"The Navy will object," Dawes said bluntly. "A large-scale relocation of shipbuilding capacity will inevitably alarm them. Commander Jörg, I should remind you that the gap between civilian and military shipbuilding is both larger and smaller than most people imagine."
He paused, then added with deliberate emphasis, "Even if I help lobby on your behalf, opposition from the Navy will still be considerable."
He had laid out the core of the problem without embellishnt.
Transferring part of the shipbuilding industry was, on paper, a win-win arrangent. That was precisely why it was dangerous.
Arica liked an economically recovering Germany. Wall Street liked it even more. A prosperous Germany ant cheap industrial goods, rising securities, swelling investnt channels, and the intoxicating fantasy that money could reproduce itself forever.
But a militarily revived Germany was an altogether different matter.
That would not be a market. That would be a threat.
If Germany's shipbuilding base recovered too quickly, Arica's costly influence in Europe could evaporate. The goose that laid golden eggs might cease to be a useful debtor and beco, once again, a black eagle with talons of iron.
Jörg's proposal was like a spoonful of honey scooped fresh from a beehive. Sweet, profitable, tempting, and dangerous enough to leave the hand swollen with stings if mishandled.
"And as a friend," Dawes continued, lowering his voice, "I must remind you of sothing else, Jörg."
He looked directly at him now.
"Your efforts in economic reconstruction have helped shape the impression that Germany genuinely intends peaceful developnt. I believe that. Personally, I also believe no one is better suited than you to hold the position of Commander-in-Chief."
That was as close to praise as Dawes ever ca when speaking seriously.
"But not everyone understands where the line is."
His tone grew colder.
"And if, by so chance, this bill passes, then I hope Germany will rember where such help truly cos from. It would be wise for Berlin to place greater value on relations with the United States. As for Soviet Union, it would be better to keep a greater distance from them. Emperor Nicholas's fate is not so distant that n have forgotten it."
Then, more pointedly, he added, "You may also convey that ssage to President Hindenburg."
Jörg gave a small nod.
"I understand, Mr. Dawes. Germany has already tasted enough of war. What we want now is to nd our wounds."
He let that sentence settle before continuing.
"As for our relations with Soviet Union, that can be discussed again after the bill passes, assuming it passes."
That answer was vague by design.
Dawes gave a wry smile and shook his head. For all his youth, Jörg had already mastered one of politics' oldest arts: never closing the second door while standing before the first.
"Very well," Dawes said. "Get so rest. For the next three days, Mayor Gordon will take you around New York. I'll carry your proposal to those endlessly chattering congressn and interested gentlen in Washington."
Then he added, more dryly, "I can carry the ssage. Whether they sign anything is another matter entirely. That will depend on whether you can persuade the bastards yourself."
He reached for his hat.
"Until next ti, Jörg."
"Until next ti, Mr. Dawes."
The Cadillac slowed and ca to a smooth stop before the Waldorf Astoria Hotel.
As soon as Jörg stepped out, two doorn in dark uniforms hurried forward. One covered the top of the car door with his gloved hand, while the other extended an arm in a practiced gesture of welco.
The red carpet beneath his feet was woven from thick velvet, vivid as fresh blood.
Inside the lobby, the entire hotel staff stood in two neat rows. The mont he entered, they bowed together.
"Welco, Mr. Jörg."
At the center of the hall stood a middle-aged man of moderate height, already moving forward to greet him. He extended his hand with polished warmth and spoke in surprisingly fluent German.
"Mr. Jörg, you are younger than I imagined. Welco to the Waldorf Astoria. My na is Waldorf Astor, the current manager of the hotel."
He smiled, as though offering a small piece of family history as a gift.
"My great-grandfather was also a German immigrant. In that sense, perhaps the sa blood still runs in our veins."
Jörg shook his hand, but his thoughts had already moved elsewhere.
More than the hotel itself, it was the surna that caught his attention.
Astor.
If Arica was a nation built on immigration, then the Astor family was one of the legends that had ridden that tide to the summit. Their wealth, hotels, real estate, and old connections stretched like invisible roots beneath the polished floor of New York society.
He had not studied the family closely in this life, but one na still lingered in his mory from the world he had once known: John Jacob Astor, and later the Titanic heir whose death had shaken one of Arica's great houses. The Astors were still rich, still connected, still useful, though no longer as dominant as they had once been.
Which was precisely why Waldorf Astor was being so gracious now.
A luxury hotel carried prestige, but prestige alone was not industry. n like him always wanted more solid ground under their fortune.
"Mr. Astor," Jörg said with a pleasant smile, "it is a pleasure. Your German is excellent."
Waldorf's eyes brightened at the complint. Seeing Jörg receptive, he moved quickly to the point.
"Mr. Jörg, I have heard that you possess considerable influence in Germany. I was wondering whether the Astor family might perhaps…"
He did not finish the sentence, but he did not need to.
Jörg smiled and spared him the embarrassnt of forcing the request into the open.
"Germany welcos every serious investor, Mr. Astor. In fact, one of the purposes of my visit is to attract additional comrcial interest. If you wish to discuss this properly, then perhaps we should do so after my current schedule clears."
As he spoke, he cast the briefest glance to the side.
Senna, who was still adjusting to this kind of work, hesitated for half a beat before stepping forward and handing over a business card.
Astor accepted it with both hands.
He could read a refusal when he heard one, but he could also recognize a promise that had rely been postponed.
"No problem, Mr. Jörg. When you have ti, please contact . Jack will take you upstairs. I have reserved the finest suite on the top floor for you. I believe you will find it to your liking."
With that, a handso young attendant stepped forward, bowed slightly, and moved ahead to lead the way.
As they walked, Senna leaned closer to Jörg and asked in a low voice, curiosity written plainly across her face.
"Sir, who exactly was that? Did you really need to speak to such a minor figure? You are the Deputy Commander-in-Chief…"
She left the rest unsaid, but the aning was clear.
Jörg pulled a piece of chocolate from his pocket, unwrapped it, and was just about to answer with one of the lines he had repeated more than once in recent months when Lia spoke first, a faint smile already touching her lips.
"Isn't that what you always say, sir?"
She glanced at Senna, then at Jörg.
"Everyone has value, doesn't he?"
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
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