He paused, his gaze landing on the Italian Rossi: "Luca, last month you negotiated three oil fields in North Africa, all ruined by the Aricans, right?"
Rossi froze for a mont, then his face turned somber: "How did you——"
"Because the Aricans offered a higher price to the local warlords and promised military protection," Victor finished for him, "but what if... I can offer you another form of protection? Not soldiers, but sothing cleaner. Like a quantum-encrypted oil field monitoring and automatic defense system. It can identify even the species of a rat that sneaks in, and it can automatically adjust the oil pipeline pressure to increase production by twenty percent. Moreover, the system is completely independent of the existing satellite network; the Aricans can't hack it."
Rossi's breathing quickened: "The price?"
"Fifteen percent of the oil field revenues, settled in Euros, but through our cross-border settlent channel—half the fee of SWIFT and ten tis faster transaction speed." Victor smiled, "Of course, you can refuse and continue watching the Aricans nibble away at your business piece by piece."
The low hum of the air conditioner was the only sound left in the room, accompanied by the heavy breathing of a few Europeans. The data on the holographic projection continued to stream quietly, its blue glow resembling bait and also a trap.
Spanish banker Alvarez finally spoke, hissing: "The new settlent channel you ntioned... is it reliable? The Fed and the International Clearing Bank won't sit idly by."
"What can they do?" Victor shrugged, "Send aircraft carriers to the Gulf of xico? Sorry, our submarines have recently upgraded their sonar. Freeze accounts? Great, let's see if your Euro liquidity collapses first or if the 'Oil-Digital Currency' we release gets snatched up by those princes in the Middle East. Don't forget, the Bank of England is a joke now; the credit of British Pounds is leaking faster than a sieve. Next up for the Euro, is it difficult?"
Barefaced threats.
But no one dared to slam the table.
Because it was the truth. The collapse of the United Kingdom was visible to everyone. Cracks perated the Eurozone long ago, with Germany and France suspecting each other, and Italy and Greece on the brink of explosion at any mont. At such a ti, if a faster, cheaper financial channel not monitored by the Aricans truly erges... what choice would the vast capital flowing in the shadows make? You could guess with your toes.
Long silence.
Von Schwarzenberg was the first to move. He pulled out his encrypted phone—not the usual one, but another thicker and uglier device, quickly typed a ssage. Sent. Then he looked up, the aristocratic arrogance in his eyes waning, leaving only the shrewdness of a businessman and a hint of ruthlessness.
"I need a test interface. Three months. If it's truly as you say, we can discuss the Rheintall's next-generation main battle tank fire control system optimization contract."
Victor nodded: "Soone will contact you tomorrow."
Madland's expression shifted before eventually pulling out his phone: "EDF Group's hydropower project in Senegal needs a more intelligent grid managent system. We can pilot it."
Rossi licked his lips: "I want to see a live demonstration of the defense system in North Africa first."
"Arrange it." Victor said succinctly.
Alvarez was the last to speak, his voice dry: "Santander... can attempt to establish a small-scale cross-border settlent channel. But it requires equivalent gold collateral from the Central Bank of xico."
"Sure." Victor agreed readily, "Just use the gold bars you have stored in the New York Fed; we'll handle the transfer procedures, ensuring it's faster than if you applied yourselves."
The deal was struck. No handshakes, no champagne, just a cold exchange of interests and a tacit understanding of betrayal—betrayal to the old order they each represented, unquestionably.
But who cared?
The old gods are dead, new gods shall rise.
And the first commandnt of the new gods is: survive, live better than others.
The Europeans gradually left, leaving only Victor, Casare, and Bramo in the room.
Casare walked to the window, watching those luxury cars silently drive into the night below, grinning: "A bunch of bastards, all ideology on their lips, all business in their hearts."
"Business is good." Victor rubbed his temples, showing a hint of fatigue, "The fear is that the crazies who don't even talk business, just flip the table—like those nobles in London who haven't yet realized reality."
Bramo was quickly jotting down notes: "The initial frawork is set. Next, the technical team needs to follow up, especially ensuring the quantum cloud's security isolation plan is foolproof. They can't catch any backdoor handles."
"Of course, there has to be a backdoor." Victor said coldly, "But not for them to catch. It's for when necessary, it can 'just happen' to paralyze their system, or 'just happen' to leak so trivial but sufficiently scary information. You'll need to asure the balance."
"Understood."
At that mont, the internal phone rang. Bramo picked it up, listened for a while, then looked at Victor: "McTavish from Scotland has arrived, downstairs in the 'Obsidian Hall.' He's brought two people, that history teacher, and a fresh face, intelligence indicates he's a forr SAS mber who defected last year."
"Let him co up."
Victor paused, "Casare, go prepare so 'gifts'—make copies of the gold reserve flow records we 'borrowed' from the Bank of England, wrap it nicely. Later, give it to our Scottish friends as... a congratulatory gift for their soon-to-be-founded 'kingdom.'
Casare's eyes lit up: "Damn, boss, that's vicious! Let them know their holand was emptied out, and it was done by us!"
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