I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France Chapter 101: The Belated Conscription Order

Francis only learned from the butler around noon that Shire had returned. This was related to his recent significant staff reduction and production decrease. Many workers had been driven away, and many hadn’t been able to receive their wages, causing Francis to be seen as opposing the workers.

"How did he return?" In the second-floor bedroom, Francis, dressed in pajamas, sat in his favorite rocking chair, silently smoking his pipe while rocking back and forth.

This guy was thrown into the Germans’ encirclent, yet he managed to return safely?

Was the military involved in rescuing him? Lucky fellow!

However, Simon answered, "I heard that Young Master Shire defeated the Germans..."

The movent of Francis’s rocking chair suddenly stopped, and the smoke that had been blowing out in rings turned into barely perceptible wisps. Ti seed to stand still.

After a long while, Francis asked softly, "Defeated the Germans?"

The rocking chair made rhythmic sounds again, although its motion was much smaller than before.

"Yes!" Simon replied, "It’s said that the Little Daily published all the details. I just heard part of it."

"Go buy a copy!" Francis ordered.

"But, sir!" Simon said awkwardly, "It was sold out in the morning, even second-hand copies are being bought at higher prices..."

"Then buy a copy at an even higher price!" Francis interrupted Simon angrily, "Can’t I afford a few newspapers?"

"Yes, sir!" Simon responded, "Please wait a mont."

Simon wanted this exact statent from Francis; otherwise, buying several newspapers at a high price could have resulted in a scolding.

Shortly after, the newspaper was delivered to Francis. A paper that originally cost one sou had increased to 10 sou. Three copies cost a total of 30 sou, and there were even so coffee stains on them.

Francis frowned. Normally, he only read Le Figaro to align with the nobility, but today he had to lower himself to face such a newspaper, one that had already been read by others!

Scanning through the newspaper, Francis beca increasingly frightened, and eventually, his facial muscles twitched uncontrollably.

Shire’s trip to Antwerp was more than just defeating the Germans; he had also received a rare dal and gained fa.

Francis understood the implications. This ant that everyone, including the military, would trust Shire’s tanks over his own tanks.

Although both tanks were invented by Shire, one day, Shire only needed to casually ntion to reporters: "The old tanks are outdated. We need new tanks; they will bring victory and hope to the military..."

Then, no one would be willing to buy Francis’s tanks any longer.

Francis disliked the feeling of his fate being in soone else’s hands, especially just with a single sentence!

But how could he prevent it?

Francis’s gaze crossed the open doorway and landed on Pierre’s room across the hall, where faint snores could be heard. This son, who only indulged in pleasure, was clearly unreliable. His habit of sleeping during the day and partying at night seed to put him in a parallel world to ordinary people.

At this mont, Simon walked in hurriedly, "Sir, there are two soldiers here. They say they want to see Mr. Pierre!"

"Damn!" Francis cursed, "This guy must have caused so trouble again!"

Francis instructed Simon as he went downstairs, "Wake Pierre up!"

"Yes, sir!" Simon answered, looking a bit troubled. This was not an easy task.

Francis descended the stairs and saw two soldiers standing in the living room, one of whom appeared to be a lieutenant based on his rank.

"What’s the matter?" Francis asked expressionlessly, showing them that they were not welco here.

"We want to see Mr. Pierre!" The lieutenant politely handed over his credentials and introduced himself, "We are from the conscription office!"

Francis was shocked; he imdiately understood what was going on: "No, no, it must be a mistake sowhere. Pierre manages my factory; he is involved in producing tanks, so he doesn’t need to serve in the military..."

The lieutenant interrupted Francis coldly:

"According to our investigation, he does not manage your factory, Mr. Francis!"

"We interviewed twenty workers, and they all said they had never seen Mr. Pierre in the factory!"

The other soldier added:

"I investigated Foley Trevis, Mr. Pierre is a regular there, almost every night!"

As he spoke, the soldier took a slip of paper from a folder and handed it to Francis: "This is his consumption record from last night. We have many more! We believe this proves Mr. Pierre has no ti to manage the factory!"

Francis was silent; this was ironclad evidence and irrefutable!

The lieutenant then straightened his chest and concluded:

"Given Mr. Pierre’s situation, we believe he fully ets the requirents for military service."

"If he refuses, you know what the consequences will be!"

Francis’s face turned ashen, but he nodded silently.

Refusing military service during warti could result in the death penalty. Parliant believed this was the only way to prevent so cowards from preferring jail over the battlefield. This law was originally ant for farrs and workers, but now...

Upstairs, the sound of vomiting could be heard, followed by a few indistinct coughs and groans.

"Is that him?" The lieutenant gestured upward.

"Yes!" Francis said awkwardly; Pierre couldn’t even manage the descent.

"Well then!" The lieutenant handed the conscription order to Francis with both hands, then donned his cap and saluted Francis, "It is an honor to inform you, Mr. Pierre will beco a glorious French soldier. Glory be to you, sir!"

Francis expressionlessly shook hands with the lieutenant, walking a few zombie-like steps to see the two soldiers off.

Pierre then staggered downstairs, holding onto the railing. Seeing Francis’s expression, he paused in confusion, "What’s happened, Father?"

"Congratulations!" Francis raised the conscription order in his hand with a tone full of irony, "You will beco a soldier. Maybe you can be as excellent as Shire!"

Pierre, not fully awake, took a mont to realize what this ant. He stopped in shock, looking at Francis, and then weakly sat down on the stairs, pale as a ghost.

Francis’s tone relaxed, sighing, "I hope you won’t beco Shire’s subordinate!"

Francis suddenly thought, Shire worked at the Paris City Defense Command, while Pierre was confird as a new conscript trying to escape service through deception. He wasn’t even qualified to beco Shire’s subordinate in Paris—that was wishful thinking!