Chapter 3
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 003
Chapter Title: Conditions for a Coup. 1 - Building Forces
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The banquet hall.
In the heart of New York, the penthouse atop a towering skyscraper—spanning hundreds of square feet—offered a panoramic view of the city sprawling below.
A vast banquet hall occupied one corner of the penthouse.
At the center of the hall stretched a long table laden with traditional Iranian dishes. Flanking it on both sides sat around fifty people, chatting amiably with one another.
"When you get back home, you'll probably remember the food we had here."
"Yeah, honestly, it's even better than my mom's cooking."
"Hahaha, that's right. Who would've thought you'd find proper abgoosht all the way out here in New York?"
The man scooped up a spoonful of steaming Iranian stew and brought it to his mouth. His face lit up with pure satisfaction after the first bite.
"True. Anyway, you're heading back home this time?"
"Yeah, that's the plan."
"I hear Tehran's pretty chaotic right now."
"That's exactly why I need to go. I've got to put what I learned here to use back in the homeland."
"Hmm. Does the Kingdom of Iran even have a future anymore? Even Khomeini, preaching revolution, seems like he just wants to build his own theocratic state."
"Yeah, there's no hope in sight right now. Change is definitely needed, though."
At that moment, a door on one side swung open, and Hassan entered the banquet hall. Spotting him, the two men exchanged their final words.
"Still, it's not like there's zero hope, right?"
"Yeah. Looks like our hope just walked in."
"Presenting Prince Sahour Reza Pahlavi III, the youngest prince of the Kingdom of Iran and chairman of the New York Iranian Expatriate Association."
As Hassan's brief introduction rang out, everyone at the table rose to their feet, ready to greet their host.
A moment later, I stepped into the banquet hall.
Those standing before the table bowed their heads toward me as I entered.
I took my seat at the head of the table, graciously accepting their respects.
After settling into the chair Hassan pulled out for me...
"Everyone, please sit."
At my words, they all sat down in unison.
"Before we start, let's raise a glass, like always."
I lifted the glass placed before me.
It was filled with arak, Iran's traditional liquor.
The others followed suit, picking up their own glasses.
"To the bright futures of those returning home. Even though we'll be apart for a while, the memories from this gathering won't fade."
They listened quietly to my toast, glasses in hand.
And then...
"We all started as strangers sitting at this table sharing a meal, but we're no longer outsiders to each other."
I paused, scanning the faces around the table. Then I pointed to one of them.
"Why don't you give the next one, Mahmoud?"
The man who had been listening silently until then—Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
A plain young man from the countryside, he had come to study abroad later in life than most others here.
Under normal circumstances, a national scholarship would have been out of reach for him.
But he had been selected for the Sahour Iranian National Scholarship Program, founded by the kingdom's youngest prince, and set foot on American soil.
Mahmoud rose from his seat, his face brimming with emotion.
He raised his glass high and led the familiar chant, with everyone else joining in from their seats.
"We are~ no longer~!!"
"We are~ one~!!
"One~!
"One~!"
We downed our arak amid the cheers.
And with that, our final banquet in New York began.
Every year, a fair number of young Iranians came to America as international students.
But most were children of the kingdom's nobility.
The people gathered in this banquet hall, however, had been selected through a different path altogether.
The Sahour Iranian National Scholarship Program.
Funded by the money I earned in New York, it brought over a hundred people to the U.S. each year.
Not only did it cover their tuition and living expenses, but it also provided modest living stipends to their families back home.
And upon returning to Iran, they could claim key positions in sectors starved for skilled talent—military, media outlets, major corporations, government agencies, courts, and more.
Becoming a Sahour Scholar was a golden ticket for an entire family to rise.
These days, even schoolchildren were competing fiercely for a shot at selection years down the line.
This fervor meshed perfectly with Shah Reza Pahlavi II's policies promoting education, igniting a nationwide exam frenzy across Iran.
But this gathering marked the end of an era.
As the event wound down, I exchanged final handshakes with many of them.
Hassan trailed beside me, carrying a tray stacked with envelopes of cash gifts.
I greeted each one with a handshake.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"You're welcome. You've worked hard."
"Your Highness, you must return to the homeland."
"I'll be where I need to be when the time comes."
"Our turbulent homeland needs a wise ruler like you."
"Fate will decide all."
"What should I do when I get back? Just tell me—I'll do anything, even give my life."
"You've learned plenty already. Not my plans—do what you want."
I shook hands one by one, handing out the envelopes with cash inside.
A substantial sum.
Most of these people had been born poor commoners.
I even knew they scrimped and saved the cash gifts from past banquets to send home.
Over a thousand people gathered so far.
Considering Iran's birth rate topping six, that meant at least ten thousand loyal allies—direct family and siblings alone—planted across Iranian soil.
They would support me when the time came to act.
With the cash gifts distributed, the banquet finally concluded.
The grand New York estate.
As usual, I savored the jasmine tea Hassan brought, basking in the morning sunlight.
On the table, a tape played back a recorded speech.
"For the future of our homeland, the youth and clergy must rise up. The dynasty is rotten, the government corrupt. Our only hope lies in our faith and ourselves. It's time to abandon our posts. We must all raise the torch for the great Islamic Republic..."
"Quite the speech."
"Does it please you?"
"It does. How's the situation back home?"
"The protests are intensifying. According to reports from our Sahour Scholars, a significant number of NCOs in the military have already swung toward the revolutionaries."
Sahour Scholars.
Over the past eight years, they had burrowed deep into the military, feeding us real-time intel on its movements.
"As expected."
"Broadcasting this speech will surely heat up the protests even more."
"That's the idea. Why else broadcast it?"
The scholars weren't just in the military.
They lurked in national broadcaster, newspapers, and key corners of Iranian society, executing orders with unwavering loyalty.
"The queen could be in danger."
Hassan's concern was for the queen, not the king.
"She'll be fine. For now."
"Yes."
"And..."
I nodded toward the tape recorder.
"Tell this fellow to prepare for repatriation soon."
"Repatriation?"
"Yeah. When chaos peaks, someone has to clean house from the inside. Temporarily, of course—then it'll erupt into even bigger turmoil."
"Understood. I'll contact Paris."
As Hassan replied, I picked up the letter beside the tape.
The parcel carrying the tape had included a letter from the speaker.
The envelope bore the sender's name.
Seyyed Ruhollah Musavi Khomeini.
I unfolded and read it.
It overflowed with effusive gratitude.
"I am eternally grateful for your unwavering support and patronage. I long to meet you in person to discuss matters, but forgive me as events unfold too swiftly. My throat burns with the regret of not expressing my thanks directly to you."
I set the letter aside and penned a fluent French response on a blank sheet.
"I know full well how urgent the situation is. Go to Iran first. I'll follow soon after. Let us meet in the revolutionary homeland.
Sender: As God wills."
I handed the hastily scrawled letter to Hassan.
He accepted it reverently with both hands.
I brought the teacup back to my lips.
"It's not time yet."
I took a sip.
And then...
"The flames of revolution led by Khomeini will eventually consume Iran. Their zeal isn't pure goodwill. For now, the masses riding the wave will back him, but soon they'll see. That chasing out the wolf only left a tiger waiting in the wings."
"Precisely. And they'll seek a new savior. A hunter to slay the tiger."
"Yes. Crowds need to see it with their own eyes. They have to witness their mistake firsthand before they learn. Right?"
Hassan, standing at my side, bowed his head deeply and knelt.
"So it shall be, as Your Highness wills."
A true ally in perfect sync with my thoughts.
Satisfying.
I lifted the teacup to my lips once more.
"Exactly. How could we waste an opportunity like this?"