the job, he had already learned basic tax calculation methods from me to the point where I could leave simple accounting tasks to him.
Thanks to that, lately I had been enjoying the most relaxed time I had had since coming to Paris and starting the business.
“Ohohoho, I love it!”
“…B-boss. Everything else is fine, but could you maybe not make those weird sound effects?”
“Uuugh—w-when did you get here?”
I startled at Mr. Florian’s voice. Somehow, he was already standing beside me.
“…Right before you made the weird sound effects, boss.”
“Ahem. When a person feels good, that can happen.”
Weird sound effects—how harsh. And that look on his face, like he had seen something he was not supposed to. It was practically saying, This… is the boss?
Sob. Guillaume has taken massive emotional damage.
Whether he noticed or not, Mr. Florian continued.
“Anyway, the schedule has been going smoothly lately. Branch No. 1 through Branch No. 7 are all operating normally, and the lease for the kitchen for the new Branch No. 8 is also proceeding step by step.”
“Having you around really makes things go smoothly. Anything else I should know?”
“Ah. Come to think of it, one of the kitchen ladies at Branch No. 1—her son had a baby recently.”
“Oh, really? Put about five livres in an envelope and send it along with some baby supplies.”
“…Boss. There’s something I’m curious about—may I ask?”
“Huh? Sure. What is it?”
“Why are you so good to your employees?”
“…Isn’t it normal for an employer to take care of things like weddings and funerals?”
“Pardon?”
“If employees are happy, the workplace runs better, right?”
Even if a company cannot pay tuition for its workers’ children, it should at least celebrate and mourn major life events. Otherwise, who would treat the workplace like their own and work seriously? Everyone would just kill time.
At my words, Mr. Florian looked deeply moved.
“As expected… boss, you are not normal.”
Uh. Is that a compliment…? Judging by his face, maybe yes, maybe no.
“Boss! Secretary! It’s a disaster! A disaster!”
“Pardon?”
Our conversation was cut off when one of the cook ladies flung the office door open and rushed in.
“…What do you mean by that? You’re saying you can’t supply the amount of oats written in the contract?! If you do this all of a sudden, what are we supposed to do? One store alone consumes 130 kilograms of oats a day! And we have seven stores! Seven!”
I shouted at the top of my lungs.
No—if you cannot supply what you agreed to supply, you are supposed to give notice in advance. How do you pull something like this on the very day we come to collect the goods?
“I-I’m truly sorry, Boss Guillaume! We are still trying to grasp exactly what happened, so please—please wait just a little.”
The mill employee bowed repeatedly.
Damn it. Beating him up would not make oats appear, and with him being that deferential, I could not keep chewing him out either.
The information the cook lady brought was shocking. The mill we dealt with had suddenly sent a barely existent notice saying they would reduce the amount of oats supplied.
Of course, I grabbed the back of my neck and rushed over.
I did not do the movie-style “Bring out the boss!” though. I am not that much of a thug.
More importantly—what do we do now?
If we lack oats, today’s output drops. Worse, we might have to throw away fresh meat and vegetables already delivered. And even if production is reduced, wages do not go down.
So we cut production?
No. That is worse. The moment we reduce output, we lose the loyal customers we scraped together over two years.
Expenses stay the same. Income plummets.
No—it could be worse.
“I found out! I found out!”
Another employee burst in.
“What happened?! Why aren’t the oats coming in?! Hurry and tell me!”
“Th-that… last winter was especially cold, right? Because of that, several grain warehouses suffered cold damage. The stored grain rotted.”
“No! Why did you only find out this morning?!”
“I’m sorry! The farmers estimated the quantities by eye and only realized right before shipping.”
“Y-you useless idiots! Cut business with them next time!”
Damn it. A complete mess.
I forced myself to stay calm.
“…Tell me one thing. Could this oat supply issue become long-term?”
“…Please wait a moment, boss.”
The employee asked for understanding, then turned.
“What about the Henemulang warehouse?”
“That side… isn’t much different.”
The employee bowed deeply.
“I’m sorry, boss. It will be difficult to supply the previous amount.”
This is the worst.
“…How much oats do you have left?”
“For about two to three months, we would need to cut supply to about half.”
I took a deep breath.
“Supply the same amount as usual.”
“Pardon?! Boss, if you do that—”
“I’ll find a way. For now, deliver today’s portion.”
Even if the sky falls, there is still a hole to climb out of.
“Fucking hell—there’s no way!”
I collapsed into my chair.
I was completely screwed.
For an entire month, I checked every grain option. Nothing worked financially. Even with Madame Pluie’s help.
Wheat? Bread made purely from wheat is noble food. Commoners eat mixed-grain bread because wheat is too expensive.
Barley? Better, but still too costly for our prices.
“…How about asking your friends?” Mr. Florian said weakly.
“They would only make it worse.”
Just imagining Grouchy helping made my skin crawl.
“…Then is there anyone else?”
“Anyone in mind?”
“…That marquis you mentioned. Condorcet.”
“At this point, we have nothing left to try.”
He was right.
“Alright. I’ll step out. Get some sleep.”
“This is… a laboratory?”
When I arrived at Marquis de Condorcet’s laboratory, my mouth would not close.
“If you told me this was a mansion, I’d believe you.”
It was roughly the size of Madame Pluie’s boardinghouse.
After waiting briefly, the marquis entered and shook my hand.
“Guillaume! It’s been a while.”
“It’s about the business. I came to ask for help.”
“Then come upstairs. There is another guest here.”
Inside stood a towering middle-aged man.
He smiled and offered his hand.
“Nice to meet you. You must be Guillaume de Toulon.”
“Yes. I’m Guillaume de Toulon from Gehenne.”
“My name is Thomas Jefferson. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Thomas Jefferson.
I felt like I had heard that name somewhere.