Chapter 52: Two Factions
The cruise ship cut through the waves, and the sunlight breaking through the clouds was scattered by the thick mist hanging over the dock before finally falling across Jörg's face.
He flicked away the butt of his cigarette and exhaled a plume of bluish-gray smoke, his gaze sweeping calmly over the scene before him.
The reception group that had originally gathered together had been forced apart by the arrival of another party.
On one side stood the German delegation, led by Jörg.
On the other stood a group of Jewish businessmen in top hats, speaking rapidly among themselves in Hebrew while casting glances in their direction.
"What a bunch of…"
Ethan stood close beside Jörg, his scarred face dark with disgust and restrained fury.
He had served on the battlefield. He was Jörg's adjutant, his chief of security, and one of the Progress Party's most steadfast followers. In Ethan's eyes, these people represented everything rotten in the old order. Men without loyalty, without belonging, speaking Hebrew rather than German on German soil, on land soaked with the blood of countless countrymen.
What the hell was that supposed to be?
Jörg noticed the murderous slant of Ethan's gaze at once. He also noticed Ethan's left hand drifting toward his pistol, and the faint metallic clicks of the guards behind them easing their safeties loose.
Without turning his head, Jörg said quietly, "Calm yourself, Ethan. Don't forget why we're here."
Only then did Ethan force down the resentment boiling in his chest. He tore his eyes away from the other group and said through clenched teeth, "Sir, if the situation were any different, I would gladly put a hole through every one of their heads."
His voice was low, but the hatred in it was plain.
"You may not know this, sir, but I once served in the Third Artillery Company. We had a perfect chance to launch a counterattack. I opened the ammunition crates, and they were filled with empty shells. The ammunition had already been sold off by those parasites. Because we couldn't counterattack in time, the whole company was blasted into pulp."
He paused, his expression hardening into something cold and ugly.
"That was the day I learned human fat is yellow."
The moment Ethan spoke of them, all traces of his usual restraint vanished. He was no longer the reliable adjutant at Jörg's side. He was a wounded wolf, one only the wolf king could still command.
Jörg let him finish, then answered evenly, "I know. And the reckoning will come. But not now. Only a strong army can support our ideals, and only a strong army can carry our ambitions."
His words were calm, but they carried absolute authority.
In Germany's present social structure, Jewish financiers were among the most conspicuous and inflammatory elements. A tiny minority controlled a vast portion of the nation's banks. To ordinary people crushed by usury and inflation, the connection between finance and Jewish capital had long become instinctive.
Their manner of living, their social circles, their language, their religious customs, all of it set them apart in the public eye. In such an atmosphere, antagonism had become inevitable.
But Jörg was not yet in a position to strike.
The greatest beneficiaries of the war's aftermath were precisely these financial interests. Germany's banking and credit system had become one of their strongest bastions, and the Weimar order gave them enough political leverage to place themselves wherever money and power met.
That was why they were standing here now.
Jörg did not even need to guess why they had come. They wanted to use the Allied inspection and the restructuring of Germany's financial system to tighten their grip on the last surviving pillars of the nation.
Greedy bastards.
A cold light flashed through Jörg's eyes as he looked toward the leader of the group.
Lohan seemed to sense it. He turned his head, only to meet a face as cold and expressionless as steel.
"Who is that?" he asked in Hebrew.
The secretary at his side glanced down at his notebook and replied, "A Junker. Sent by the Germans to discuss the loan issue."
"Is he a threat? The way he looked at me was… unfriendly."
The secretary shook his head. "There's nothing to worry about, Mr. Lohan. They're here for money. Mr. Jack Morgan, the American representative behind the loans, is an old acquaintance of yours. In other words, they still need men like you."
"That's good."
Lohan withdrew his gaze and looked ahead just as dozens of foreign representatives began descending the gangway.
Before Jörg even stepped forward, Lohan and the others moved first, trying to seize the initiative and greet the delegation ahead of the official German reception party.
Jörg's eyes narrowed.
He was the government's designated principal representative. This was not simply arrogance. It was a deliberate attempt to shove him aside in public and tell everyone present who they believed truly mattered.
"Stop them, Ethan," Jörg said coolly. "Without my order, no one passes."
Permission was all Ethan needed.
A grim smile touched his scarred face as he strode forward. Lohan had only just begun preparing his greeting when a towering soldier in an unfamiliar black uniform stepped directly into his path.
"Move," Ethan said coldly.
The bodyguards behind Lohan immediately rushed forward.
"Who the hell are you?" one of them snapped. "Do you know who you're speaking to? This is Mr. Lohan, financial representative of the official government reception party."
"Stand aside. Now."
Ethan did not even spare them a proper glance. He merely repeated himself, his voice colder than before.
"Move. I won't say it again."
One of the guards, humiliated, pulled back his coat just enough to reveal the pistol beneath.
The gesture only amused Ethan.
He lifted one hand in warning, and behind him the guard company deployed around the dock quietly shifted position. Beneath their black coats, submachine guns came into view.
The synchronized sound of bolts being drawn back was swallowed neatly by the orchestra's welcoming music. But it was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
And it was enough for Ethan to see the hesitation, the weakness, in the men across from him. Men who sold themselves for parasites but did not truly want to die for them.
"If you don't have the nerve to shoot," Ethan said with a sneer, "then get out of the way. Or would you like to gamble on whether I do?"
The guard's momentum collapsed. Ethan shoved him aside without difficulty, then leaned close to Lohan and spoke into his ear, each word sharp and deliberate.
"This is Germany. No matter how weak it becomes, it is still Germany. It is not a playground for wandering parasites who break every rule they dislike. And it is certainly not for the likes of you to represent it."
He straightened slightly.
"You wait until Mr. Roman is finished. Then, and only then, do you go forward."
Lohan clenched his fist, staring at the young man already walking toward the foreign delegation under the flash of camera bulbs.
He stepped back half a pace and forced out a smile.
"Very well. We'll wait."
On the other side, Jörg did not spare them another thought.
Since they had chosen not to give him face, there was no reason for him to show them any in return. More importantly, with Cardolan Investment Company in his hands, he had no need to bow his head to financiers in order to talk about money.
As for whether this would offend people, he cared even less. If they wished to treat him as an enemy, then let them.
"Mr. Dawes," Jörg said in fluent English, extending his hand, "welcome. I am Jörg von Roman, the German representative. I will be handling negotiations with you during your stay."
Dawes was visibly caught off guard for a moment.
The face before him was simply too young. It did not match the title, the tone, or the authority behind the outstretched hand.
The crackle of reporters' flashbulbs finally brought him back to himself. He quickly reached out in return.
"Mr. Roman, a pleasure," Dawes said. "It is an honor to come to Germany and assist in the economic recovery of another nation. Both personally and nationally, I consider it a privilege."
"The feeling is mutual, Mr. Dawes," Jörg replied with a polite smile. "I hope this begins well, and ends even better."
"I hope so as well."
Dawes looked at him once more, then laughed softly.
"I know you've likely heard this many times already, Mr. Roman, but you carry a kind of youth that simply does not belong to this age."
.....
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