1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 30 The Poison in the Victory Champagne

Constantine's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, stirring not ripples, but a chilling cold.

The lively atmosphere that had just been flowing in the reception room instantly froze.

In the champagne glass, the golden bubbles seemed to be held back by invisible pressure, their rising speed suddenly slowed down until they stopped.

Sir Harding's smile froze, a product of muscle memory, devoid of any warmth. He instinctively tried to explain, but found his throat too dry to utter a single syllable.

""take over"?"

Constantine leaned forward slightly, his long fingers pressing down on the exquisite agreement as if it were pressing down on the face of the British Empire.

"Sir, if I remember correctly, this word is usually used in the Egyptian governor's office or in India, not in a sovereign European kingdom."

He spoke slowly, enunciating each word with perfect clarity, as if he were teaching a group of ignorant schoolchildren.

These words were like a bucket of cold water, waking the still-shocked Greek officials.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer, whose face had been flushed with excitement, turned a deep purplish-red. He abruptly stood up, slamming his wine glass down on the table, spilling the golden liquid and staining the brand-new agreement.

"This is outrageous! This is colonization! This is blatant economic colonization!"

"We are not an Ottoman province! Nor are we a British colony!"

"Your Highness, you must not sign! This is even more humiliating than the reparations paid after the defeat thirty years ago!"

Angry shouts rose and fell, the previously harmonious atmosphere vanished, replaced by fury born of being fooled and humiliated. Every pair of eyes that looked at the British burned with rage.

Sir Harding's assistants stood there, pale-faced and helpless, looking to their superior for help.

Harding has finally found his voice again.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and the composed mask of a seasoned British diplomat once again covered his face.

"Your Highness, please calm down. Gentlemen, please calm down as well." He raised his hand, making a reassuring gesture. "There is a huge misunderstanding here. The 'Advisory Council's' original intention was not to 'take over,' but to 'assist' and 'supervise.'"

He looked at Constantine, his eyes showing a hint of difficulty, but more so an unwavering determination.

"Your Highness, you must understand. Seven and a half million pounds is no small sum. The Treasury in London, Prime Minister Salisbury, we all need to be accountable to Parliament and to every British citizen who pays taxes."

Harding's voice became strong and resonant as he began to deliver his prepared remarks.

"The terms clearly state that the 'Advisory Group's' responsibility is to ensure that every penny of the bond funds is used effectively for 'national revival.' They consist of top experts in finance, taxation, and engineering, whose expertise will help Greece avoid pitfalls in large-scale projects and prevent corruption."

He paused, his tone becoming even more earnest, like an elder deeply concerned for a wayward junior.

"Therefore, to ensure the safety of the investment, the advisory group has a veto right for all major projects that utilize this bond funding. This is not interference, Your Highness, but risk control! It is to ensure that the Greek government does not cause the entire country to slide into bankruptcy again due to wrong decisions. This is a guarantee for both of us!"

Veto power

These five words struck like a bolt from the blue, plunging the entire reception room into a deathly silence.

"Bullshit!" a hot-tempered Greek general roared. "Why should you veto our project? Are your experts necessarily more knowledgeable about Greece than our minister?"

Sir Harding ignored the general's roar, his eyes fixed on Constantine.

In his view, the officials' reactions were entirely expected. Once he could persuade the actual decision-maker in front of him, everything would be fine.

He had even prepared a contingency plan. Constantine would be furious, threaten to tear up the agreement, or storm off. And he could use the other party's anger as leverage to secure more benefits for the British Empire on other minor terms, such as the payment method for the naval order or the details of the merchant shipping agreement.

This is a meticulously designed game. First, they provoke you with a seemingly unacceptable and unfair clause, then through "negotiation" and "concessions," they subtly make you suffer losses elsewhere, ultimately achieving the result they want.

Everyone looked at Constantine, awaiting his thunderous rage.

However, Constantine did not.

He showed no anger, no roaring, and not even the slightest sign of humiliation.

He just sat there quietly, his expression as calm as a deep pool of water.

The reception room was deathly silent.

Only the pendulum clock in the reception room, on the smooth mahogany table, struck silently and rhythmically.

笃.

笃.

笃.

Each strike was like a heavy hammer blow to Harding's heart. He had prepared all the contingency plans for dealing with the anger, but he had not anticipated this suffocating silence.

The unknown is the most terrifying.

He couldn't see through the young prince before him. In those deep eyes, there was no anger, no compromise, only a bottomless calm that made his heart tremble.

Time passed by, second by second.

The anger on the faces of Greek officials was gradually replaced by anxiety and unease.

Cold sweat was beginning to trickle down the Englishman's temples.

Just as Harding was about to succumb to the pressure and was about to speak again to break the deadlock.

Constantine raised his head, and a smile slowly spread across his handsome and calm face.

There was no warmth in that smile; instead, it carried a playful air of seeing through all the tricks, and the satisfaction of a hunter watching his prey step into a trap.

"Oh……"

A soft laugh escaped Constantine's throat.

Then he burst into laughter.

"Haha...hahahaha!"

Laughter echoed through the deathly silent drawing room, leaving everyone stunned. The Greek officials stared in disbelief, while Sir Harding felt a chill run down his spine to the top of his head!

Has he gone mad?

He actually laughed in the face of such humiliating terms?

Constantine laughed so hard he almost fell over, as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world. He raised a hand to wipe away non-existent tears from the corner of his eye, looked at Sir Harding's ashen face, and finally stopped laughing.

"Jazz."

His voice still carried a hint of laughter, but it sent a chill down Harding's spine.

"You British people are really...so funny."