The officer of the light infantry battalion carefully verified the identity documents of André and his party. Once he confirmed there were no errors, he immediately ordered his soldiers to lower their rifles and withdrew the port’s state of alert. Then the lieutenant ran forward a few steps, stood upright before André with a sharp snap of his boots, chest out and abdomen in, and gave the prosecutor a standard military salute. In the loud, disciplined voice unique to soldiers, he declared, “Monsieur prosecutor, I am Lieutenant Adrien Moncey of the Fifth Chasseurs Battalion, Garonne Infantry Brigade. Welcome to Bordeaux!”

  “Heh, what a coincidence—no sooner have I set foot on land than I run into another future Marshal of the Empire, Moncey,” André thought to himself, though his face remained composed in the restrained smile of a superior. “Thank you, Lieutenant Moncey. But please inform the customs officers at the port that there’s no need to come and report to me. My men and I will not be staying at the docks tonight.”

  As the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, he had another important duty—to be dispatched to France’s coastal trading ports, to audit and verify the collection of customs duties, reward diligence and punish negligence, and root out corruption. If the customs officers of Bordeaux port were to learn of his arrival, the result would not be a simple commotion but utter chaos.

  Undoubtedly, as a kind of “royal inspector” in half measure, André’s arrival in Bordeaux meant that a few tax officers at the port were destined to be sacrificed as examples. It was the corrupt eighteenth century, after all—France was no exception, and even across the Channel, where the civil bureaucracy was still imperfect, matters were much the same.

  Yet André still had to decide—how many should he investigate, and whom? He would have to negotiate an exchange of benefits with Judge Duranthon and the city’s leading figures. As for fairness and justice, such notions had little to do with eighteenth-century Bordeaux.

  Two minutes later, Ouvrard’s envoy at the port, Perrier, arrived in haste. He was a short, dark-haired, dark-eyed Jewish middle-aged man. With great enthusiasm, Perrier escorted André and his entourage to a villa in the north-western outskirts of Bordeaux. This place would serve as the residence of the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court and his more than forty cavalry attendants for the coming period. As for the ten-odd prisoners on the ship, they were handed over to Lieutenant Moncey’s battalion to be confined in a nearby prison.

  “Monsieur Franck,” Perrier explained, “this villa was purchased a month ago by Monsieur Ouvrard in the name of the Bordeaux United Industries Company. Because time was short, the interior has not undergone much renovation. If you find it unsatisfactory, I can make further arrangements.”

  Perrier (not one of the Périer brothers) was a Jewish merchant whom Ouvrard had met on the London stock exchange. The two had quickly struck up a rapport and soon joined forces in the grand enterprise of profiting from the confiscated wealth of the French Church. The so-called Bordeaux United Industries Company was, in fact, a shell corporation established under André’s instruction, used to seize the Church properties of the Gironde and to launder money.

  Two weeks earlier, inspired by the incident of the Avignon Alliance delegation and after corresponding with André by letter, Ouvrard had hurried to Provence for early preparations. Hence, he had entrusted his chief assistant in Bordeaux, Perrier, with the duty of receiving and settling André and his cavalry squadron.

  From Perrier’s introduction, André learned that the beautiful villa, surrounded by vineyards, had been built during the reign of the “Sun King.” It was the work of an Italian architect. Its previous owner had been a former bishop of Bordeaux, who, having provoked public anger, was later exiled to the Caribbean. The Bordeaux “Lafite Villa” had since remained unoccupied until Ouvrard purchased it, along with vast surrounding vineyards and its affiliated winery—assets worth over 600,000 livres—for the extremely low price of only 50,000 livres in assignats.

  André became especially delighted upon learning that the vineyards around the villa formed part of the Lafite estate.

  The Chateau Lafite (or Lafite-Rothschild) was located on what was called “the First Slope of Bordeaux.” The name Lafite itself derived from the Gascon word for “hill.” The vineyard had been founded in 1354 by a nobleman of that name and was already renowned by the fourteenth century. In 1675, it was acquired by the wealthy Ségur family.

  In the seventeenth century, Burgundy wines still dominated France’s high society, yet Madame de Pompadour, the famed courtesan and mistress of King Louis XV, was particularly fond of Lafite. Thanks to her favour, Lafite often graced the glasses of the nobles of Versailles.

  In 1755, after the death of the third head of the Ségur family, ownership of Lafite entered a period of confusion. Although the quality of its wines never disappointed, the renewed rise of Burgundy and Champagne in northern France gradually weakened the domestic influence of Bordeaux’s producers. For more than a decade, their main revenue came from exports.

