Chapter 57: Alliance
As expected, the document from the Foreign Ministry was delivered straight to Ebert's office.
He read it once. Then a second time. Then a third, as if repetition alone might make the contents less absurd. At last, he lowered the paper, looked across the desk at the young man standing before him, and asked a question he had already asked more than once in the past:
"Jörg, how did you do it?"
Jörg only shook his head, as if the matter were scarcely worth discussing.
"Mr. President, I believe you've asked me that three times already. I merely used a few minor tricks."
Ebert let out a short, humorless laugh.
"I have never seen anyone trick a loan out of a room full of financial elites with 'minor tricks.' Do not mistake my age for senility, young man. I am still perfectly aware of what is happening beyond these walls."
He tapped the document with two thick fingers.
"Falsifying industrial strength. Inflating educational figures. Clever, certainly. But have you considered the obvious consequence? Loans must be repaid. Can Germany truly carry a debt of this size?"
He spoke with his hands folded beneath his broad chin, his expression grave.
Jörg did not flinch.
"On the contrary, Mr. President, loans are not reparations. We need only ensure regular interest payments and continue showing foreign capital that Germany remains a sound field for investment. If we do that, then next year more money will come, not less."
He paused, then said the rest with calm certainty.
"In other words, the more we borrow, the safer we become."
To a lesser man, that answer might have sounded persuasive. To Ebert, who had risen from a worker's life into politics through experience rather than theory, it sounded clever, dangerous, and incomplete.
"And if one link in that chain breaks?" Ebert asked at once. "Then what? How do we repay mountains of paper promises?"
Jörg's eyes narrowed faintly, though his tone remained light.
"I don't think that is the part we need to fear. I rather like one old principle. The man who owes the money is the debtor, yes, but the real trouble belongs to the man who lent it."
Ebert did not answer immediately. He only watched him.
When Jörg said those words, there was no recklessness in his face, only a cold, sharpened resolve. It was not the expression of a boy gambling with numbers. It was the expression of a man already preparing for the day the bill would come due and intending, by then, to hold the stronger hand.
At length, Ebert let the matter rest and changed the subject.
"So. To secure the American money, we are expected to make concessions regarding the State Bank." He tapped the relevant section of the document. "Tell me honestly, Jörg. For money, must we really wrap up the German Bank and sell it to Jewish capital?"
"Not sell, Mr. Ebert," Jörg corrected evenly. "Only concede, and only temporarily. That is one reason I came in person."
He reached into his case and produced another set of papers.
"I would also like your approval for an equity investment plan."
Ebert's brows rose.
"An equity investment plan?"
Jörg inclined his head.
"I believe we can use large scale foreign participation to create a new class of stock on the American market. Germany would not need to put up significant physical assets. We would provide legitimacy, political backing, and an economic narrative. The rise and fall of these shares would be tied to Germany's recovery. Speculators would pour money into them by the thousands."
Ebert frowned.
"That sounds dangerously close to government bonds."
"No," Jörg replied at once. "The difference is fundamental. We would not issue the stock ourselves. We would merely provide the legal and political framework. The actual issuance would be left to the Jewish financial houses on Wall Street. Let them lend their prestige, their network, and their greed to the scheme."
Ebert leaned back slowly in his chair.
He did not yet like the sound of it, though he could already tell it was one of those ideas that could not be dismissed simply because it was distasteful.
"And why," he asked, "would they agree to endorse such a thing? And how do you imagine America would tolerate it? More importantly, what exactly do you intend to do with the money?"
Jörg's answer came without hesitation.
"Profit. That is why they will agree. We issue new stock annually and sell it to them at the median market value. Whatever profit they squeeze from speculation is theirs to keep. The American government will not object as long as its own financial class is making money."
Then he tapped the Fate Plan file resting near Ebert's elbow.
"As for the money itself, it would greatly reduce the government's direct burden in funding Fate."
Albert's gaze sharpened at once.
"So that is what this is really about. You want the Americans to underwrite German military expenditures. Hundreds of millions already on the table are not enough for you, and now you wish to push further."
His voice hardened.
"I am beginning to wonder whether Fate was ever truly about self defense."
For a brief moment, silence settled between them.
Then Ebert rose, walked to the window, and spoke without turning around.
"You are fully responsible for this matter, and I will not interfere without reason. But I want to ask you one question, Jörg. Answer me plainly."
He turned back.
"In the future you are trying to build, is war the destination?"
Jörg met his gaze without wavering.
"No, Mr. Ebert."
His reply was quiet, but there was iron beneath it.
"The future I want is Germany."
…
With the President's endorsement, resistance from the cabinet immediately weakened. News still leaked, of course. In Berlin, nothing of consequence stayed secret for long. Within days, the five major Junker financial houses had already learned enough to smell danger, and their representatives converged upon the Foreign Ministry at once, demanding an explanation.
The confrontation took place in Jörg's top floor office.
Voices rose. Accusations followed.
One elderly banker, red faced with indignation, slammed his cane against the carpet and barked, "Do not forget that your name also bears a von, Jörg. And yet you dare trade away national interests, seats on the State Bank no less, to those damned Jews?"
Another cut in immediately.
"This is nothing less than selling the country!"
Jörg let them speak.
He knew perfectly well that every man in that room wore the language of patriotism like a ceremonial sash, useful for appearances, easily set aside when profit called louder. These were not guardians of the national interest. They were merely men who had enriched themselves handsomely during the inflationary collapse and now feared losing ground to rival predators.
He waited until the anger had spent enough force to leave a silence behind, then spoke in a tone far calmer than theirs.
"Gentlemen, I believe you came here to solve a problem, not perform outrage."
He folded his hands on the desk.
"If you object so strongly to conceding one third of the seats, I can offer an alternative. I will apply to the President for an emergency national bond issue of two hundred and fifty million dollars. You will cover the shortfall yourselves. Once the funds are secured, I will immediately halt discussions with the Morgan consortium and tell them to leave Germany."
His eyes moved from one face to the next.
"Well? Shall we proceed in that direction?"
The room went still.
That was the difference between principle and payment. Principle shouted. Payment silenced.
No one in that room wanted to cover the gap. No one had come there intending to save Germany out of personal sacrifice. They had come to pressure him, frighten him, and perhaps extract a few additional guarantees for themselves.
One of the representatives finally cleared his throat.
"But we have heard," he said cautiously, "that Jewish capital is demanding all the seats. If that is true, how would giving away merely one third ever satisfy them?"
"And that," Jörg replied at once, "is precisely the point on which our interests align."
He leaned back slightly.
"The maximum concession I am prepared to offer is one third. On the question of preventing foreign control over our currency issuance, your interests and mine are identical."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"As for whether they accept that limit, it is not your problem. It is mine."
This time the room did not erupt again. The men looked at one another across the office, measuring not sentiment but margins.
At last, the central representative, the most influential among them, spoke for the group.
"If it is one third, then we have no objection."
He paused, then added with deliberate firmness:
"But it must remain one third. Not a seat more."
Jörg gave a slight nod.
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 10–50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]
[One Piece, Naruto, Bleach, Soul Land, NBA, and more — all in one place.]