Chapter 509: Charles in Despair
Charles looked at the Prince with confusion, protesting, "Your Highness, all my dealings are legitimate business! I have never funded any rebels!"
"Turn to the last page," Joseph suggested, motioning to the documents in Charles' hand.
"Herloss Steel Company was responsible for transporting weapons from the Netherlands to the rebels and repairing their firearms.
"Ghent City Hall operated under the control of the rebel parliament for an extended period and provided significant logistical support to the rebels.
"And as for Mr. Clifford, he has been facilitating financial operations for the rebels..."
Charles' face turned pale. He stammered, "Your Highness, I… I had no idea about their connection to the rebels! My bank was only issuing standard loans!"
Joseph knew Charles likely had no direct involvement with the Brabant uprising. At the time, Vandernoot's forces controlled much of the Southern Netherlands. With three banks in the region, Charles could hardly avoid financial dealings with them.
As Joseph had anticipated, the intelligence bureau easily uncovered links between Charles' banks and the rebels. Now that the Southern Netherlands was back under Austrian control—and Wallonia was managed by France—unearthing this information had been straightforward.
Ironically, the transactions listed in the documents were financial losses for Charles. For example, Herloss Steel Company went bankrupt after the rebellion failed, leaving tens of thousands of livres in unpaid loans.
Nevertheless, the fact remained that Charles had issued loans to these entities, which provided leverage against him.
"I am inclined to believe you," Joseph said, appearing to comfort Charles. "If you truly had no knowledge of these connections, the High Court will soon lift the freeze on your assets."
"Thank you for your trust, Your Highness," Charles said quickly, standing to bow. But then he asked nervously, "How long will that take?"
"That depends on the intelligence bureau's progress. If they work quickly, you might be cleared in a month or two. However, many rebel documents were destroyed before their surrender. It could take six months—or even longer."
Charles nearly broke down in tears. "Your Highness, please help me! I swear I have no connection to the rebels!"
Though Charles had made his fortune in the Southern Netherlands, he had shifted his focus to France, where the markets were larger and more profitable.
Sixty percent of his assets consisted of funds managed on behalf of other nobles, requiring regular interest payments. Even two months of restricted access to his funds could lead to devastating losses.
Moreover, he had to worry about his banks. If news of the asset freeze spread, it would trigger a run on deposits. Depositors, fearing that the owner of Charles-Botten Bank might have committed a serious crime, would rush to withdraw their money.
A bank run was the worst nightmare for any banker—it almost always spelled bankruptcy.
Joseph remained impassive. "You'll have to trust the intelligence bureau—or pray they find evidence quickly."
"No, Your Highness, I beg you, please help me…"
"Sorry, but there's nothing I can do," Joseph said, rising to signal the end of the meeting. "That's all for today, Mr. Charles. I need to focus on the tax reform agenda."
Charles' heart sank. He suddenly understood why the intelligence bureau had targeted him.
The Tax Farmers' Association had done everything possible to obstruct the government's tax reforms. He himself had conspired with Morel to pretend to offer Brienne loans, buying time to hinder the government's fundraising efforts.
Now, with the government securing enough funds to operate through the first half of the next year, it had the confidence to retaliate.
Panicked, Charles moved in front of Joseph and bowed his head. "Your Highness, the government's tax reform may face funding shortfalls during the transition period.
"While the intelligence bureau conducts its investigation, my frozen assets could be used as loans to assist the Finance Minister in managing the reform."
Joseph waved dismissively. "I've reviewed Archbishop Brienne's report. He has sufficient funds for the reforms. There's no need for your help."
Charles grew desperate. "Your Highness, unexpected issues may arise during the reform. With additional funds, Archbishop Brienne could address them more effectively.
"I am willing to provide a low-interest loan of 12 million francs to support the government. This will also prove my innocence regarding the Southern Netherlands rebels."
Joseph sighed, appearing to relent. "Very well. I'll ask Archbishop Brienne if he requires additional loans."
Joseph already knew Charles' annual tax farm payment was about 10 million francs. The additional 2 million francs likely represented the entirety of his available funds.
Charles, feeling as though he'd been granted a reprieve, bowed repeatedly. "Thank you, Your Highness! I'll speak with Archbishop Brienne immediately…"
Reims.
At 6:30 PM, two young tax officers exited the tax bureau and headed back to their residence.
As they rounded a street corner, two shadowy figures began following them.
The taller officer sensed something amiss and turned to see a wooden club swinging toward his head.
He hurriedly yanked his companion back and tried to dodge, but the club struck his cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground in a daze.
His shorter companion, pulled off balance, narrowly avoided a direct hit. The club grazed his ear and landed on his shoulder.
One of the hooded assailants raised his club again, shouting menacingly, "Quit your job at the tax bureau, or we'll break your—"
A sudden, deafening gunshot cut him off.
The assailant's body jerked as if hit by a sledgehammer, flying backward and collapsing lifelessly on the ground. Blood spread across his chest.
The second assailant froze, stunned by the noise. Turning, he saw his accomplice lying in a pool of blood, motionless.
The short tax officer stood with a smoking pistol in hand.
Terrified, the remaining assailant dropped his club and bolted, stammering, "You… you killed him!"
Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, the tax officer discarded the spent pistol, drew another from his belt, cocked the hammer, and took aim.
Another thunderous shot rang out.
The fleeing assailant stumbled forward as blood blossomed from his back. He fell to the ground, disbelief etched on his face. He had only meant to scare them, but they had responded with deadly force.
Lowering his pistol, the tax officer said coldly, "By law, attacking a tax officer warrants immediate execution."
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