  By 1785, the former Bishop of Bordeaux had acquired ownership of the Lafite estate and its 110 hectares of vineyards. After the Revolution began, the estate, as former Church property, was listed for auction by the city hall.

  In July 1790, following André’s special instruction, Ouvrard used assignats to secure full ownership of the Lafite estate—including exclusive rights to the Lafite brand—and its surrounding 20-plus hectares of vineyards, while the remaining 90 hectares had already been divided among other elites.

  André instructed Perrier to remove the Lafite estate from the sale list, to lease the 20 hectares of direct holdings to tenant farmers, and to continue employing professional vintners to manage the winery. If possible, the area of directly managed vineyards should be doubled.

  At present, the Lafite estate cultivated about 8,500 vines per hectare. Roughly 70% were Cabernet Sauvignon, 20% Merlot, and the rest Cabernet Franc. Generally speaking, Bordeaux vines were cut down once they reached forty-five years of age, the soil left fallow for three years, and then replanted. The vines surrounding Lafite were between fifteen and twenty years old—at their prime—yielding about 300,000 to 400,000 bottles of wine per year. Half of the output was exported overseas, with Britain and America as the largest buyers.

  According to the acquisition list submitted by Ouvrard, properties of this type—elegant villas, wineries, or vineyards formerly owned by the Church—already numbered no fewer than twelve.

  The pre-aged wines stored in these cellars were in especially high demand. Once placed on the market by Ouvrard, merchants competed fiercely to purchase them at high prices. The vineyards were divided into smaller plots for sale to local farmers (those near Lafite being leased rather than sold), or mortgaged to banks for immediate cash.

  After deducting related expenses, the current net profit of the United Industries Company stood between 2.4 and 2.8 million livres—already exceeding the total profit originally promised by Ouvrard to André.

  Nevertheless, both Ouvrard and Perrier agreed that Bordeaux still held many untapped resources. Yet after the early phase of frenzied profiteering, more and more powerful figures had begun coveting Church assets, and André’s personal presence was now required to secure the enterprise.

  The main building of the Lafite Villa was not large, but its interior was lavishly decorated. The Renaissance-era furnishings and artworks reflected the former owner’s noble status. On either side of the villa were colourful ornamental gardens; the rear fa?ade was as grand as the front.

  The reception hall rose to a height of over two stories, and its massive columns created a solemn atmosphere that commanded awe. The central hall was entirely white, while the other rooms were painted with vivid frescoes depicting biblical stories—religious themes entirely befitting the villa’s previous owner, the exiled Bishop of Bordeaux.

  At first, André thought of ordering the frescoes removed, but, realizing he would not stay long in Bordeaux, he gave up the idea.

  He believed that during the day the villa’s gardens must look splendid, filled with lavender, hyacinths, and wild roses in full bloom. The atmosphere was tranquil and pleasant, far from the noise of the city. Yet now, after the long journey, André’s most pressing desire was simply to satisfy his hunger with a good meal.

  It was evident that Perrier, as a seasoned merchant, knew well how to host important guests. The dinner was splendidly arranged; the dishes refined and inventive. Several local chefs demonstrated unusual skill in preparing seafood—the thick lamprey sauce was full of flavour; the fresh, tender foie gras was exquisite; and the most surprising creation was crab meat and egg white stuffed into fresh cucumber blossoms, crisp and sweet to the taste.

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  Finally, accompanied by Bordeaux’s finest Lafite wine, the more than forty cavalrymen ate heartily, drinking and laughing in delight.

  After the meal, André gave a few instructions to his officers, then went upstairs with Perrier to the second-floor study for a private discussion. The soldiers’ lodgings were handled by the villa’s steward.

  Several thick candles burned on the candelabra, illuminating the study as brightly as day. The velvet curtains had a noble sheen; the walnut desk and chairs were richly made; the Italian sofa set was finely crafted; and the Turkish cashmere carpet was of great expense.

  None of these details held André’s attention for more than a moment. He went directly to the sofa and sat down, tasting his coffee.

  Seeing that his careful preparations over many days had failed to win the master’s approval, Perrier felt slightly disappointed. Yet the shrewd Jewish merchant never allowed such feelings to show. He knew there would be opportunities to demonstrate his ability and earn recognition. When the maid brought in two cups of hot coffee, Perrier reminded her repeatedly, “Until further notice, no one is to enter the study or disturb us.”

