I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France-Chapter 34 Are You Young Master Shire?

On this day, Shire accompanied Dejoka on a visit to the motorcycle factory.

At this time, Dejoka reminded Shire.

"Our expenses are very high, Shire!" Dejoka waved the account book at Shire: "The motorcycle factory cost 350,000, the first payment for the tractor production line in Britain was 200,000, and we’re not even sure if that’s enough. The field hospital requires about 18,000 francs daily, and that’s with volunteers not drawing a salary. For the motorcycles to resume operations, we’d need more funds. At this rate, we’ll be bankrupt soon!"

Shire sighed inwardly, money really was drained quickly!

Though 990,000 francs was a huge sum, if he wanted to build a "benevolent capitalist" image to win hearts, money had to flow out like water from a river.

These expenditures seemed small, only 18,000 francs a day, but they were ongoing, while his assets did not increase, making it a matter of sitting and eating away at them.

"Don’t worry, Father!" Shire said: "I heard the motorcycle factory has some surplus inventory that isn’t selling. We can start by selling some of it!"

"There is indeed inventory!" Dejoka looked at Shire with uncertainty: "The problem is... who is buying motorcycles now?"

Shire didn’t explain much, intending to first take a look at the motorcycle factory.

The motorcycle factory was right beside Francis’s tractor factory, though not as large in scale. Before the war, it had over 800 workers, making it a medium-sized enterprise.

However, its land area was quite large, covering a total of 32 acres, twice the size of the tractor factory, so much so that Dejoka’s car had to drive for a while after entering the gate before reaching the plant area.

The motorcycle factory needed so much space partly because selling motorcycles during this period required providing training, which meant having a large enough area for multiple buyers to learn at the same time, even including various terrains.

Dejoka parked the car near the warehouse.

As he got out, Dejoka said, "I think Paul is a suitable candidate for managing the motorcycle factory. He’s very sociable, and since he only has minor injuries, your mother and I both think he’s a great lad. His social skills could bring sales to the motorcycle factory..."

Paul was an injured soldier who had earned a good reputation by helping many wounded alongside volunteers at the field hospital.

"No, Father!" Shire walked towards the warehouse along a path between buildings: "You must beware of Paul and never let him near my factory. Drive him away as soon as he’s healed!"

"Why?" Dejoka hurriedly caught up, puzzled.

Shire answered as he walked: "Did you notice his injury?"

"Yes!" Dejoka walked beside Shire: "He lost two fingers on his hand, but it doesn’t affect his work. You wouldn’t be concerned about that..."

"His right index finger and middle finger!" Shire emphasized: "Do you think it’s a coincidence? These two fingers, one used for pulling the trigger, the other hidden under the rifle, yet he just happened to lose them, making him unable to fight!"

Dejoka was astonished: "You mean..."

"Losing a few fingers is better than losing your life, Father!" Shire said: "Paul is one of those. He lacked the courage to face the enemy, and he’s skilled at disguising himself, making others think he’s a good guy. He deliberately approached you to leave a good impression!"

Dejoka was stunned. He hadn’t considered any of this. But after Shire’s reminder, recalling Paul’s previous actions indeed seemed just as Shire described.

But...

How did Shire see through it?

Dejoka, still puzzled, heard a faint sound from the adjacent warehouse storing scrap parts.

He signaled to Shire and quietly ran over, then forcefully pushed open the warehouse door.

The people inside seemed startled, stopping their actions and looking this way.

Seeing that there were only Dejoka and a child, they relaxed.

There were two young men and a balding middle-aged man.

The balding middle-aged man held a hammer, nodded toward the other two, and asked, "Are you here to take something?"

Dejoka understood. They were stealing parts, these despicable thieves.

He was just about to drive them away when Shire stopped him.

"Yes!" Shire stepped forward with interest: "We wanted to see if there’s anything valuable here. What are you doing?"

The balding man glanced at Shire and coldly replied: "There’s nothing valuable here except a pile of scrap iron. Everything stored here is discarded parts!"

As he spoke, he focused again on the item in his hands, carefully tapping while eyeing it, and tightened a screw when he deemed it right.

"But you..."

"Uncle Guillaume is different!" one of the young men answered on his behalf: "He can turn scrap into treasure. Discarded parts, when repaired by him, become even better than the originals, like this shock absorber!"

The other young man impatiently eyed Shire: "Go find what you need, don’t bother us!"

Shire didn’t move. He looked the few over, guessing their identities.

This balding man called Guillaume must be a worker at the motorcycle factory, very skilled, able to repair parts or piece together good ones from old scrap.

The two young men were likely motorcycle buyers or enthusiasts, wanting what was in Uncle Guillaume’s hands.

Shire was puzzled: "Uncle Guillaume, with your skills, why not work in the factory..."

If the boss appreciated his skills, they would surely make great use of Guillaume, Shire thought.

Guillaume snorted, fitting a spring to the shock absorber as he answered:

"Suggest modifications or improvements to those capitalists? They say ’it won’t work,’ and ’it’s a silly idea,’ then turn around and patent it! And I get nothing!"

Guillaume turned his head towards Shire:

"If it were you, would you still do such foolish things?"

Shire responded with an "Oh," understanding that the greed and short-sightedness of capitalists had made Guillaume, despite his skills and ideas, unwilling to speak up, as they would be stolen immediately!

Shire asked: "If there were a capitalist who could give you all the support, I mean, all your inventions would belong to you..."

Guillaume laughed heartily: "Such a capitalist might only be the Young Master Shire they talk about. I heard he bought this factory. I could give it a try then!"

Shire spread his hands and said: "You don’t need to try, Mr. Guillaume, I plan to employ you to run the motorcycle factory, and I will respect and protect all your industrial property!"

Guillaume looked at Shire in surprise and took a while to react: "You are... Young Master Shire?"