Chapter 60: New Era
The dramatic turning points of an era are often driven by countless ordinary people, yet only a handful at the summit of the pyramid ever truly witness them as they happen. A few lucky ones, however, catch sight of the profit hidden within the tide and dare to reach for it.
Hamburg, in a cheap apartment near the industrial district.
Buck let out a long breath after checking the bundle of stock certificates in his briefcase for the third time.
He had staked everything on those papers.
The apartment his parents had left him. Two bicycles. Every bit of money he could scrape together. He had even borrowed from everyone willing to lend him a mark.
If he had guessed wrong, then becoming homeless would have been the mildest possible end for him and his family.
He wanted a cigarette, only to remember that even his cigarette money had gone into buying shares.
Rubbing his tired eyes, Buck took out his key and opened the door.
A stale smell rushed into his face, industrial soot, tar, damp wood, and the faint rot of an old building that had endured too many winters. In the kitchen corner, a few hungry mice scattered at the sound.
"Buck, you're back?"
A plainly dressed woman looked at him with suspicion. The frayed cuffs of her sleeves made it obvious that this two person household had always lived carefully, almost painfully so.
"What have you been doing these past few days? I heard from some of your coworkers that you haven't gone to work, and that you borrowed a large sum of money from them."
Her expression grew more serious.
"Two days ago, two men in suits even came here claiming to be housing inspectors. Buck... you didn't go and gamble, did you?"
Faced with his wife, Buck still did not dare admit that he had wagered his entire life on nothing more than a wild instinct.
These past few days, he had swung between elation and despair like a man tied to a pendulum.
His cautious nature kept telling him to stop, to pull back, to salvage what little he had left. Yet some voice buried deep inside refused to let him miss what felt like his only chance to climb out of the mud.
Waaah, waaah.
The baby's cry shattered the tense silence.
His wife shot him one last hard look, then hurried into the next room, leaving Buck alone beside the rusty radio.
He turned the knob.
Static crackled. Shifted. Rose and fell. Then, at last, the interference gave way to a deep, formal voice.
"Today at 8:50 a.m., with the signatures of President Ebert and Mr. Dawes, the American representative, the draft for the reparations reorganization plan was officially approved.
"It is understood that both the United States and Britain have agreed to the plan and will formally deliver the first batch of 500 million U.S. dollars in industrial recovery loans at next month's London Conference.
"At the same time, the Ministry of Economy has officially issued a statement declaring that currency reform will also be carried out..."
An immense surge of joy slammed into Buck's chest.
He could no longer hear the rest of the broadcast.
With trembling hands, he dumped every stock certificate from the briefcase onto the table.
In his eyes, they were no longer pieces of paper.
They were gold.
Gold waiting to be redeemed.
He was going to be rich.
.....
On the other side, beneath the temporary podium erected on Wilhelm Avenue, a flood of reporters pressed forward, their cameras flashing without pause.
The click of shutters rose and fell like a storm.
Yet even more eye catching than the journalists was the human wall of guards in black uniforms surrounding the platform. Their expressions were cold, their posture rigid, their presence enough to keep the crowd in line without a word.
After Dawes finished his long speech of thanks, Ebert leaned on his cane and slowly walked onto the stage.
He tapped the microphone once.
Then he began.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted that Mr. Dawes has brought us such welcome news.
"Germany once fell into the abyss because of war. And because of war, she was forced to bear heavy chains, chains that left the people of this land hungry and humiliated."
His voice was not loud, yet it carried with unusual force.
"But now, through the trust of the nations and through the restructuring of our debts, the Weimar Republic will step toward a new life, a new era of peaceful development."
Applause thundered out at once.
Some of it was for the President. Some of it was for the promise of money. Some of it was simply the instinctive relief of a nation that had been suffocating for too long.
And some of it, though few in the crowd realized it, belonged to Jörg.
In the distance, inside an Imperial Eagle automobile parked apart from the commotion, Jörg sat in the back seat and watched the jubilant spectacle through the half open window.
He rolled the glass down a little farther and flicked away the ash from his cigarette.
Beside him, Hindenburg seemed to sense the young man's thoughts and gave a dry, almost teasing snort.
"The result of your months of labor has now become another man's achievement."
His cloudy old eyes turned toward Jörg.
"Are you envious?"
Jörg shook his head.
Even if President Ebert looked dazzling at this moment, that brilliance did not change the essence beneath it. He was still a man of compromise, a statesman forced to survive among factions, bargaining tables, and frail coalitions.
What Jörg wanted was never that kind of empty prestige.
He did not want to shine while being strangled from every side.
"I am not envious, Field Marshal," he said calmly. "For me, the completion of the matter is what matters most. As for who receives the applause, I do not care."
Then he turned slightly.
"However, Herr Field Marshal, I would like to ask one question. Have I now fulfilled our wager?"
Hindenburg reached out and drew the curtain shut, blocking the pale morning sunlight filtering through the clouds.
"Of course you have."
His voice turned deeper, steadier.
"If this does not count, then perhaps only God Himself could have done better."
He looked at Jörg for a long moment before continuing.
"Congratulations. From today onward, you are the youngest colonel in Germany. From captain to colonel in two years, you have done in two years what many men fail to accomplish in an entire lifetime."
A faint smile touched Jörg's lips.
"There will be those who say you do not deserve it," Hindenburg went on. "But I know very well that your ability exceeds that of a mere colonel."
Still, even in that moment of triumph, the old field marshal could not entirely bury the worry in his heart.
"The funds are in place. Soviet Russia has agreed. Military reform can now truly begin." His tone hardened. "Listen to me carefully, Jörg. Do not move too aggressively. The Reichswehr is not as simple as you think."
"And neither is Seckt."
The hand on Jörg's shoulder tightened slightly.
"Power and danger are always proportional. One wrong step, and a man falls into the abyss forever."
Jörg nodded.
"I understand, Herr Field Marshal."
"No, you do not."
Hindenburg's reply came at once, blunt and heavy.
"You no longer represent only Jörg von Roman. You are now also my extension within the Army. Do you understand that?"
He did not wait for an answer before continuing.
"Be careful before you act, young man. On the battlefield, I have seen too many heroes die from a single bullet through the throat."
He turned his gaze toward the dispersing crowd outside.
"When a man dies, everything ends with him. You are still young. There is no need to fight to the death with a group of old wooden idols."
His voice sounded stern, almost like a rebuke, yet the concern beneath it was unmistakable.
Jörg answered quietly, "Do not worry, Herr Field Marshal. I will not let myself come to grief."
"I hope not."
Hindenburg pushed open the car door, then paused halfway out as if remembering something. Turning back, he allowed himself a rare, joking smile.
"Oh, and do not think I do not know who owns that car factory. Fine automobile. Remember to send one to me as well."
Jörg smiled at last, a genuine smile this time.
"You and Mr. Ebert will each receive one."
.....
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