Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

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The room fell silent for several seconds before Charles looked up at Ford and said, "It seems the government is determined to forcibly abolish the tax farming system. So what should we do?"

If the French Government really managed to raise 200 million francs, it could sustain its financial expenses for half a year. During this period, taxes would continue to flow in, thus forming a virtuous cycle.

In such a case, the government wouldn't need to cater to the Tax Farmers Association any longer, and the tax reform could be completed with a single decree from the Cabinet.

An old man sitting on the left side of the table shook his head, murmuring softly, "With such a major reform underway by the French Government, even with 200 million francs, the financial situation will still be quite tight.

"Perhaps we should negotiate with Brian as soon as possible and offer him a loan, in exchange for higher interest rates."

"We absolutely cannot give up just like this!"

Mr. Hope immediately raised his voice, looking around at everyone, "Lending to the government would fetch us at most just a slightly higher interest than government bonds. Are you willing to settle for such petty business?!"

All the tax farm magnates showed signs of discontent.

Although the official profits from tax farming were only between 16% and 20%, in reality, they had many hidden benefits. For instance, leveraging the convenience of collecting tobacco and salt taxes to traffic counterfeit cigarettes and substandard salt, and taking advantage of inter-province tax rate differences to control trade, among other things.

With these revenues included, their return on investment could exceed 25%.

If they had to go down to merely a single-digit percentage return, it would be more unbearable than having their entire family killed.

Baron Morrel gritted his teeth and said, "Damn the French Government, this business has been in my family for generations. If they stop me from tax farming, I'd rather invest my money in England! I hear London's gas lamp project yields a 15% return."

His words immediately sparked a wave of agreement, "Right, I'll also move my business out of France."

"We need to stand together, not submit to the French Government!"

"The stock market in Holland isn't bad either, I've been wanting to try it out there..."

Mr. Hope raised his hand to signal for silence as if to conclude the matter, "Let Viscount Bertrand try again, offering to increase the tax to 540 million francs. If that doesn't work, we'll switch countries."

These financial tycoons never had a homeland; they simply fed off different nations. Controlling the economic lifelines of a country meant perpetual wealth and prosperity.

For instance, the Wallenbergs controlling Sweden and the Saxon families in the eastern regions of the Ottoman Empire are among the leaders in their ranks. This also includes the later-comers like the Rothschilds and Morgans.

At that moment, Fankevich stood up, disdainfully saying, "After all this talk, you're just admitting you have no way to deal with the government and are preparing to flee."

Seeing everyone looking at him, he immediately showed a fierce look, "We have enormous amounts of capital, relationships, and methods. Why not make those who dare challenge us live in fear? We can certainly give the French Government a taste of our power!"

A cunning look flashed in Morrel's eyes as he loudly said, "You're right, we need to demonstrate our power. You have the best means to do so. We all count on you!"

Fankevich arrogantly replied, "Hmph, just wait and see."

As the meeting was nearing its end, the Bank of England banker Godemid hesitated before finally looking toward Mr. Hope to carefully suggest, "Mr. Hope, in truth, we hold a very powerful 'weapon' that could at least secure us a portion of the tax revenue from the French Government."

"Oh? What might that be?"

"Tax documents."

With just those two words, Mr. Hope was plunged into deep thought, and slowly nodded, "You're right. The French Government hasn't collected taxes on its own for over a century; without our provided information, they wouldn't even be able to determine how much to collect from those cunning merchants!"

Godemid nodded, "We could also teach factory owners and merchants lies. For instance, telling them to declare they've paid quarterly or biannual taxes, or reached tax reduction agreements with former Tax Collectors.

"Without our records, the new Tax Officers will fall into endless disputes and debates. Even if they forcefully collect taxes, it will incite the anger of taxpayers."

Mr. Hope's eyes lit up, "When the government's tax office is in chaos, we can negotiate with them. As a condition for helping the tax office restore order, we demand a share of the tax revenue or the right to collect certain taxes."

Seeing his idea supported, Godemid quickly followed up, "So now, we need all Tax Farmers to gather the tax documents for the Association to safeguard right away.

"On the other side, we need to prepare some rough or even incorrect documents, to put off the French Government."

"You are a genius!" praised Mr. Hope, then looked at Ford and others, "Let's proceed with that. Mr. Godemid's method will preserve a minimum level of profits for us all."

...

North-central France.

Orleans Province.

The Duke of Orleans had made this his base of operations, pouring huge funds into its development, thus agriculture and commerce here were among the best in the French provinces.

The new Orleans Tax Office Director Lemaire had arrived with high hopes to excel, but at this moment, he was tensely looking at two bloodied figures in the room.

The two were his subordinate Tax Inspectors Vincent and Vincent's assistant.

The doctor instructed the servants to lift the injured onto stretchers and, after a cursory examination, handed over to the police the situation, "The taller gentleman has a broken left arm, and the other has slightly less severe injuries, though clearly they have been bludgeoned with a blunt object. The good news is none of their lives are in danger, but now I must go and further assist in their treatment."

"Those bastards," Lemaire said through gritted teeth, looking at his unconscious subordinates, "they actually dared to assault an official!"

The nearby police officer immediately turned to him, "Director, do you have any clues about the assailant?"

Lemaire nodded, "We received a threatening letter on our third day in Orleans. They demanded we resign immediately or else regret it.

"We didn't take it seriously at the time, thinking it was just a prank. But then, the day before yesterday, Francois and Garcia from our office were attacked from behind on the street. Fortunately, there were passersby nearby, so their injuries weren't serious.

"Today, Mr. Vincent was the victim."

As he was speaking, a police officer hurried over and handed over a crumpled note to his superior, "This was just found in the victim's pocket."

The senior officer looked at the note, frowning as he read, "Get out now, or next time it won't just be an arm."