novelSusiti Chapter 25 This isn't a loan, it's venture capital!
Chapter 25 This isn't a loan, it's venture capital!
"...Buy a corpse that you can manipulate at will?"
This question, like an invisible thunderclap, exploded in Sir Harding's ears.
His cheeks flushed instantly, and his years of cultivated diplomatic composure nearly crumbled as a surge of anger, a mixture of shame and offense, rushed to his head. He sprang from his chair, attempting to defend the British Empire's "goodwill."
"Your Highness! You misunderstand! This is just standard risk control procedure at the Treasury!" Harding's voice was sharp with urgency. "Sir Wilby has always done this; he would even ask the Governor General of Canada to use the deed to the Governor General's residence as collateral for a small loan! Really! I swear to God!"
Constantine leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching him quietly without interrupting, letting him explain.
This silent gaze is more intimidating than any vehement rebuttal.
Harding's voice trailed off, and he realized how utterly weak and feeble his explanation was. Canada was one of the wealthiest dominions of the empire, while Greece was... a bankrupt state that couldn't even pay its civil servants' salaries. To draw a comparison between the two was simply self-humiliating.
Finally, Constantine raised his hand and gently pressed down.
"Sir, please have a seat."
His voice possesses an irresistible, calming power.
Harding slumped down like a punctured balloon, his shirt soaked with cold sweat.
"I understand Sir Wilby's concerns," Constantine said, without a trace of sarcasm in his tone. "From a purely banker's perspective, Greece is indeed a terrible lending partner. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn't lend money to a hopelessly incorrigible gambler either."
This unexpected "understanding" startled Harding slightly, and he was somewhat caught off guard by Constantine's train of thought.
“But,” Constantine’s tone shifted, “I am not begging a banker for handouts. Sir, I am presenting a strategist with a vision of a mutually beneficial future.”
He stood up and walked to one side of the room, where a huge velvet curtain covered the space.
He grabbed a corner of the curtain and pulled hard.
"Splash—"
The curtain slid down, revealing a huge map that covered the entire wall.
This is no ordinary map of Greece. It's a blueprint for the future, marked with countless symbols, lines, and planned areas using red and blue pencils!
Sir Harding's eyes were instantly drawn to the map. It wasn't a static geographical map; it was a...living, burning, vibrant blueprint!
"Look, Sir."
Constantine picked up a slender pointer, as confident and focused as a CEO presenting a plan to the board.
His pointer pointed to the port of Piraeus, next to Athens.
"Here, the port of Piraeus will be expanded into the largest deep-water port in the Mediterranean. We will build brand-new docks, warehouses, and cranes, and its throughput will be more than ten times what it is now."
The indicator light moved north, tracing lines of red light.
"These are the railways that will soon be built. One will connect Athens with the major northern city of Thessaloniki, opening up a major north-south transportation artery. The other will traverse the Peloponnese peninsula, continuously transporting minerals and agricultural products from along the way to the ports."
The pointer eventually landed on several circled areas on the map, clearly labeled in English as "steel," "cement," and "military industry."
"Here, here, and here," Constantine's voice was filled with power, "this will be our future industrial zone. A steel mill, a cement plant, an arms factory... We will utilize the latest technology imported from Germany to build Greece's own industrial base!"
Sir Harding stared at the dense markings on the map and listened to Constantine's clear and logical explanation, and was completely overwhelmed with a sense of awe.
He finally understood.
This young prince was not thinking about how to pay off old debts or how to swindle aid from foreign powers to fill the financial deficit.
He is planning a nation's industrial revolution!
What he wanted was for Greece, an agricultural country, to leap into the industrial age!
Constantine put down the pointer and turned to face Hardin.
"Sir, do you now understand why I refused that loan?"
"Please convey to Sir Wilby that what Greece needs is the tools to produce its own blood, not a blood transfusion needle that can only temporarily sustain life! Such usury will only hasten our demise, turning our taxes into cold, unchanging numbers on your bankers' books, while our people will forever lose the opportunity to create wealth."
Constantine walked back to the table and tapped lightly on his "National Recovery Bonds" proposal with his fingers.
"This is not a loan." His voice became extremely solemn. "Sir, this is an invitation. An invitation from the British Empire to make... a venture capital investment in a future ally with powerful industrial capabilities!"
Harding's Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed hard.
"Your Highness, this is too... too ambitious, and too risky. Do you know what this means? It means a huge, continuous investment!"
“Of course I know,” Constantine laughed. “That’s why I’ll put every penny raised through bonds into these goose-laying hens! Railroad profits, port taxes, factory products—these are the fundamental guarantees for repaying the debt, not the salt and tobacco that our people depend on for survival!”
Constantine's grand vision, clear business logic, and the overwhelming ambition to completely transform the country struck Harding like a heavy hammer.
For the first time, he clearly realized that he might be facing more than just a politician who manipulates power.
He was facing a true builder, a dreamer with an iron will.
Harding fell silent. He knew that what he had just seen and heard was enough to make those London bureaucrats, who only cared about the books, re-examine the country and the prince.
But he's still missing one last thing.
It's the same kind of direct and naked temptation that even the misers in the Treasury and the warmongers in the Navy can't resist.
Constantine seemed to see right through him.
He smiled slightly and calmly pulled out another document from the pile of files on the table—the one he had prepared long ago, his real trump card.
"Sir, I understand your concerns. The blueprint is beautiful, but it takes time, and what the gentlemen of London lack most is patience."