Storm over the Caribbean

48. The Puppet Master's Plans

"What," Mr Rikkard Ambrose demanded, "is his name?"

The Frenchman stared straight at him, his eyes bleak. "Armand... Armand Odilon DeMordaunt, Vicomte de Saint-Celeste."

A moment of silence. Then...

A hiss escaped from between Mr Ambrose's clenched teeth. "DeMordaunt!"

I turned towards him sharply. The name meant nothing to me, but the way he'd said that... "You know him?"

"There isn't anyone in the business world who doesn't know him." A muscle in my husband's cheek twitched. "At least among the people who think making more money is worth the trouble of dealing with the French Empire."

"Of whom you are one, I gather."

"Obviously." Dragging in a deep breath, he stalked out of the room, a look on his face that clearly said he wished to punch something. Naturally, he didn't do anything so horrifically superfluous. But the way he glared at the wall made it clear he sure as hell wanted to.

"Mr Ambrose?" Cautiously, I stepped up from behind and placed a gentle but very determined hand on his shoulder. "Tell me."

For a moment, he didn't respond. But then...

"Do you know what Imperial Preference is, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Um...politicians preferring their country to be an empire instead of a tiny flyspeck nobody knows the name of?"

"Not quite. Though I am quite certain that is also the case. No, Imperial Preference is a term used to describe a political practice that is very well known throughout the business world. This practice stipulates that imported goods from outside one's native empire, in our case the British Empire, should be heavily taxed to keep foreigners from invading one's market and stealing one's profit. The political rationale behind it is simple. If you have large businesses from other empires within your own, what would happen if that empire tried to use this to exert influence over your homeland? Worse, what if, one day, you would have to go to war against that foreign empire?"

I swallowed. "That would be...bad."

"Indeed." He gave a curt nod, as if catastrophic war and economic collapse was nothing more than an afterthought. For him, it probably was. "The important point here, however, is that this policy of Imperial Preference has caused several unintentional side-effects. Chief among them being that, in every empire, local industrial overlords possess all the power and wealth. And above them all, in every empire, there is an uncrowned emperor who rules the business world with an iron fist."

Turning to face me, he fixed me with an icy stare. "In the French Empire, that position is held by Armand Odilon DeMordaunt, Vicomte de Saint-Celeste."

"So...he's you, basically. French version."

That made that muscle in his cheek twitch again.

"My wealth outstrips his by a significant margin."

"How significant?"

In answer, I received only silence—which, by itself, was answer enough. This Frenchman, whoever he was, was powerful, and not to be underestimated.

Well, neither am I!

I took a deep breath, feeling my fingernails dig into my palms. It told me I was still alive and able to exact vengeance! "I see. So, our French friend wanted to expand his British business interests and, seeing our family as competition, decided we were better off as collateral damage, did he?"

"Indeed." Mr Ambrose gave a grim nod. "This fight is not going to be easy. He is an enemy of the same calibre as Dalgliesh—which is probably the only reason he dared to use Dalgliesh as a front. We will have to prepare. When we go after him, we will have to do it with full force."