Chapter 127: The Spark That Ignites the World (4)
"Jack, what exactly are you planning to do?"
Rockefeller clipped the end of his cigar and lit it with a silver lighter. The red glow briefly reflected in his eyes before settling into a slow, steady burn.
Jack Morgan leaned back in his chair and answered with equal calm.
"I think neutrality is the wisest course. Every bill that mattered has already been pushed through, Mr. Rockefeller. At this point, do we still need a German friend with such a strong will of his own?"
Rockefeller smiled faintly.
The image of that celebratory dinner years ago, when he had raised a glass with Jörg, had long since lost all warmth in his memory. What remained clear was not the toast, but the man's expression, that infuriatingly firm gaze when financial deregulation had been mentioned.
At the time, they had tolerated him because the shipbuilding agreement was too profitable to abandon.
Now, the situation was different.
Now Jörg had become an obstacle.
Since an opportunity had appeared to remove him, carve up Cardolan Investment Company, and reduce the difficulty of pushing financial liberalization in Germany, all without dirtying their own hands, then why should they hesitate?
The two men exchanged a look. Nothing more needed to be said.
Just then, hurried knocking sounded at the door.
Before the secretary outside could properly announce him, Dawes shoved the door open himself and strode in with a face as cold as iron.
He ignored the startled servant behind him and went straight to the point.
"Gentlemen, I need every newspaper under your influence brought into line. Starting today, I do not want to see a single malicious article bearing Jörg's name, nor another line of nonsense about German rearmament."
Both men narrowed their eyes.
They had not expected the President to come in person, nor had they expected him to be so direct. For a moment, they were uncertain how far he intended to go.
Rockefeller was the first to probe.
"Mr. President, surely you do not mean to throw your weight behind a German politician."
At once Dawes exploded.
"Throw my weight behind him? Why should I not? He is one of the few German statesmen we have painstakingly built trust with, and one of the few whose instincts genuinely lean toward America. Ever since he began to dominate the diplomatic field, the American stock market has nearly doubled."
His voice sharpened further.
"And with his position as Deputy Commander in Chief, he can protect American interests in Europe more effectively than half the men currently flattering us from Berlin."
Morgan and Rockefeller both smiled, but neither smile held any warmth.
"That was then, Mr. President," Morgan said smoothly. "Now the situation is different. Jörg is no longer as indispensable as he was in the days of dawes stock. Germany is not short of politicians willing to lean toward us."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And if I may say so plainly, why is the President of the United States so deeply concerned with the fate of a German politician?"
Dawes heard the meaning beneath the question at once.
They intended to abandon Jörg.
Worse, they were already calculating how to profit from his fall.
Part of Dawes wanted to do the same. Politics taught that sentiment was expensive and often fatal. Yet he could not bring himself to let Jörg be devoured so easily. Friendship had something to do with it, perhaps, but not much. The real reason was colder.
He knew Jörg's value had not yet peaked.
Helping him now would buy America something far more valuable than short term profit. It would buy influence over the future.
And there was another matter.
Anyone with eyes knew that Jörg and Dawes had become politically close. If Jörg collapsed under suspicion, Dawes himself would suffer for it. These financiers could survive such storms without difficulty. Today they could smile in a Democratic banquet hall, tomorrow swing a golf club beside a Republican senator. Profit was their only loyalty.
They would not lose a minute's sleep over the cost to him.
"So," Dawes said at last, his face hard as stone, "you intend to do nothing?"
Morgan spread his hands with feigned reluctance.
"If the administration were willing to show a little flexibility on labor treatment..."
Dawes did not let him finish.
He understood immediately what was coming next. He had only just struggled through the political cost of conceding a wage increase to workers. Now these men wanted him to betray his own base in exchange for help suppressing the scandal.
They were not offering terms. They were trying to take his throat.
In that instant, all desire to negotiate vanished.
Even without them, he was still President of the United States.
Dawes turned to leave. The cup of coffee his secretary had just set down was swept from the table by the back of his hand. Porcelain shattered across the carpet.
Before he stepped through the doorway, he raised his middle finger without looking back.
"Go to hell."
...
Britain's formal condemnation had not, by itself, settled anything.
On the contrary, it intensified matters.
The British note demanded that Germany conduct a full self investigation within six months and submit to outside review to prove continued compliance with the Treaty of Versailles. It was an ultimatum wrapped in polite language. Produce a scapegoat, and the matter might be reduced to noise. Fail, and what seemed light as paper today could become weighty enough to crush governments tomorrow.
Sensing weakness, politicians of every stripe began to move.
The Social Democrats, the Nationalists on the right, and the Communists alike all saw the same opportunity. The Progress Party had grown too quickly. If Jörg, who stood at the intersection of the army, the police, and the state, could be dragged down, then the Progress Party would splinter with him. Its votes, its influence, and its network could be divided among its enemies.
But the Progress Party was no longer the fragile shell it had once been.
It now had a real parliamentary presence, real regional networks, and real men willing to fight for it.
Joseph, as party leader, responded almost immediately. He reached out to every senior and mid level member, every local branch, every police club aligned with the party, and ordered them to stand firm behind their leader.
What began as a wave of condemnation quickly turned into open political warfare inside the Reichstag.
In the streets, the protest marches proved far less effective than their organizers had hoped.
The police did not know or care much about ideology. But they understood one simple thing. Without Jörg, without Cardolan Investment Company, there would be no turkey on their Christmas tables, no medical support, no free legal aid when one of their own was dragged into court.
That was reality.
And police served reality.
Protest groups were broken up with batons and boots. Police cars rolled through German cities flying banners that read:
Jörg von Roman is innocent.
The army, for its part, remained still.
Not because it lacked the will to support him, but because Jörg himself had forbidden any unauthorized action through a personal order to General Headquarters. If the army were allowed to move on impulse, half assembled tanks might well have rolled into the parliamentary district by the next morning.
As for Jörg himself, the man at the center of the storm sat at the head of his study and listened quietly while Mandor reported on the progress of the plan.
"All the shares purchased through the Ministry of Commerce have been unloaded. Foreign currency reserves are being converted into gold. We have been exchanging through thirty six banks in batches across Britain and America."
Mandor dropped the report on the desk and glared at him.
"Jörg, you are completely insane. I have never seen anyone like you. Are you not nervous at all? I'm telling you now, if your plan fails, if the financial storm does not sweep the world exactly as you expect, then the consequences will be monstrous."
Jörg reached up and twisted his stiff neck as if they were merely discussing an inconvenient train schedule.
"How much longer until the conversions are complete?"
"About five months."
Jörg nodded once.
"That is enough. Which means everything will be finished before the British inspection arrives in April of 1928."
He leaned back in his chair.
"And no, I am not nervous, Mandor. Some people think they are hunters. What they do not understand is that I built the trap for them long ago."
Mandor snorted.
"You sound like a stage magician."
Jörg smiled faintly.
"I do not perform magic tricks."
He picked up a piece of chocolate from the box on the desk, placed it in his mouth, and chewed slowly before continuing.
"I perform a different kind of magic. The magic of moving men's hearts. You bury one blazing story beneath an even greater one. You let public opinion devour the very people who think they control it."
Mandor stared at him for a moment, then asked despite himself:
"And what exactly is this magic called?"
Jörg swallowed the chocolate and answered with perfect calm.
"Profit. Greed. And a very small arrangement I made a few years ago."
.....
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