Morning brought action. Louis and Claire arranged meetings with dad's old contacts—rich government types. First up: Monsieur Beaumont, a senator with a cigar habit and a mansion. Paris cafe, smoky and tense, tables packed with men whispering war news.
Emil pitched, voice steady. "Improved grenades. Better shrapnel control, saves soldiers. We can produce fast."
Beaumont puffed, eyes gleaming. "Interesting. I'll invest five thousand francs for a stake. For France, of course."
Claire charmed the next mark: Roux, an industrialist with a slick smile. Her laugh won him over—three thousand more pledged. Jacques, tagging along, whispered, "Roux's a snake. Watch him."
Back at the factory, trouble hit. The prototype grenade—Emil's only model—vanished overnight. A guard admitted, sheepish, he'd been bribed. "Some guy in a fancy coat," he mumbled.
Emil raged, pacing the office. "Who? Roux?"
Henriette calmed him. "Rebuild. We're tougher than this."
Jacques dropped by, smirking. "Thief probably blew his hand off. Your grenades are like my exes—picky and explosive."
Emil laughed, tension easing. "You're an idiot, Jacques."
"An idiot with connections," he shot back. "Minister's office wants a demo. But corruption's thick. Roux's got spies everywhere."
Emil rebuilt the prototype, costing a thousand in scrap and labor. Hands raw, he worked with Henriette, her steady presence a reminder of family. Claire stopped by, bringing coffee. "You're doing this for us," she said. "But don't lose yourself."
Total invested: eight thousand francs. Debt down to forty-two thousand after paying a coal bill. Emil confronted Roux at a second meeting, Claire at his side. "Return my design," he said coldly.
Roux smirked. "Prove it was yours."
Louis stepped in, voice like steel. "I know your game, Roux. Back off, or I'll tell every general you're a crook."
Roux paled but didn't budge. Emil cut ties, vowing to protect his work. For France, he'd outsmart these vipers.