I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

Chapter 50: An Improvised Performance

What Charles didn't know was that while Deyoka was in Paris registering the industrial rights, he had a fierce "battle" with Gallieni.

Gallieni had moved swiftly. As he had told his advisors, "The Germans are in retreat, gentlemen! We urgently need sidecar motorcycles to pursue them, not bulletproof tanks. Time is of the essence, because if we give the enemy even a few days, they'll set up a defensive line that our motorcycles won't be able to breach!"

Early the next morning, Gallieni submitted a requisition order for sidecars to the government and followed it closely. The process went smoothly, thanks to the unique nature of Charles's design—only his factory made these sidecars. Before long, Gallieni's request was approved, granting him the authority to make direct purchases from Charles's factory.

Hearing that Deyoka was at City Hall applying for the sidecar's patent, Gallieni rushed over to begin purchase negotiations.

"We may need two thousand or more," Gallieni began. "You should offer a lower price, Mr. Deyoka."

"No, General," Deyoka replied flatly. "800 francs each, not a single sou less. It's already a bargain."

"A bargain?" Gallieni gritted his teeth and tapped his finger against the table in frustration. "A car costs only 900 francs, sir, and here you are, pricing these sidecars nearly the same as a car!"

"You're welcome to buy cars, General," Deyoka retorted without missing a beat. "They're priced that way because they're worth it. Nothing else can do what these sidecars can—not even a car."

Deyoka was telling the truth. Cars couldn't match a sidecar's cross-country maneuverability, nor could they handle off-road conditions. And with an exposed engine at the front, a car could be rendered useless by a single bullet.

"I know motorcycles cost around 220 francs. You're only adding a sidecar, so the cost should be no more than 300 francs…"

"The point, General, is that we're the only ones with it!" Deyoka said with a grin. "If you're unhappy with the price, I suggest you try shopping elsewhere."

Gallieni fumed. "Do you realize what this is? You're ignoring the safety of our soldiers, the risks facing our army, and the perils of France itself!"

"I'm as much a part of France as you are, General," Deyoka countered, then listed his family's recent contributions. "We paid out of pocket to provide food for the French army. We invented a tank that helped us win this battle. We've supported field hospitals and even donated one hundred sidecars that drove the Germans back. And now, you accuse me of disregarding our soldiers and ignoring France?"

Gallieni argued back, "Then you should not, at this crucial moment, raise the sidecar's price to 800 francs. You're destroying any goodwill you've earned. At that price, you're no better than any profiteer."

"Fine," Deyoka relented. "700 francs. Not a sou less."

"That's still too high. We're not just buying a few."

After much back and forth, Gallieni managed to negotiate the price down to 550 francs.

It was, in truth, an elaborate act. The price of 550 francs had been set the night before, when Charles and Gallieni privately agreed upon it.

The production cost of each sidecar was about 270 francs. Gallieni, possibly out of respect and admiration for Charles, had initially proposed paying 800 francs per sidecar. "It's still better for the army to pay a fair price than be overcharged by four or five times," he had said.

Deyoka's eyes had lit up at the profit margin. With each sidecar sold at 550 francs, the profit would be a substantial 280 francs—enough to earn hundreds of thousands over time. It was certainly better than selling off the patent rights.

But Charles, after some thought, had said, "550 francs per unit."

"What?" Gallieni was taken aback.

"Charles…" Deyoka thought he had misheard.

Charles turned to him, saying, "Too high a profit margin will bring trouble, Father."

Deyoka was bewildered. Merchants usually complained about low profit margins, not high ones.

"If the profit margin per sidecar were 530 francs, capitalists would get wind of it and be drawn to the opportunity," Charles explained. "They could import motorcycles from abroad, modify them, and compete with us. Even with transport costs, they'd still make a profit."

Deyoka understood. "But by setting the price at 550 francs, we're squeezing the profit to 280 francs. They wouldn't bother importing motorcycles, because they wouldn't make any money."

"Exactly," Charles said with a maturity that belied his age. "Additionally, if a capitalist wants to produce sidecars domestically, they'd need to build a factory and a production line, and still work around our patents. With only a modest profit margin, they'd likely conclude it wasn't worth the investment."

"A smart strategy, Charles!" Gallieni complimented. "Now I see where your tactical genius comes from. Business is indeed another kind of battlefield!"

And so, the price of 550 francs was set.

The following day at City Hall, what unfolded was pure improvisation. In a way, Deyoka and Gallieni's "performance" played perfectly into the hands of those watching closely.

Word traveled quickly in Paris. Soon, the capitalists would hear of the incident and think to themselves:

"Typical Gallieni. That fool is always fighting with businessmen over the army's finances."

"A selling price of only 550 francs for the sidecars? That weak-willed Deyoka has ruined it for everyone!"

At the Ritz Hotel, in a lavish meeting room overlooking the Place Vendôme, Francis was savoring a cup of his favorite Algerian coffee, smiling at the military representative across from him as he lit a cigar.

Francis had been sent by the Grevy family to negotiate the price of the tanks, under the guise that Charles still owned the patent. Grevy had promised him a 1% commission on the sale.

Francis had done the math: each tank could be sold for 6,000 francs. Selling 1,500 would bring in 9 million francs. A 1% commission would net him 90,000 francs. A fortune.

The military representative, looking increasingly distressed, sighed. "Mr. Francis, we really can't accept 6,000 francs per unit. If you could…"

Francis didn't bother replying, only raised his cigar, signaling that the price was non-negotiable.

It's not my problem, Francis thought. Every minute they delay, more soldiers die for lack of tanks. That's my leverage.

Just then, a messenger entered the room, glanced at Francis, and approached the military representative to whisper something in his ear.

The representative's eyes brightened. He rose and said to Francis, "Excuse me, sir. I need to take a call."

Francis immediately sensed that something had changed—and not in his favor.

What was going on?

A moment later, one of his aides hurried in, leaned down, and whispered urgently, "Mr. Grevy says to lower the price to 5,000 francs. Immediately. Sign the contract. Now!"

Francis's face went pale. This was worse than he'd thought.

(End of Chapter)

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