  When the door closed softly, Perrier went to the large safe beside the desk, took out a stack of ledgers and documents, and placed them neatly on the table. He explained, “Monsieur Franck, these are the account books that Monsieur Ouvrard asked me to deliver for your review, along with the balance sheet, profit statement, and cash-flow statement of the Bordeaux United Industries Company.”

  The superior put down his coffee cup and glanced through the forms. As for the pile of ledgers nearly knee-high, he could not be bothered to check them himself; a team of professional accountants would naturally handle such work. The figures in the three statements differed little from those previously submitted by Ouvrard—the numerical variations were all within the normal range.

  Everything before him pleased André greatly. The feast of dividing Bordeaux’s Church property had already yielded, on paper, a profit of 2 million livres. After deducting Ouvrard’s 20% partnership commission, André could personally receive more than 1.6 million livres. Most importantly, this enormous sum was entirely tax-free. The thought filled André with excitement; he almost felt like singing aloud. Indeed, eighteenth-century France was a paradise for corrupt officials and unscrupulous businessmen.

  For the first time, André genuinely liked—and even loved—this nation that was soon to be plunged into upheaval.

  Soon, André sobered from his momentary elation. He recalled Perrier’s words during dinner concerning several major projects along both banks of the Garonne. Clearly, the middle-aged Jewish merchant was not content to remain subordinate; given a chance, he was eager to rise. Normally, such reports of merit were the task of a project manager, but now, taking advantage of Ouvrard’s absence, Perrier could not wait to show his initiative.

  This was not entirely a bad thing. The most dangerous subordinates were not those divided, but those united—so united that they might conspire together against their master.

  Although Ouvrard, for now, remained dutiful and diligent, with every account and expense traceable, human nature was unpredictable and changed with its circumstances. If there was proper restraint and healthy competition between his subordinates, André, as the man behind the entire operation, could feel more at ease. Thus, he needed to maintain the right balance.

  Almost casually, André mentioned the new projects again, saying he wished to hear more details. This immediately stirred Perrier’s enthusiasm.

  “Yes, monsieur!” Perrier said. He pulled out a map of the Bordeaux suburbs, spread it on the table, and pointed to a pencil-marked spot on the left bank of the Garonne.

  “This,” he explained, “is Médoc, one of the principal wine-producing regions of Bordeaux. It extends about 20 leagues—roughly 80 kilometres—northward along the left bank of the river. The terrain is flat, the topsoil composed of gravel and pebbles, and the subsoil a reddish-brown clay rich in iron. The total cultivated area now reaches 30,000 bonniers—each bonnier being roughly one hectare.

  “Because of the differences in terrain, it is divided into southern Haut-Médoc and northern Médoc. For nearly a century, Médoc has been the most prestigious and noble wine region in Bordeaux. Our previous transactions have mainly focused on the northern Médoc, where this villa stands.

  “In addition, the Catholic Church still owns around 5,000 bonniers (or hectares) of vineyards in southern Haut-Médoc. At the average market price of 10,000 livres per bonnier, the land is worth 50 million livres. According to our internal agreement with Judge Duranthon and the city’s leading figures, apart from the northern lands we have already acquired, we can obtain another 250 bonniers—250 hectares—of vineyards in southern Haut-Médoc, worth 2.5 million livres, with an expected profit of about 1.8 million livres. The wineries, cellars, and brands, however, are not included.”

  “Excellent,” André said approvingly. For Perrier and Ouvrard to secure another 5% share amid such fierce competition was no small achievement. Excessive greed would only draw resentment, and André, whose overall power was still developing, had no wish to become the target of Bordeaux’s elite.

  Owning one of Bordeaux’s five great chateaux, the Chateau Lafite, already satisfied André’s vanity. He had little interest in acquiring others—unless it were the Chateau d’Yquem of Lur-Saluces, famous in later times for its sweet wine, or the three other Premier Cru estates: Latour, Margaux, and Haut-Brion. Of course, such official classifications would not exist until some sixty years later, under Napoleon III.

  After learning the expected returns, André asked with concern, “Will there be any difficulties in executing the agreement?” As the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, his current mission in Bordeaux was precisely to provide protection for his brokers and to remove political obstacles.

  Perrier replied, “For the moment, none. The only difficulty lies with the local farmers who wish to buy small plots of vineyards. More than half of them cannot make full payment at once. If we use the services of lending banks, we must give up part of the profit margin.”

