Chapter 506: The Tax Farmers' Association Strikes Back
The room fell silent for several seconds before Charles looked up at Fulde and asked, "It seems the government is determined to abolish the tax farming system. What should we do?"
If the French government had truly secured 200 million francs, it could cover nearly half a year of fiscal expenditures. During this time, continuous tax revenue would flow in, creating a self-sustaining cycle.
In such a scenario, the government would no longer need to rely on the Tax Farmers' Association. A simple cabinet decree could reform the tax system.
An elderly man sitting on the left side of the table shook his head and murmured as if to himself:
"For the French government to implement such a major reform, even with 200 million francs, finances would still be tight.
"Perhaps we should approach Brienne for negotiations, offer loans, and secure a higher interest rate."
"We cannot give up so easily!" Hope interjected loudly, cutting the man off. He scanned the room, his voice rising with determination. "Government loans offer slightly better interest than government bonds. Is that all you want—to settle for such small profits?!"
The gathered tax farming magnates showed their discontent.
Though the official profit margin from tax farming was only 16%–20%, the business provided many hidden advantages. For example:
Using the collection of tobacco and salt taxes to peddle counterfeit tobacco and inferior salt.Exploiting differences in provincial tax rates to control inter-regional trade.
Including these side benefits, their real return on investment exceeded 25%.
Lowering their profit margins to single digits would be worse than a death sentence.
Baron Morel gritted his teeth. "Damn the French government! This is a business my family has run 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 yields a 15% return."
His words immediately drew agreement:
"Exactly! I'll move my business out of France too."
"We must stand together and not bow to the French government!"
"I've been considering the Dutch stock market. This might be the right time to try it..."
Hope raised his hand for silence, as if concluding the matter:
"Let Viscount Berland probe further. Increase the proposed tax farm bid to 540 million francs. If the government still refuses, we'll leave France."
These financiers had no loyalty to any nation. They bled countries dry and moved on, seeking perpetual wealth wherever they could dominate economic systems.
Examples included the Wallenberg family, who controlled Sweden, and the Sassoons, who wielded power in eastern Ottoman territories. Later, they would be joined by the likes of the Rothschilds and Morgans.
At this moment, Bororay stood up, sneering. "After all this talk, you're just admitting you can't do anything about the government and planning to run away."
As the room turned toward him, his expression grew fiercer. "We have massive funds, connections, and methods. Why not show those who dare challenge us what fear looks like? Let's give the French government a taste of what we're capable of!"
Baron Morel's eyes gleamed with cunning as he feigned admiration, exclaiming, "You're absolutely right! We must show our strength. No one is better suited for this task than you—we're counting on you!"
Bororay smirked arrogantly. "Hmph. Just wait and see."
As the meeting neared its end, British banker Goldsmith hesitated before addressing Hope cautiously:
"Mr. Hope, we do have one particularly useful 'weapon' at our disposal. It could compel the French government to share some of the tax revenues with us."
"Oh? What do you mean?"
"Tax records."
With just those two words, Hope fell into thought. Slowly, he nodded. "You're right. The French government hasn't directly collected taxes in over a century. Without the data we provide, they won't even know how much to charge those cunning merchants."
Goldsmith nodded. "We can also teach factory owners and merchants to lie—claim they're paying quarterly or semi-annual taxes or that they had agreements with previous tax collectors for exemptions.
"Without our records, the new tax officials will face endless arguments and disputes. Even if they try to force tax collection, it will only provoke taxpayer outrage."
Hope's eyes lit up. "When the government's tax bureau descends into chaos, we can negotiate for a share of the tax revenue—or exclusive rights to collect certain taxes—in exchange for helping restore order."
Seeing his proposal gain traction, Goldsmith continued:
"First, we need all tax farmers to centralize their records under the Association's control.
"At the same time, we should compile some rough or even deliberately incorrect records to mislead the French government."
"Brilliant!" Hope exclaimed, praising Goldsmith. Turning to Delph and the others, he added, "Let's proceed. Mr. Goldsmith's plan will ensure we maintain a minimum level of profit."
Northern-Central France, Orléans Province.
The Duke of Orléans had once made this province his stronghold, investing heavily in its development. As a result, both its agriculture and commerce were among the best in France.
The new Director of the Orléans Tax Bureau, Le Maire, had arrived with high hopes of making his mark. However, he now stood tensely, staring at two bloodied men in the room.
The injured men were his tax inspectors: Vincent and his assistant.
After the doctor directed servants to place the wounded men on stretchers and conducted a brief examination, he explained to the arriving police:
"The taller gentleman has a broken left arm. The other's injuries are less severe, though both appear to have been beaten with blunt objects. The good news is that neither seems to be in life-threatening condition. I'll need to treat them further."
"Damn scoundrels," Le Maire spat, gritting his teeth as he looked at his unconscious subordinates. "They dared to attack government officials!"
One of the police officers turned to him. "Director, do you have any leads on the perpetrators?"
Le Maire nodded grimly. "On our third day in Orléans, we received a threatening letter. It warned us to resign immediately or face the consequences.
"We dismissed it as a prank. But two days ago, François and Garcia from the bureau were ambushed on the street. Thankfully, passersby intervened, so their injuries weren't too serious.
"Then today, Mr. Vincent was attacked."
As he spoke, another officer hurried in and handed a crumpled piece of paper to his superior.
The officer frowned as he read it aloud:
"Leave immediately, or next time it won't just be an arm."
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