Chapter 1075: The Worst News
Boulton took a deep breath and continued his questioning. "If we start developing them ourselves now, how long will it take to produce this kind of pressure gauge?"
Bell, the technician, looked down at the tips of his boots. "Perhaps three months, maybe six..."
He truly could not give a definitive timeframe, as the entire Boulton-Watt Company had never bothered with such an easily obtained component from the very beginning.
"Can we buy them from somewhere else?"
"France should have them," Bell replied. "It is said that their high-pressure steam engine boilers are already reaching pressures close to 0.6 megapascals."
Boulton nodded. "Go to France and procure them immediately. Buy as many as you can."
The company was flush with capital, with three hundred and seventy thousand pounds sterling in cash on the books. As long as a problem could be solved with money, it was of no consequence.
He then turned to Watt. "You must find the time to oversee the development of our own pressure gauges. I know such a small matter surely won't trouble you."
An inexplicable sense of comfort rose in Watt's heart. 'Ever since Sandel arrived, I haven't been treated with such importance.'
Finally, Boulton issued a stern warning. "This matter must not be told to anyone, including your families. Anyone who dares breathe a single word can expect to be fired on the spot!"
However, that very afternoon, every major newspaper in London learned that the Boulton-Watt Company was facing a critical shortage of pressure gauges due to the collapse of their supplier.
The news, naturally, had been leaked by operatives of the French Security Bureau.
Joseph had ordered the establishment of the Haasman Machinery Manufacturing plant in the Netherlands specifically to serve as a fuse to detonate the Boulton-Watt Company.
The so-called fire was nothing more than the Security Bureau burning a few empty warehouses.
Montes, looking radiant, walked out of Jonathan's Coffee-House with Graby, discussing the recent trends in stock prices.
Because they had accurately predicted the Boulton-Watt crash, saving their clients from massive losses, they were now celebrities in the stock trading world. Orders to manage trades were flooding in faster than they could process them.
Nearby, a newsboy waving a copy of The Times hurried past them, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Extra! Extra! Boulton-Watt Company faces total production halt! Parts shortage threatens steam engine deliveries!"
Montes froze. He tossed a few pence to the boy, snatched the paper, and flipped it open.
When his eyes landed on phrases like "sole pressure gauge supplier has no substitute," "closed due to fire," and "affects nearly all models of steam engines," his pupils suddenly constricted. "This is bad!"
He grabbed Graby and ran like a madman back to the London Stock Exchange. Before even entering the doors, he heard a cacophony of cursing and wailing echoing from the main hall.
Then, he saw the announcement board: Boulton-Watt's stock price had plummeted to thirty-three pounds per share.
Compared to the price of fifty-seven pounds just a week ago, it had crashed by forty-two percent!
Moments later, an exchange clerk updated the price for Boulton-Watt to thirty-two pounds and seven shillings.
In this era, stock prices didn't fluctuate every second like in the twenty-first century. Due to tedious transaction procedures and poor information flow, prices sometimes wouldn't change for days.
But now, the price was jumping every few minutes.
This indicated a massive volume of Boulton-Watt shares being dumped on the market.
When Montes saw the price hit thirty-two pounds, he felt a jolt of terror. He rushed to the Bank of England clerk's desk, shoved aside the people waiting in line, and grabbed the clerk's arm. "Taron! Has Lord Sesk's contract been settled? The one numbered 96-1458!"
Stock transactions in this era were not completed in real-time—the efficiency of bank transfers couldn't support real-time settlement for large sums. Usually, physical delivery occurred two to five days after the contract was signed.
Taron, the bank clerk, recognized his regular associate and quickly leafed through the documents in his drawer. After ten seconds, he pulled one out and shook his head. "I'm afraid Lord Sesk has forfeited his deposit."
Montes wiped away cold sweat and stammered, "What about Madame Hubert's contract? And Sir Ricefoot's? Numbers 96-1461 and 96-1463."
Taron adjusted his spectacles, found the two contracts, and shook his head again. "My apologies, but they have both chosen to forfeit as well."
Montes felt as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt. He nearly collapsed onto the floor.
Anyone trading stocks had to submit a margin deposit to the exchange to ensure they would execute the contract and complete the delivery.
But if they found that the stock they had committed to buy had dropped so severely that it would cause catastrophic losses, they often chose to breach the contract and refuse delivery. Even though they would lose their deposit and face penalties—such as being banned from future trading—it was often the cheaper option.
For the past few days, Montes had been gloating about how he had offloaded all his shares at lightning speed before the crash, saving his clients over ten thousand pounds in losses. That included over a thousand pounds of his own money.
But now that Boulton-Watt had plunged forty-two percent, the buyers on the other side of those contracts were choosing to default.
Now, he and his clients were left with roughly three thousand pounds in forfeited deposits, but their actual losses had already exceeded twenty-three thousand pounds!
And the stock price was still in freefall...
Naturally, he could choose to sue the defaulting buyers, but such litigation usually dragged on for years. Moreover, if the damages were too high, the defendants might use underhanded tactics or simply flee overseas.
A moment later, Graby walked over, his face as pale as death. Clearly, his contracts had been defaulted on as well.
Montes forced himself to rally his spirits, trying to comfort his friend. "Don't worry, there should still be a turning point."
"The Boulton-Watt Company will surely find replacement parts. When that happens, the stock price will bounce back."
Half a month later.
In Boulton's office, Hope slammed both hands onto the desk, staring intensely at Boulton. "You gave me your word that there would be no issues with the steam engine supply!"
"Please, don't worry. I've already sent men to France to procure them. There are plenty of similar pressure gauges there," Boulton said with a forced, placating smile. "Mr. Watt will complete the adaptation of the parts as quickly as possible. We will resume deliveries before the end of the month—no, by next week."
Hope's face remained grim as he nodded. "I will trust you one last time."
"I can help you stall the civilian paddle steamer orders for a while, but regarding the Navy's orders... you know the consequences of failing to deliver on time."
"I swear, that will not happen!"
Less than two hours after Hope left, a procurement agent who had been sent to France knocked and entered Boulton's office. He kept his head low. "General Manager, I met with the representatives from the Lyon Machinery Manufacturing Company. They refused to sell us any pressure gauges, even when I raised the price to twenty pounds each."
Previously, the gauges sold by the Dutch company had cost only one pound and seven shillings apiece.
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