Excellent Bureaucrat of the Year
Collecting on bad debts had always been dirty work, from time immemorial. The people who defaulted weren't normal folk to begin with, and no matter how pitiful their circumstances, if you let them slide once or twice, they turned into deadbeat scumbags who invented excuses left and right and never paid up. A lenient person might be merciful to some, but a sucker to others. Humans were fundamentally selfish creatures; given the chance, they'd exploit anyone. And if kindness persisted, they'd mistake it for entitlement. Grant them a grace period out of sympathy, and they'd demand another. Yes, demand. Not beg—demand. Back in the modern world, I'd called this "pushing your luck." Strangely, this "pushing" always bred resentment on failure and vitriol on rejection. People steeped in pre-modern Confucian nostalgia acted just like that. Tab runs, tax evasion, guarantees, discounts, "requests" that were really orders. Even department heads and grade-6 civil servants strutting like presidents. I'd felt the disconnect every time. It was like pasting 1980s space into 2025: "Sire?" "One moment—I must have been deep in thought."
Too deep, indeed. That was Korea; this was 18th-century France. Even the absurd seemed plausible here. Forget Korea. Focus on memories that could help me in this France, where I now lived.
"Chief Researcher of Military Doctrine. Your soliloquy has cut the knot. As you say, it's better to advise that uncollectible debts needn't be paid. Spain's economy will crumble once more, but better it collapse now and rebuild on solid ground."
"S-Sire?! Y-Yes, sire. You're too kind."
In the modern world, that would've landed you in criminal and civil court, but here the law wasn't so systematic—you'd just catch some flak and move on. No intelligence agency to catch such illicit schemes anyway.
"Then tell me this: if we're bankrupting Spain, how ought we do it right?"
"The Deputy Finance Minister speaking, sire. The Atacama Desert..."
"Rejected. I cannot fathom why you keep dragging in the Atacama. That's a done deal."
Why the obsession with their cousin's real estate? Dragging up settled matters only hurt our position. Sure, it profited us, but tarnishing France's name? They knew that. In colonial and imperial eras, who cared about credit ratings? Yet Britain was the poster child for ruined image from such carelessness. Best not renege on contracts. Or... did they not know? We'd stuffed the bureaucracy with commoner scholars and Enlightenment types—meritocrats blind to diplomatic norms and unwritten rules. A real dilemma. Time to tweak the hiring process someday.
"Director of the Army Ordnance Research Institute speaking, sire. What if we buy their weapons or ship technologies?"
"Rejected. We covered that."
Atacama or tech purchases—weren't those rehashes? Déjà vu all over. The bureaucrats wore baffled expressions. Did they not grasp the discussion? Surely they knew the difference between repayment and seizure?
"Comptroller General of Finances speaking, sire. Why not merge them outright, under the pretext of quelling their political chaos?"
Terray was the only one with a proper bankruptcy plan. But no.
"Rejected. I won't violate the Treaty of Utrecht."
The Treaty of Utrecht, signed in 1713, was riddled with clauses banning French-Spanish union. Honestly, with France's current strength, we could manage it. But forcing merger would leave a unified Franco-Spain isolated, draining our power utterly. Classic marshmallow test: endure now for future abundance. Sorry to the Spanish royals and masses, but I wasn't launching a water rocket. Nobles and clergy backlash? France had no such estates.
"Director of Foreign Affairs speaking, sire. What about mining rights in undiscovered colonial mines, or free trade privileges in their colonies as offset?"
"I said no monetary discussions. Spain lacks even 1:1 offset capacity—that's why we're talking. If you're sleepy, stand and listen."
Regular bureaucrats truly didn't grasp repayment versus seizure. No personal experience? Most were political prisoners or broke students during the promissory note scams' heyday.
"Let me clarify: gold in the ground is gold."
Offsetting billions in immediate debt with a gold mine yielding 200-300 million francs over years? That's straight forgiveness. And France didn't need gold now. In this era when gilt brass passed for coinage, why dig? Long-term value, sure, but with gold's monetary role gone, it was just a store of value. To modern France, a gold mine was a shackle—useful only for laundering Mont Blanc's bullion. And that bullion was earmarked for obliterating disliked nations later; a laundering mine would complicate things.
"Sire, Paris Central Bank Governor here. A question: if Merino sheep are shorn and sold, isn't that monetary too?"
"Common misconception. Selling goods doesn't mean valuing them purely as goods—unless anyone can produce them."
From that view, Merino wool held boundless worth: political prestige from "Spanish monopoly breed," unforeseeable boosts to French wool output, a weapon to crush Britain's woolens industry. That's why we overvalued them versus raw cash. The new banker-scholar struggled to quantify political value. Meritocracy or not, we were flooded with greenhorns from king to clerks—zealous theorists sans skill.
"Some gains benefit France despite no immediate profit; some profits harm despite the cash. Real assets like gold qualify now."
The nutrient-poor debate dragged on. Silver mines? Needed for Qing trade—rejected. Timber rights? Naval use—rejected. All offered more cash than alternatives, so no. We conferenced till sunset, but no answers I sought. Finally, I shouldered the rifle myself.
"Receiving all of New Spain—that's cleanest, no?"
Silence; they eyed each other warily. Understandable: territorial cession was quasi-sovereign abdication. Suggesting it was diplomatic rudeness. Excessive demands equaled insolence. And failed talks meant blame for proposers and executors. Hence, no one touched it—lest they draw fire.
But when needed, step up.
"Foreign Minister, attend."
"Yes, sire. Listening."
That's charisma. No French bureaucrat had it yet.
"This grain aid totals 8.52 billion francs; Spain can't repay. Advise bankruptcy. Even post-bankruptcy, France bears all debt, holding disposal rights over all assets. Thus, upon Spanish default, we'll annex 'some territory' and return the rest. That territory: all northern Mexico."
That clears 8.52 billion with change—swap remnants for steel over grain.
"Mexico? Ah, Texcoco, sire. Understood. Spain can't refuse."
Texcoco? That's modern Mexico? Roughly Central America to Texas line.
"Obviously. I'd not mention the impossible."
Frankly, not prime expansion time. No steamships, unstable North America—botch it, and we'd burst. Peninsulares, criollos, mestizos, blacks; unsolved colonial economics meant plantations at best short-term. But miss now, lose it forever. America was ally now, but post-continental grab, isolationism would make them ignore Europe. I loathed that. Europe coughs, America shivers—at minimum. Northern Mexico ensures it: Central America French? America can't fully ignore. Not vast land, so subcontract pioneering to them with debt forgiveness. They'd not claim ownership after.
"Proceed thus. Instruct the Spanish ambassador in Paris."
"Yes, sire."
What could go wrong?