In the study on the second floor, behind a large walnut desk, the dark brown leather chair creaked softly as Marcus Hofmann adjusted his posture.
The air carried the mingled scent of cedar and freshly brewed coffee, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of wood in the fireplace. Outside, London's October rain tapped faintly against the tall windows, casting ripples of reflected light across the Persian rug.
Marcus set down his bone-china coffee cup. Spread neatly across the desk were two market reports — one on United Steel Works (VSt) and the other on I.G. Farben.
He reached for an ivory-handled letter opener, slicing through the wax seal of the United Steel briefing with practiced precision. Turning the pages, his eyes came to rest on a chart tracking the company's recent fluctuations.
"175 Marks," he murmured, pushing up his tortoiseshell glasses. "A thirty percent drop from last year's peak."
He looked across the desk at the young man standing before him — Shane Cassidy, just seventeen, yet carrying himself with the composure of a seasoned financier.
"The Americans are negotiating to acquire several dye patents," Marcus continued, "and the Dawes Plan loans will give priority to Germany's chemical industry. That seems the safer bet."
Shane placed a cup of coffee back onto its silver-gilt tray. His voice was steady, his Irish accent softened by years of London schooling.
"Marcus, I understand your preference for I.G. Farben's patents," he said evenly, "but United Steel is the lever to lift Germany's future. There are three reasons."
Marcus arched an eyebrow. "Go on."
"First," Shane began, lowering his voice, "the engine of rearmament will start with steel."
He leaned forward, his tone deliberate and calm. "The restrictions of the Versailles Treaty are loosening. The Reichswehr is quietly ordering armour plate. The Navy is drafting plans for new vessels. I.G. Farben's explosives orders will have to wait at least two years.
Steel is the skeleton of an empire. Krupp, Rheinmetall — they all depend on it. Chemicals are the coating on the bullet, but steel is the hand that fires the gun."
Marcus watched him closely, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Secondly," Shane continued, opening The Wall Street Journal that lay folded on the desk, "Wall Street capital is flowing into basic industries. The Americans are investing Dawes Plan loans into smokestacks, not laboratories."
He tapped a headline. "The Morgan syndicate extended a fifty-million-dollar loan to United Steel last month, while I.G. Farben is still scrambling for research funding. For every one percent increase in United Steel's capacity, its share price could rise fivefold. Meanwhile, chemical companies are still waiting for their experiments to bear fruit."
He paused, letting the numbers settle in Marcus's mind before moving to his final point.
"Third, the steel monopoly is absolute."
From the silver sugar bowl, Shane took several cubes and arranged them carefully into a rough model of an industrial structure on the walnut desk.
"I.G. Farben does hold a monopoly," he said, gesturing at the tiny white blocks, "but it's built on hundreds of fragile patents."
He then brought his hand down sharply — the sugar cubes collapsed into a soft scatter.
"But United Steel," he said, his tone rising, "controls fifty-three percent of the Ruhr's entire steelmaking capacity. When Germany demands railway tracks, rebar, or tank chassis, every manufacturer queues outside August Thyssen's office. There's your leverage."
Marcus frowned. "And yet, I.G. Farben paid higher dividends last year."
Shane shook his head, pointing at the report's margin. "Dividends? We're chasing capital appreciation — not pocket change. United Steel's debt ratio is sixty-eight percent. That leverage will make its profits soar. I.G. Farben's debt ratio is only thirty-one — stable, yes, but plodding. When the stakes are national rebirth, we invest in the sharpest weapon."
The firelight glimmered in Shane's eyes. "Remember this, Marcus: chemicals heal wounds — but steel forges power. And right now, Germany is desperate to forge a new future in steel."
He spoke with quiet conviction, but behind his words lay something more — a memory from another life. In his mind, Shane saw the Ruhr Valley blazing with furnaces, the endless clang of forges, the ships returning to the Rhine — a Germany awakening once more.
Marcus leaned back, the firelight reflected in his spectacles. "You speak like a man who's seen the future."
"Perhaps," Shane said softly.
He lifted his cup, the porcelain clinking faintly against the saucer. "Of course, none of this would be possible without your support — yours and Mr. Henry's."
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and drew a parchment document from his briefcase. The faint rustle of the paper filled the quiet study.
"Before we discuss operations," he said, "we should finalize the structure for the North Sea Trade and Consulting Company."
Marcus unfolded the document. The clauses detailed a web of holding companies: a parent firm registered in Zug, Switzerland, controlling subsidiaries in Nassau, with profits routed through Luxembourg and Liechtenstein trusts. The structure was intricate but entirely legal under 1920s European finance law — designed to move money invisibly across borders.
Marcus's eyes paused at the signature line. "Dual authorization," he noted. "Sensible. No single party can move funds alone."
Shane nodded, withdrawing a checkbook bound in deep blue Moroccan leather. He uncapped his fountain pen, the nib gliding smoothly across the page.
"Four hundred thousand Marks," he said, tearing the check cleanly from its spine. "At one hundred seventy-two Marks per share — five times leverage. This covers my stake and Mr. Henry's. The remaining one-third is yours."
He slid the check across the polished desk. "I'll ask that you conduct the operation through your account at Deutsche Bank — discreetly." His voice lowered. "Before next August, I trust we can rely on your silence."
Marcus turned the check over between his fingers, the gold ring on his hand catching the firelight. "You're aware, Kid," he said slowly, "that going long on German assets right now is like betting that the Titanic will melt the iceberg."
Shane smiled faintly. "All the more reason to use leverage."
He drew an unopened Cohiba cigar from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers before cutting the end with a silver-plated cutter. "When everyone else is ruled by fear," he said, lighting it with a slow flame, "courage — and capital — are what reshape history."
A sharp crack sounded from the fireplace as a log split, sparks scattering briefly across the hearth. The glow reflected in both their eyes, tinting them gold and red — the colour of ambition, of fire, of steel.