We're the Last Ones Standing!
1778 8 9, .
It wasn't flashy attire, but a cluster of men in neat clothing had gathered, raising their glasses. They were all former Third Estate, now bourgeoisie.
"Hahaha. Drink up as much as you like. It's from the auction house—bought at a steal, so no worries about the price."
"Hahaha. Well, if you insist. Cheers."
"Hahaha."
Sipping wine bought for 0.3% of its value under a chandelier acquired for 4 sols and 16 deniers, dressed in clothes snagged for 0.008% of the price, in a villa once owned by some count or marquis in Fontainebleau—they were reveling in their cost-effective luxury.
"Heard about next week's auction? A Swedish warship's up for grabs..."
"I did. But we're short on funds ourselves..."
They weren't discussing philosophy.
"Then shall we team up? My business is land trade—no need for a warship."
"Hahaha. Deal. Oh, and the one after that has 200 Austrian warhorses, I hear."
"We get along just fine."
"Hahaha."
"Uhahaha."
No theology, no natural sciences, no military theory—just talk of money.
"I'm quite interested in that too."
A capitalist in an old count's garb joined the conversation.
"Oh, if it isn't the big boss himself."
One of the earlier capitalists welcomed him warmly.
"Just your run-of-the-mill moneylender. Haha. Anyway, talking about the next auction?"
He was the host of this gathering, a usurer.
"Exactly. With all of Europe in recession, shouldn't we prop each other up among ourselves?"
"Well said. But once we've pulled each other up the ladder, we kick it away, right?"
"Precisely. So, that ladder you're talking about...?"
The other groups of capitalists perked up at the host's words.
"Those 200 Austrian warhorses are an Austrian listing. Six straight no-sales, price down to 10% of starting bid."
"Eh, 10% is still pricey. Warhorses need salt regularly, grain, stables built, grooms hired. Plus inheriting some debt. All costs money— you're saying we buy now?"
The capitalist stuck out his tongue, shying from early bidding.
But that wasn't what the host meant.
"Not at all. Early bidding lets you snag before cash-rich rivals show, but the problem is bids inflate too high."
"Ah, so something else? My apologies for the rudeness."
"No offense. That's the usual ladder-kick."
The host pulled a document from his pocket.
"This is my ladder-kick plan."
The capitalist eyed the fraudulent bankruptcy scheme the host proposed.
Set up a ghost company to buy auction lots. Once acquired, bankrupt the ghost company. Then, in asset liquidation, list them with 'no debt inheritance' terms. How's that?
The host's proposal was blatantly illegal.
"Well now. Hahaha..."
"If the moneylender says go, we go. Hahaha."
They answered awkwardly, but their eyes sparkled.
Illegal? If no one's caught, it's legal.
"That'll crash prices on overvalued assets too."
The host leaned in at the capitalist's idea.
"If ghost companies bankrupt and dump 'no debt' lots cheap, that becomes the new market rate, right?"
"As they say, three heads make a tiger. Sharing ideas with you all was the right call."
"Nothing to it. Just money flowing."
The host and capitalist gave no firm promises—just clinked glasses hard enough to nearly shatter them.
1778 8 29, , .
"Wings operation successful. Proceed with military provocation against Austria?"
"That's pirate business. National Intelligence Agency stays in the shadows."
"Understood."
Terray. Former noble, now commoner. Factory manager at the French Royal Ironworks. Comptroller-General of Finances. And head of the National Intelligence Agency in name only.
He was the only one who knew Louis XVI's true face.
But no treason in him. Only loyalty.
That loyalty stemmed not from economic gain or social status.
Terray, the Third Estate. Infiltrator in the royal court, preparing for the revolution to come—and cleaning up the one that happened.
No treason. Only loyalty.
He was loyal to France.
1778 9 1, .
The auction house was deserted. What else? The 'Great Qing Trade Fraud' still rippled across Europe.
"First lot of the day."
No reaction to the auctioneer's call.
Most bidders were capitalists' servants. Simple jobs: note unsold items for reports. And if someone bid on their boss's target, counterbid to snatch it.
That was it. They dozed or gambled with fellow servants, expecting nothing.
Not all were servants, though. Some were laborers or farmers who'd saved up.
Their savings? Pennies at auction scale.
"45 ducats! 45 ducats. 45 ducats. Sold!"
Europe on its knees. Pennies could prowl auctions now.
"32 acres in Silesia. Sold. Debt transfers on contract. Creditors offer 3-year grace. Proceed?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah. Don't get it, but no immediate payback?"
"Yes."
"Sweet! Contract here—can't miss fall planting."
The farmer signed without reading.
The auctioneer pocketed 45 ducats, muttering under his breath.
—One sucker hooked.
The farmer inherited 45 ducats' debt too. 65% annual interest until repaid.
No one told him.
His choice. Investments personal responsibility.
No crying later—it's in the contract.
Farmer grabbed the deed and bolted.
"Second lot. Swedish warship included. 24-pounder bow cannon, 18-pounders each side. Great escort value. 300 ducats start!"
Auctioneer expected no sale. Unprecedented: warships to civilians, foreign ones.
Sweden priced too high. 300 ducats? Near cost for small ship.
10% of build cost, technically a bargain—but at 1% fire-sale norm, 10% gouging. Plus debt inheritance? Miracle if sold.
"300 ducats. Anyone? 300. 300."
"Bid 300 ducats."
"Yes! 300 ducats! 300!"
Miracle.
"Sold at 300! Creditors offer 5-year grace..."
"Noted. Contract quick—next lot."
Auctioneer grinned at his 7% cut.
"Next: Austrian warhorses. 200 head! 1 ducat each. Total 200 ducats!"
"200 ducats."
"Sold at 200! Creditors offer 3-year grace..."
1778 10 12. , .
Contracts piled in chaos. Each worth tens, hundreds of ducats: manors, longswords, mining rights, slave papers. All bought under 10% cost.
National Intelligence Agency agents revalued them.
Land worth 200 ducats? Down to 8, annotated 'no debt inheritance.'
Valued in brass francs. 1 ducat between 12-13 francs.
Old pure gold louis: 24 francs, two ducats each.
Past Louis XVI gaped at dire exchange and inflation.
Ordered National Intelligence Agency: 'One pure gold buys 200 loaves.'
Three years on: brass gold at 1 franc, silver-plated iron at 1 sol.
1 ducat now bought 200 Campagne loaves.