The following evening, outside a three-story villa near the Opera House on the Grand Boulevard, luxury cars filled the open space beyond the gates. A faint yellow glow shone through the frosted windows, and from within ca the distant, elegant strains of Ode to Joy.
At the entrance, among the familiar parade of rcedes and Audi, a sleek black Imperial Eagle rolled to a slow stop.
Compared to the other automobiles, the Imperial Eagle was longer, its body more streamlined, its windows veiled by discreet curtains that offered privacy without sacrificing elegance. On the front hood, a hollow golden falcon glead beneath the streetlamps, at once noble and predatory.
"Sir?"
The guard at the gate had been staring at the car in open admiration when a drawn-out call from behind startled him back to attention. Turning around, he saw a military truck pull up behind the Imperial Eagle.
Several tall n in black uniforms he did not recognize jumped down from the truck.
The brims of their caps cast shadows over their eyes, and sothing about their bearing sent a chill through him.
"H hello?"
Looking up at the giant who stood half a head taller than him, the guard instinctively shrank back.
"We are this guest's security detail," the man said flatly. "From this mont onward, security here is under my command. Any objections?"
Before the guard could answer, a military ID and an invitation letter were placed in his hand. His eyes caught the glimpse of a submachine gun beneath the man's trench coat, and whatever protest he might have made died instantly in his throat.
He nodded and stepped aside.
Inside the car, Jörg quietly observed the villa ahead while Cardolan, seated beside him, continued his report on the newly produced Imperial Eagle.
"Young Master, as instructed, we have already begun mass production of the first generation of Imperial Eagle vehicles. The first batch of refrigerators and televisions is advancing faster than expected and has already entered the experintal stage."
He paused only briefly before continuing.
"The radar project is complete as well. We can provide full production drawings for mass manufacture at any ti."
Under Jörg's direction, Cardolan Investnt Company had beco the brightest rising star in Berlin's business world. Of course, that ascent had not happened through comrce alone.
The Berlin Police Departnt had been exceptionally helpful.
Several competitors who attempted to obstruct Cardolan Investnt Company had found their businesses suddenly shut down for "security rectification." Transport routes belonging to rival firms had been harassed again and again by gangs until their schedules collapsed.
In the face of naked power, no amount of wealth made a man anything more than an ant beneath a boot.
That was precisely why Cardolan Investnt Company, as a rising comrcial power, had received an invitation from Mandor, the Minister for Business Developnt.
Years of relentless work and expansion had completely transford Cardolan. He remained thin, but the weary, bookish clerk of the past had long vanished. In his place stood a man who already carried the air of command.
"Very good," Jörg said. "The next step proceeds as planned. Once we deceive the inspection team, foreign capital will pour in, and Cardolan Investnt Company will reach the next level."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"And when the bet is fulfilled, I will leave the largest piece of the pie in our own hands. You will also receive a share in the weapons research institute in Soviet Russia."
Cardolan nodded at once.
Even now, with status enough to command the respect of countless people, he still moved as he had when he first served at Jörg's side. He stepped out first, walked around the car, and personally opened the door for him.
Jörg climbed out and ascended the steps.
The attendants on both sides bowed and opened the door for him. At once, dazzling light and the hum of elegant revelry flooded into his vision.
Tonight he was not in uniform.
Instead, he wore a sharply tailored gray suit. Combined with the watch at his wrist and the broad strength of his fra, he looked less like an officer than like the ideal image of so nobleman from an older, more orderly age.
Even in a room full of high society, he stood out.
But the effect lasted only seconds.
Business and politics might overlap, yet they were not the sa world. In military and political circles, Jörg was already spoken of as one of Germany's rising prodigies. Among industrial capital, however, his reputation was nowhere near Cardolan's.
To most of those present, he was simply a handso young man with a striking face and a distinguished bearing.
Jörg had no interest in changing their minds.
These people were not his true targets.
There was, however, one person he intended to speak with.
Taking a glass of red wine from a passing tray, he made his way toward Lia, who sat off to one side, lightly humming along with the piano music.
As the host's daughter, she was the only young woman in the room who looked entirely unconcerned with the burden of etiquette.
She saw him approach and was about to speak first, but rembering that he had not once visited the Foreign Ministry since returning from Soviet Russia, she suppressed the little spark of delight in her heart and deliberately turned her face aside.
"Long ti no see, Lia," Jörg said. "You never told your father was a minister."
At that, the corners of Lia's lips curved despite herself.
She still did not quite understand what sort of power this man possessed, but ever since Soviet Russia, she had found it increasingly difficult to forget him. He was like so beautiful poison, elegant and dangerous, leaving an impression that refused to fade.
She had just begun weighing her reply when a steady male voice interrupted her thoughts.
Mandor had already arrived.
One glance at his daughter's expression was enough to tell him everything. Or perhaps not everything. Because among all the young people he knew, only Jörg remained unreadable to him. There was always a layer of cold restraint in those blue eyes, as though the only thing that could truly stir them was Germany itself.
"Jörg, co with . Herr Cardolan, you as well. This discussion requires the two of you."
He rested a hand on each of their shoulders. Catching the displeasure in Lia's eyes, he smiled faintly and turned away.
They followed him through the corridor.
As they passed, an old portrait on the wall caught Jörg's eye. Beneath the oil painting, a single line in German identified the figure.
Marquis Mandor.
Mandor pushed open the door to the conference room. The low murmur of conversation ceased at once as the door shut behind them.
Several pairs of eyes imdiately fell upon Jörg.
An old man leaning on a cane stood first.
"So you are Major Jörg von Roman. I had been told politics and the Army were producing younger n these days, but I assud that ant thirty or forty. It seems I was mistaken."
He extended a hand.
"Karl Wilhelm, representing Siens."
Once Karl stood, the others followed in sequence.
"I am Bayer Sibens, director of Bayer Dye."
"Heinrich Lehald, representative of Rheintall."
"The representative of Cardolan Investnt Company…"
"The joint representative of rcedes-Benz…"
One after another, familiar and unfamiliar nas filled the room.
Only when the introductions ended did Jörg begin to speak.
"I am Jörg von Roman, representative of the Reichswehr and special economic envoy of the governnt."
His gaze passed over each face in the room.
"Thank you all for coming. I know the economic crisis of the past year has not been kind to any business sitting here tonight."
He let that settle before continuing.
"The reason I am here is simple. I have co to bring you new information, and to offer everyone present a path through the current hardship."
His voice remained calm, but every word landed with deliberate force.
"In other words, gentlen, I have not co to ask for your patience."
A faint, knowing smile appeared on his lips.
"I have co to discuss profit."
.....
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