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Chapter 541: The Devil Joseph

After a while, Archbishop Brienne carefully spoke, "Your Highness, if this displeases you, then I'll go back and tell them to give up their pipe dreams."

"After all, these evildoers are not worthy of His Majesty the King's pardon."

Joseph's heart stirred at these words. 'That's right,' he mused. 'I'm accustomed to thinking like someone from a future civilized society. I'd forgotten this is an age of kings.'

'Why bother reasoning with those fellows?'

'Let them first taste the iron fist of royal authority. Then we can talk about terms!'

'It's just that I'll have to play the "villain" this once. For tens of millions of francs, I'd play the devil himself, let alone a mere villain.'

So, he looked at Archbishop Brienne, smiled, and shook his head. "No, please tell them to come here tomorrow afternoon."

"As you wish, Your Highness."

Archbishop Brienne hadn't expected the Crown Prince to agree so easily. He was about to take his leave when he heard Joseph speak again. "Oh, and by the way, Archbishop, the one million francs they gave you should all be invested in the Industrial Development Fund. If it stays with you, I'm afraid Mr. Marat will get an irresistible urge to investigate as soon as he sees you."

Archbishop Brienne sighed inwardly. Though he was a little reluctant to part with it, the money was indeed 'hot' and troublesome to keep. And as His Highness said, with such a large sum, the Notary Investigation Bureau would surely chase after him like rabid dogs.

However, Joseph's next sentence made him beam with delight. "However, you will receive half of the annual dividends from this money."

Rewards for the deserving, punishment for the guilty. Since Archbishop Brienne had chosen not to embezzle this money, he deserved encouragement.

Archbishop Brienne immediately bowed. "Thank you, Your Highness, you are truly too generous! May God bless you."

One million francs placed in the Industrial Fund would yield over one hundred thousand francs in annual interest, half of which would be fifty to sixty thousand. This was considering last year's returns weren't particularly good; this figure would certainly continue to grow in the future.

At two o'clock the next afternoon.

Baron Morrel, the negotiation representative for the General Assembly of Tax Farmers, said with a fawning smile, "Your Highness, then, as Archbishop Brienne mentioned earlier, our seven families will each contribute ten million francs to purchase national debt bonds and pay a one-million-franc fine."

"Labouchere, DePeregaux, and the other six will each purchase four million francs in national debt bonds and pay a five-hundred-thousand-franc fine."

"What do you think of this arrangement...?"

Joseph's face hardened, and he scoffed. "Hmph, things were entirely different then compared to now, Baron."

"Now that the Guillotine has been erected, and the Tax Bureau has deployed so many people for investigations, do you still think things can be settled as simply as before?"

Morrel and Fould exchanged glances and immediately changed their tune. "You're right. Perhaps, we could double the fine to show our sincerity!"

They had anticipated before coming that it wouldn't be easy to get through this time. So they had discussed the price beforehand and left it to the negotiation representative to haggle.

In their view, this was just a business deal; although it would definitely result in a loss, business was business, and there would always be a stop-loss point.

Seeing the Crown Prince merely gaze at his teacup without speaking, Morrel gritted his teeth again and said, "Your Highness, then we'll double the fine once more. This is almost all the liquid capital we can mobilize."

After a few seconds, he spoke again with difficulty. "Then, perhaps the interest on the national debt bonds could be halved? Surely that would be acceptable?"

Joseph suddenly smiled. He set down his teacup and looked at the tax farmer magnates before him, saying unhurriedly, "Here's what we'll do: I'll outline my proposed solution. Oh, and there's no room for negotiation."

"First, there's no need to purchase any national debt bonds. Viscount Fould, Mr. Hope, Baron Morrel... each will pay a ten-million-franc fine. Mr. Labouchere, Baron DePeregaux, Mr. Goldsmid... each will pay a five-million-franc fine. Fines for the other major tax farmers will range from one million to three million francs."

A collective gasp went through the tax farmers.

National debt bonds were a type of loan; no matter how much was borrowed, the principal and interest had to be repaid. According to their previous discussions, their bottom line was, at most, to waive the interest. Now, the Crown Prince had directly changed it to a fine, meaning they wouldn't even get their principal back!

Fould immediately exclaimed loudly, "Your Highness, you're completely cutting off our livelihood! This much money will bankrupt us!"

"This is all your ill-gotten gains, blood drained from countless impoverished French citizens. It's only right that you hand it over!" Joseph glanced at him coldly and raised a hand, pointing towards the door. "If you can't accept it, then please leave."

Fould and the others exchanged dark glances without a word.

After a moment, Morrel hesitated, then stood up and said, "Your Highness, if... if I agree to pay the fine, will I receive a letter of pardon?"

"A letter of pardon?" Joseph wore a surprised expression. "Did I mention such a thing just now?"

Morrel grew anxious. "Your Highness, I'm paying ten million francs! Surely that's enough for His Majesty the King to pardon me?"

"You have committed many evil deeds; paying a fine is only natural," Joseph said indifferently. "After this, what punishment you receive will depend on the High Court's judgment."

"You can't do this!" Morrel disregarded all etiquette, stamping his foot and protesting loudly.

If their criminal evidence were to be unearthed—which was almost inevitable—the court would most likely sentence them to death, or at least decades of imprisonment. And judging by the Crown Prince's demeanor, bribing judges or similar schemes were out of the question.

Fould also stood up abruptly and said angrily, "Your Highness, you're going too far. If this is how it is, then there's truly nothing left to discuss."

"Hmph, at worst, we'll go to prison, but I swear, neither you nor the government will get a single penny!"

"Is that so?" Joseph smiled and glanced at him. "You, at least, have a case of forging tax documents against you. The Tax Bureau can arrest you on that charge at any time."

"You're welcome to hide your ill-gotten gains. However, I believe you will eventually reveal the whereabouts of that money."

Fould also smiled. "Your Highness, let's be frank. I might be sentenced to beheading by the High Court. If that's the case, why should I hand over the money?"

"Because beheading isn't so terrible." Joseph suddenly adopted a grim and low voice. "I've heard from the Intelligence Bureau that they have a unique method of torture—"

"First, they bury most of the prisoner's body in the earth. Then, they make a slit in his head and pour mercury, drop by drop, into the incision."

"As the mercury slowly sinks, the prisoner experiences an unbearable itch and begins to struggle desperately to break free."

"His body will try to squeeze upward, like a snake, constantly pushing up..."

"But his skin is held fast by the earth. Soon, his body will pop out of his skin like a fleshy ball, with a 'swoosh'!"