Chapter 881: The Italians' Competition
McGovern slumped into his chair, his eyes losing focus as he stared into space.
Eighteen million. The figure was simply too staggering. He didn't have nearly enough financial ammunition left in his hands.
He had already borrowed nearly 30 million francs. When combined with the interest he owed, he had already leveraged every last bar of gold in his possession.
Indeed, while he had submitted applications to exchange over 57 million francs for gold, the Remote Transfer Clause meant that 20 million francs worth of that gold would not be delivered for another ten days or more.
He was currently at the end of his rope, his resources completely exhausted.
"No! I will not admit defeat!" Lord McGovern suddenly roared, leaping to his feet. With trembling hands, he snatched a sheet of stationery from his desk, shaking his head frantically. "I must request more funding from Mr. Wilberforce! If we can get just another 500,000 pounds sterling, the French will surely buckle! Yes, 500,000 pounds!"
He scribbled the letter in a blur, stamped it with his seal, and melted the wax to close it. He gestured urgently to the attendant at the door. "Thomas, take this to the embassy immediately! Have Mr. Harriet dispatch it to London at once! Move!"
As his servant rushed out with the letter, several carriages clattered past McGovern's window.
Inside one of them, the Milanese Finance Minister was relentlessly urging his driver. "Mr. Bianchi, faster! Drive faster!
"Yes, Baron Colombo. The Banque de France is just ahead," the driver replied.
Bianchi immediately whipped the horses until the lash became a blur. The carriage hurtled forward, drawing startled cries from the pedestrians nearby.
Fortunately, the build quality of the Jewel Carriage Factory was exceptional. Had it been any other vehicle, the axles would have snapped long ago under the weight of so many gold coins while traveling at such speeds.
Baron Colombo caught sight of the Banque de France's side entrance. He was mentally calculating that after finishing the exchange procedures, he might still have time to head to Versailles for an audience with the Crown Prince. Suddenly, several carriages lunged out from the right, cutting him off without the slightest hint of courtesy.
Bianchi the driver jerked the reins tight, shouting, "Whoa!"
The encroaching carriages grazed the noses of his horses before coming to a steady halt outside the Banque de France's VIP entrance.
Baron Colombo saw the crest on the side of the carriages and slammed his hand against the cabin wall in a rage. "Those shameless Modenese! Utterly shameless!"
They had arrived in Paris a week ago, but Archbishop Brienne had asked them to wait in the outskirts first.
It was only yesterday that they received word that they could begin the exchange.
However, Baron Colombo's carriage had gotten stuck in a waterlogged pothole, causing a delay of several hours. Now, he had been overtaken by the Modenese.
He knew that counting such a vast quantity of gold coins would be extremely time-consuming. By the time the Modenese finished unloading, it would certainly be too late for him to make it to Versailles.
'This might leave the Crown Prince with the impression that Milan is not dedicated to his requests,' he worried.
Both Milan and Modena were eyeing the Ferrara province of the Papal States with intense greed. Seeing as the security forces were about to take control of the entire Ferrara region, the competition had reached its peak.
This single minor mistake could result in Ferrara slipping through Milan's fingers.
A short while later, an attendant approached Baron Colombo's carriage and whispered, "My Lord, I've made inquiries. The Modenese brought nine million ducats."
Colombo let out a long sigh of relief.
Nine million ducats was only worth about ten million francs, whereas he had brought gold coins worth twelve million francs.
Humph. Did those paupers from Modena really think they could compete with Milan?
He recalled the French government's motive for asking the various Italian states to bring gold for francs, and a brilliant idea suddenly took root in his mind.
In the long queue outside the Banque de France, Madame Collamo watched as people continued to abandon the line. She turned to the middle-aged man in front of her and asked in surprise, "Mr. Dulac, look. So many people are heading home. Perhaps the government really isn't going to ban the exchange of gold after all."
They had spent the entire day standing in line together and had become somewhat acquainted.
The middle-aged man gazed at the Modenese unloading their gold and shook his head thoughtfully.
"The gold brought by those Italians might not be enough to fill the Banque de France's deficit," he mused. "It's still safer to get our hands on actual gold."
Madame Collamo looked at the long line ahead and sighed. "Well, it looks like I'll be stuck here for at least another day. I just hope Miss Maria doesn't find someone else to replace me."
She was a washerwoman, and her most important client was the noble Miss Maria.
However, the competition among laundresses was fierce, and she was desperate to get back to work. Even if Miss Maria didn't fire her, she would lose at least two days' wages.
That meant her children would have to miss two meals of mashed potatoes mixed with olive oil.
Just then, the Modenese finished moving their gold. Several more carriages immediately pulled up to the Banque de France's side entrance.
A Milanese official stepped out and ordered his servants to bring down a chest of gold coins. To everyone's shock, he opened it in public and announced loudly in French, "The first chest: 141 kilograms of gold coins. Please verify!"
Someone brought out a large scale and began the weighing process on the spot.
Though separated by a dozen guards, the surrounding crowd could still manage to see the scale's weight indicator settle near 226 kilograms.
The Milanese official continued, "The next chest: likewise, 141 kilograms of gold coins."
The public demonstration lasted for nearly an hour. Madame Collamo looked at Mr. Dulac again and asked uncertainly, "How many gold coins did those Italians just carry inside?"
Dulac hadn't studied much arithmetic either, so he looked around for help.
Finally, a young man shouted out, "A total of 138,000 ounces of gold—that's nearly four metric tons! It's worth about twelve million francs!"
The people in the queue fell silent.
Most of them had no real concept of how much twelve million francs actually was, but they knew it represented a staggering amount of gold.
Several groups of Italians had already moved their gold into the bank today. When added together, the total was mind-boggling!
Madame Collamo and Mr. Dulac exchanged a look. She nodded to him decisively. "I don't want to waste any more time here. If I go back now, I might still make it in time for the evening laundry. I hope to see you again, Mr. Dulac."
Many others shared her sentiment. Within moments, a third of the people waiting to exchange their money had left the queue.
On the second floor of the Banque de France, the supervisor in charge of directing the shills planted in the line saw the development. He rushed to consult with Mr. Lafayette before signaling for the staged actors to disperse as well.
In an instant, the line that had once stretched for over a mile shrank until only two or three hundred people remained.
Inside the Cloud Cafe, a man spoke to the person in black who had been giving speeches every day.
"Mr. Philippe, haven't you seen the newspapers? The Count of Provence only exchanged a large amount of gold so he could purchase plantations in America."
Another patron chimed in, "I don't think there's anything wrong with the franc. I heard those Italians exchanged tens of millions of francs for gold coins just to make it easier to do business in the Common Market."
The man in black, flushed with anger, interrupted them. "What do you people know? The franc is nothing but waste paper..."
Before he could finish his sentence, four police officers stepped through the front and back doors of the cafe simultaneously. They surrounded him, their voices cold. "You are under arrest for the crimes of spreading rumors and malicious interference with the market. You may contact a lawyer, but you are coming with us now."
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