Chapter 59: Dawes Stock
"You think I'm a traitor."
Jack's face still wore the composed expression of a seasoned businessman, but his eyes had sharpened.
"Of course not, Mr. Jack." Jörg's tone remained calm. "Traitor is far too narrow a word. A businessman will never betray only one thing, profit. Compromising for greater profit is not betrayal. It is a choice."
That answer added a trace of genuine interest to the older man's lined face. Jack tilted his head slightly and settled into a listening posture, signaling for him to continue.
"One third of the seats are yours. At the same time, President Ebert has granted me a very useful authorization, provided we reach an agreement today."
Jörg paused for a moment, then asked, "With a large volume of loans flowing into Germany, what do you think will happen to the German economy, Mr. Jack?"
"It will improve, naturally." Jack gave a faint smile. "Even the most mediocre stockbroker knows that."
"Then let me ask a second question. What if we create a stock whose rise and fall are tied directly to the recovery of the German economy? How many speculators do you think that would attract? How many men do you think would rush to buy it?"
The atmosphere in the room shifted at once.
What had been a tense negotiation instantly turned into something else. Jack's interest was no longer concealed.
"You mean to turn a country into a stock?" he asked. "That is a very novel idea. But are you certain this is not simply national debt in another costume?"
"No." Jörg shook his head. "This will be a charity stock, issued in the name of postwar reconstruction. Every share purchased helps rebuild Germany. Every rise in value will be tied to Germany's gradual economic recovery."
His eyes remained steady as he continued.
"Of course, I will only sell the stock to you at a median base price. As for how high you choose to push it, and how much money you extract from speculation, that part is entirely yours. Germany asks only for the base value."
As an old hand in finance, Jack instantly understood how lucrative such a scheme could become.
Though dressed in the language of charity and reconstruction, this stock would not be backed by any conventional guarantee. Ordinary shares at least had a visible company beneath them. This one would rest almost entirely on faith, anticipation, and manipulation.
In truth, it was less a stock than a gamble.
And the ones setting the table would be the ones making the real money.
Still, that only made it more attractive.
"It looks very profitable," Jack admitted. "But I have one question. What exactly do I need to do?"
"Simple." Jörg leaned back slightly. "You provide influence. If Germany issues this stock herself, no one will trust a government already burdened by debt. But if you enter the market first, and if the great houses of Wall Street enter with you and purchase heavily, then how many people do you think will follow?"
Jack answered almost at once, because the outcome was obvious even before the question finished.
"Innumerable. Once the recovery begins, more and more people will see others making money and join the feast."
"Exactly."
Jörg's voice remained low, but the certainty in it made the idea sound less like speculation and more like destiny.
Jack studied him in silence for a few seconds, then laughed softly.
"Mr. Roman, you are very clever. This may be the first time I have admired a young man from another country this much." He drummed his fingers lightly on the arm of the chair. "Are you interested in joining my investment company? I could give you more than forty percent of the shares, and an income far beyond anything Germany is paying you now."
Jörg refused without the slightest hesitation.
"No."
Power, in his eyes, had always been a form of wealth that money could never truly purchase.
"So you agree, then?" he asked.
Jack gave a small nod, then narrowed his eyes.
"I do. But I also have one small question. Is Germany truly that short of money, or is it you, Mr. Roman, who is truly that short of money?"
"Do you care, Mr. Jack?"
Jörg did not answer directly. He merely returned the question.
Jack chuckled.
"No. I do not."
Then his expression turned serious again.
"I like your proposal. I will speak with the relevant people, including the Morgan Consortium. With profits of this scale, I do not think they will be stingy in lending their influence, their press, or their support to the matter."
He extended his hand.
"One third of the seats. The charity stock. Congratulations, Mr. Roman. Your offer is richer than Lohan's. Shall we say a pleasant cooperation?"
Jörg looked at the offered hand, smiled faintly, but did not take it.
Instead, he rose and walked toward the door.
"A pleasant cooperation."
Jack watched his departing figure, then glanced at the untouched red wine on the table and shook his head with a mixture of amusement and admiration.
"What an arrogant man. And what a rare genius."
After Jörg left, Dawes, who had been waiting outside, immediately entered. It was obvious he was in no mood to play polite games. The tension of the past several days had stretched him thin, and he had invested too much political capital in this mission to tolerate uncertainty now.
"Is it settled?"
He picked up his own glass of red wine, which had likewise remained mostly untouched. Beneath the impatience in his tone was undisguised anticipation.
"It is settled." Jack's mood was evidently excellent. "That young man knows exactly what I want. Mr. Dawes, I apologize for my behavior during these past days. I am very satisfied with this trip to Germany."
He paused, then added with a meaningful smile, "And if you do not mind, the Morgan Consortium may be willing to shoulder certain expenses related to your presidential ambitions. In return, I need a very small favor."
Dawes, who had just felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders, immediately relaxed.
"What favor?"
"Help me promote a stock," Jack said. "And help me name it."
On the other side, Jörg stood beneath the equestrian statue of Frederick the Great and reached into his coat pocket, intending to pull out a cigarette. Instead, his fingers found an empty packet.
Ethan, who had been waiting by the car, seemed to have anticipated the need. He hurried over and offered him a half full case.
"Sir, are you done?"
Jörg drew out a cigarette and lit it. The familiar tobacco filled his lungs, and the smoke drifted into the night air like a thin, grey ribbon.
The purpose of creating the charity stock was not singular.
On one level, it would provide a vast stream of funds outside direct government supervision. On another, only the United States possessed both enough money and enough feverish speculators to feed such a financial monster.
America was still intoxicated by the myth of the Roaring Twenties. Every dollar thrown into this stock would, in his mind, one day become a round of ammunition fired on a training ground, a tank engine tested in secret, a rifle placed into the hands of a soldier.
As for why Jewish capital had to be brought into the game, that answer was equally simple.
They were the ideal partners for this phase. Their reach in finance and media was sufficient to turn a stock into a national mania. Their endorsement could transform a concept into a market frenzy.
And yet Jörg also knew what came later.
The same men who hyped it, promoted it, and profited from it would become the easiest targets when the bubble burst. Once crisis came, public fury would not stop to distinguish between architects and beneficiaries.
Of course, he did not believe men like Jack were too blind to see that such a stock would someday collapse. But as Jack himself had already made clear, that did not matter. They cared about profit now. The future could be sold off to someone else.
"Sir? Sir?"
Ethan's voice pulled him back.
"It's nothing." Jörg flicked ash into the wind. "Let's return to the manor. Tomorrow I'll report this to President Ebert. It's time to push the Fate Plan forward."
"Yes, sir."
Jörg stubbed out the cigarette, stepped into the car, and let the door close behind him.
Outside, moonlight lay cold across the city. Inside, the carriage rolled forward through the night, carrying him deeper into the future he intended to forge for Germany.
.....
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