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Chapter 1100: The Finale of the Sugar War

Three trading days later, after Petty had dumped a total of 7,800 metric tons of sugar onto the market, the mysterious buyers finally ceased their activity.

In an inconspicuous little house just fifty meters from the London Futures Exchange, the traders for Rothschild and other financial titans were savoring their afternoon tea.

A middle-aged man wearing an expensive French wig frowned in dissatisfaction. "Mr. Scott, you are being far too cautious. I believe we could have easily swallowed another 400,000 pounds sterling."

At current prices, 400,000 pounds could purchase approximately 3,300 metric tons of sugar.

The old man across from him calmly stroked his coffee cup. "Do not forget the rules, Baron Ledger. You follow my lead here."

A young man nearby reached out and patted the disgruntled Ledger. "Mr. Scott is right. A panic-buying spree has already begun in the British market.

"If our acquisition maneuvers are too aggressive, it is very likely to trigger the British government to abandon their short positions."

His concern was not misplaced—at that very moment, Petty was writing a report to the British Prime Minister, hoping to temporarily stabilize the sugar price at one shilling and five pence per pound.

He had a premonition that the French government would continue to desperately absorb all the sugar in the London market. If they continued to suppress the price, it would be equivalent to helping the French save money.

However, Scott and his associates had timed their control of the market with surgical precision. On the very day Petty finished his report, the trading volume in the London market returned to normal.

It appeared as though the French funds had finally been exhausted.

Petty hesitated repeatedly before finally tucking the report away.

Yet, only a week later, the sugar on the London futures market was swept clean once again. After committing another 6,000 metric tons, Petty finally began to feel the prickle of anxiety.

"The French have already purchased over a hundred million francs worth of sugar..." Petty looked at the statistical data his subordinates had just submitted, agitatedly running his fingers through his hair. He muttered through gritted teeth, 'Damn it, where are they getting so much money?'

Presently, he had less than 30,000 metric tons of sugar remaining in his reserves.

Indeed, the previous panic-buying by the British public had consumed nearly 6,000 metric tons of his ammunition.

He was now deeply concerned that the French might still find more capital, eventually forcing him into a margin call and a total collapse of his positions.

Petty pulled out the report he had written the previous week, intending to revise it and hand it to Grenville, when his assistant burst through the door, looking jubilant.

"How many times have I told you? Knocking is the mark of a gentleman..."

The assistant seemed not to hear the rebuke as he placed a letter before him. "Your Lordship, Genoa United Credit has just downgraded the rating of the Paris Futures Exchange. They dropped it directly to Baa!"

Petty was quite familiar with the rating companies that had begun to emerge the previous year. To him, Baa was already equivalent to junk status.

His eyes lit up. It seemed this Genoese company had obtained some sort of insider information.

Just then, another subordinate delivered the routine report from Paris.

Petty’s gaze swept over the sugar prices on the Paris futures market. He no longer hesitated, instructing his assistant with newfound confidence, "Continue to release 1,200 metric tons onto the market at a price of one shilling and four pence."

The sugar price on the Paris futures market had fallen to one franc and eight sous, which was roughly equivalent to one shilling and five pence.

Combined with the rating agency's move, everything pointed to one conclusion—the French were about to break.

Sure enough, the acquisitions stopped again. But this time, Petty only relaxed for three days before massive amounts of capital began sweeping the market once more.

...

Northwestern Prussia.

The Port of Stettin.

The Dutch merchant Hecloss was laughing and flirting with the daughter of the delivery warehouse manager when his bookkeeper hurried over. The man handed him a slip of paper. "Mr. Hecloss, the warehouse states there is no physical stock available for delivery. This is a Notice of Default."

Hecloss immediately scowled. "Damn it! How is that possible? This year's Prussian sugar beet harvest is as plentiful as the water in the Baltic Sea."

He had insider information; he knew Prussia was using all the sugar produced this year to repay loans to the British government. That was precisely why the London futures market had such a large volume of sugar for delivery in Stettin or Emden.

With such a massive inventory, there was no way they could fail to complete a delivery—he had only purchased 72 metric tons of sugar.

Hecloss stormed into the warehouse manager’s office, slammed several Thalers onto the desk, and said with a dark expression, "I submitted my delivery application last week. Get my sugar onto the ship immediately. If you delay my business, I swear, I will find someone to slice off your nose!"

He had purchased this contract a month and a half ago, and it was now time for delivery. His Russian buyers absolutely detested tardiness.

The warehouse manager wore a miserable expression. "Mr. Hecloss, you are welcome to look in the warehouse yourself. There truly isn't a single bag of sugar.

"Yes, logically, they should have arrived half a month ago. Perhaps you can come back tomorrow."

"Damn it, don't you dare try to fool me."

The Dutchman actually went and inspected several of the delivery warehouses. Every single one was so empty that a mouse would starve to death inside.

The next day, when Hecloss returned, he saw seven or eight men waving delivery application forms, surrounding the manager and roaring at him.

"I know this is a contract from the Robert Cooper Trading Company in London! They would never default!"

"The beets were harvested over two months ago! Where is the damn sugar?"

"For God's sake, if I don't get this sugar to Paderborn, I'll have to pay thousands of Thalers in penalties!"

However, the manager simply issued them formal notices of delivery default according to the regulations.

No one could tell him why the Robert Cooper Company, one of Britain's three largest sugar merchants, would default. After all, it was controlled by the British Royal Family and the East India Company.

At the same time, the British trade envoy, Gordon Boris, was engaged in a heated argument with Prince Heinrich.

"You cannot do this! We have already sold that sugar, and now it hasn't appeared in the warehouses!"

The Prince offered a strained, apologetic smile. "You must understand, we encountered problems during the beet collection phase. Those incompetent officials allowed a vast amount of beets to be left to rot in the fields. I am truly very sorry."

A royal commercial advisor standing nearby added piteously, "When I went to inspect last week, some of the beets had already begun to decay...

"However, the supervision and transport networks are now being improved. I am confident that nothing of this sort will happen next year."

Prince Heinrich added, "I have already discussed this with His Majesty the King. We will certainly compensate you for your losses next year. As for that loan, I hope to pay the interest first, and the rest can wait until..."

Four hours later, Prince Heinrich watched the British envoy depart in a fury and let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.

The Minister of the Interior had reported to him at the beginning of the year that the sugar beets used for seeding had failed to produce any seeds.

Initially, he hadn't believed it. It wasn't until the French came to demand that he fulfill their agreement that he realized he had fallen right into a French trap.