Chapter 505: The Tax Farmers' General Assembly Fights Back
The room remained silent for several seconds before Charles finally looked up at Fould and said, "It seems the government intends to abolish the tax farming system by force. So what... what should we do?"
If the French government truly managed to raise 200 million Francs, it could cover its financial expenditures for nearly half a year. During that period, taxes would continue to roll in, creating a virtuous cycle.
Under such circumstances, the government would no longer need to heed the Tax Farmers' General Assembly. Tax system reform could be completed with a mere decree from the cabinet.
An old man on the left side of the table shook his head, as if muttering to himself, "The French government is undertaking such a massive reform; even with 200 million Francs, their finances will still be tight."
"Perhaps we should negotiate with Brienne sooner rather than later, offering him a loan to secure higher interest."
Hope immediately interrupted him, his voice rising, and swept his gaze around the room. "Lending to the government would, at most, yield slightly higher interest than national debt. Are you willing to settle for such a paltry business?!"
All the tax farming magnates wore expressions of indignation.
While their declared profits from tax farming were only 16-20%, they actually reaped many hidden benefits. For instance, they exploited the collection of tobacco and salt taxes to peddle counterfeit tobacco and low-quality salt. They also leveraged differences in local tax rates between provinces to exercise a degree of trade control, among other things.
Factoring in these additional revenues, their return on investment would exceed 25%.
Baron Morrel gritted his teeth. "Damn the French government! This is a business my family has managed for generations. If they won't let me farm taxes, I'd rather invest my money in Britain! I hear the Gas Lamp project in London offers a 15% return."
His words immediately drew agreement. "That's right, I'll move my business out of France too."
"We must unite and not surrender to the French government!"
"The stock market in the Netherlands isn't bad either; I've wanted to try my hand there for a while..."
Hope raised a hand to silence the others, as if summarizing the discussion: "Let Viscount Berlant probe further, increasing the tax farming fees to 540 million Francs. If that still doesn't work, then we leave France."
These financial magnates had no homeland; they only preyed on different nations. If they could control the economic lifelines of a country, they could enjoy everlasting wealth.
For example, the Wallenbergs, who controlled Sweden, and the Sassoons, who held sway over the eastern Ottoman Empire, were among their prominent figures. This also included latecomers like Rothschild and Morgan.
Just then, Bolloré stood up and sneered, "After all that talk, you're merely admitting you have no solution against the government, just preparing to flee."
Seeing everyone looking at him, a ruthless expression immediately crossed his face. "We possess vast capital, connections, and methods. Why shouldn't we instill fear in those who dare to challenge us? We can certainly show the French government a thing or two!"
Morrel's eyes gleamed with cunning as he saw this, and he immediately declared with feigned admiration, "You're right, we must demonstrate our strength! You're the most resourceful in this regard, we're all counting on you!"
Bolloré immediately puffed out his chest and declared, "Hmph, just you wait and see."
As the meeting neared its end, the British banker Goldsmid hesitated repeatedly before finally looking at Hope and cautiously suggesting, "Mr. Hope, actually, we hold a very useful 'weapon.' At the very least, it can compel the French government to share a portion of the tax revenue with us."
"Oh? You mean?"
"Tax documents."
He uttered just two words, and Hope immediately fell into deep thought, then slowly nodded. "You're right. The French government hasn't collected taxes for over a century. Without the data we provide, they won't even be able to determine how much tax to collect from those cunning merchants!"
Goldsmid nodded. "We can also instruct factory owners and merchants to lie. For example, have them claim they paid quarterly or semi-annual taxes, or that they had reached reduction agreements with previous collectors."
"Without our registered documents, the new tax officials will be entangled in endless arguments and prevarications. Even if they forcefully collect taxes, it will inevitably provoke the taxpayers' wrath."
Hope's eyes lit up. "When the government's Tax Bureau descends into chaos, we can negotiate with them. We'll demand a share of the tax revenue or the right to collect certain tax categories, in exchange for helping the Tax Bureau restore order to tax collection."
Seeing his suggestion gain support, Goldsmid immediately added, "Then, we must immediately have all tax farmers consolidate their tax documents, to be safeguarded by the General Assembly."
"On the other hand, we also need to compile some crude, even erroneous, documents to fob off the French government."
"You truly are a genius!" Hope exclaimed, praising him greatly. He then looked at Delphi and the others. "So, let's proceed with this. Mr. Goldsmid's method will secure a minimum level of profit for everyone."
...
North-central France.
Orléans province.
The Duke of Orleans had once operated this area as his stronghold, investing enormous sums of capital. Consequently, Orléans excelled among all French provinces, both in agriculture and commerce.
Lemair, the newly appointed Director-General of the Orléans Tax Bureau, had originally arrived with ambitious plans, eager to make his mark. However, at this moment, he was nervously watching two blood-soaked men in the room.
The two men were Vincent, his tax inspector, and Vincent's assistant.
The doctor directed the servants to lift the injured onto stretchers. After a quick preliminary examination, he explained the situation to the arriving police. "The taller gentleman has a broken left arm. The other's injuries are slightly less severe, but both were clearly beaten with blunt objects. The good news is they're likely not in critical danger. Now, I must proceed with their further treatment."
"Those scoundrels," Lemair muttered, gritting his teeth as he looked at his unconscious subordinates. "They actually dared to assault officials!"
A nearby police officer immediately turned to him and asked, "Director-General, do you have any leads on the assailants?"
Lemair nodded. "On our third day in Orléans, we received a threatening letter. They warned us to resign immediately, or else we would regret it."
"We didn't pay it much mind at the time, dismissing it as a prank. Unexpectedly, the day before yesterday, François and Garcia from our bureau were successively attacked from behind on the street. Fortunately, passersby were nearby, and their injuries weren't severe."
"And today, Mr. Vincent met with foul play."
As he spoke, a police officer hurried over, handing a crumpled piece of paper to his superior. "This was just found in the injured man's pocket."
The superior looked at the note and read aloud with a frown, ""Go back at once, or next time it won't just be an arm.""
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