  The so-called land-mortgage banks were much like later housing-loan institutions, charging heavy fees and interest from both sides of a transaction.

  After a moment’s thought, André decided. “Take a two-fold approach. First, allow the farmers to pay in instalments, interest-free for a few months, but all balances must be settled by the end of this year. Second, engage more lending banks—not only in Bordeaux but elsewhere. Except for this villa and a few high-grade wineries, all land assets should be converted into cash as soon as possible. Whether in Bordeaux, Avignon, or Provence, remember—our foundation does not lie in the south of France. There is no reason to keep large sums tied up on this hot, distant land.”

  André’s reasoning was clear. First, enormous funds would soon be required for the Marne-based projects—research and development of high-pressure steam engines, steamships, and trains, all of which were bottomless pits of expenditure.

  Second, once André lost his position as prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, his influence would no longer cover the southern provinces. Holding too much land there could easily turn a blessing into a disaster.

  Third, he foresaw that Bordeaux itself might one day face internal conflict and purges. Rather than dispersing his resources across multiple regions, it would be wiser to concentrate them—or convert them into ready capital—for easier control.

  Receiving his master’s clear directive, Perrier at once took out his notebook and made annotations in pencil, then continued his report. “The second matter concerns one armory and two shipyards in the southern suburbs of Bordeaux. They are among the valuable assets left by the Church. The armory mainly supplies non-standard weapons to African slave-hunting expeditions, while the shipyards handle the transport of wine, weapons, gunpowder, slaves, sugar, and coffee. We hold between 8 and 10 percent of the shares, worth around 200,000 livres. Shall we keep them or liquidate?”

  “Sell them immediately!” André ordered. “From now on, avoid any enterprise connected with the slave trade.”

  The Constituent Assembly, though momentarily compromising with colonial deputies, still maintained France’s domestic political stance on the abolition of slavery. The ideals of “liberty, equality, and fraternity” could not yet be discarded. They remained the Republic’s national creed and would not waver for at least twenty years.

  Perrier quickly noted this down, drawing a large cross beside the armory and shipyard entries. Then he moved his finger to the other side of the Garonne.

  “The third matter concerns the vineyards along the right-bank valleys of the Garonne and the adjoining lands between them. These vineyards have only a hundred years of cultivation history and are far less famous than those of the Médoc on the opposite bank. Yet their total area is larger. Around Libourne, the main centres—Saint-émilion, Pomerol, and Fronsac—are the most distinguished. The Church alone owns more than 20,000 bonniers (hectares) of vineyards here. Market prices average 2,000 to 3,000 livres per bonnier.

  “Because land registration took a long time, the full list of properties was not completed until last week. The internal auction by the Church Property Commission has not yet begun.”

  In the twenty-first century, the vineyard area of Bordeaux would stand at 123,000 hectares. Two centuries earlier, however, it had reached as much as 150,000 hectares—before a devastating outbreak of vine disease in the late nineteenth century. Without the later discovery of Bordeaux mixture, the region’s reputation as the world’s wine capital might have vanished entirely.

  When speaking of the vineyards on the right bank of the Garonne, Perrier glanced uneasily at André and voiced his concern. “According to messengers from Judge Duranthon, someone intends to exclude us secretly from this land transaction.”

  “Who are they?” André asked at once.

  To cut off a man’s source of profit was as grave as killing his father; André would not tolerate it—especially when that profit was worth millions, even tens of millions of livres.

  “Primarily Monsieur Savigny of the tax-farming company, Monsieur Luchon, the local prosecutor, and Monsieur Montbas, head of customs in Bordeaux. The rest of the Church Property Commission are fence-sitters and not worth worrying about.”

  Perrier recited their names fluently, one by one.

  In response, Ouvrard’s personal view was that their side should yield a little—accept a smaller share of the right-bank estates to avoid offending Bordeaux’s local dignitaries. After all, a smaller profit quickly realized was still a profit.

  However, Perrier, driven by ambition, hoped to use this confrontation over the vineyard titles as an opportunity to impress André. From his expression, it seemed the master was indeed interested; he had played his move correctly.

  André found the situation almost amusing. He had not yet made a move, and already Savigny and Luchon were conspiring against him. In Bordeaux’s upper circles, everyone knew that André Franck was Ouvrard’s hidden patron.

  What puzzled him, however, was the involvement of the customs director, Monsieur Montbas. At least for now, André had shown no intention of reforming Bordeaux’s customs administration—yet it seemed that his reputation alone was enough to make others act in fear.