Chapter 20: Seizing and Scheming (Part 2)

A pile of rubble.

The words sounded light, even offhand.

But in White's ears, they struck like a hammer. His heart skipped a beat.

He understood perfectly what the man across from him meant—war destroys everything.

And in North Borneo, everything had already been destroyed.

Including the company's most valuable asset: its port.

Under military orders, the company had demolished much of its own infrastructure to prevent it from falling into Japanese hands.

Rebuilding after the war would require money. A lot of it.

"Let's set aside the issue of Britain's waning grip on its colonies—because frankly, the Americans won't allow the British Empire to retain them anyway,"

Pierre said, exhaling a slow breath of cigarette smoke.

"Let's speak plainly. North Borneo has been devastated.

Even if the company were to regain control after the war, what would you be reclaiming?

Burned-out cities. Demolished ports.

Everything would need to be rebuilt from the ground up."

His gaze was direct, calm, and cutting.

"Do you have the money for that, Mr. White?"

"You don't.

And the company doesn't either.

So what will your options be?

After years of paying off debt interest… you'll hand everything over to the government.

That's all you'll get for your trouble."

Pierre didn't even give White time to respond.

He leaned in, pressing the point further before the older man could regain his composure.

"Otherwise, you'll need to invest a fortune—rebuilding infrastructure, restoring operations.

But tell me, sir: would you pour money into a territory you are destined to lose?"

That was the killing blow.

As a major shareholder in the only British company to still own a colony, White had long maintained close ties with the Colonial Office.

He had recently attended a dinner party where, in no uncertain terms, the Colonial Secretary had admitted—Britain would struggle to hold onto its colonies.

Even India, the crown jewel, had been promised self-government after the war.

Self-government.

That word spelled disaster for the North Borneo Company.

Without official support, continuing operations would be nearly impossible.

And if the government had to choose where to focus its resources—Singapore would always come first.

White took a drag on his cigarette. His voice was uncertain.

"But sir… surely someone would be interested in acquiring the company's bonds.

After all, it owns everything in that territory—doesn't that count for something?"

Pierre raised an eyebrow slightly.

"When Britain refuses to stop the march toward decolonization—then we can talk about bond buyers.

And besides—how long can your assets sustain you?"

He leaned back in his chair and spoke with crisp precision.

"In 1940, your final dividend was thirty-five thousand pounds.

But over 99% of that went straight to income tax.

In 1941, North Borneo fell.

For the past three years, you've received nothing.

Instead, you've been paying twenty-nine thousand pounds per year in bond interest.

That's nearly a hundred thousand pounds gone."

He flicked ash from his cigarette.

"How much longer can you keep bleeding money like this, Mr. White?"

"War doesn't last forever,"

White murmured, grasping at hope.

"When it ends… there may still be a chance."

Pierre narrowed his eyes.

"And what if it drags on for another four or five years?

There's still no end in sight."

White went pale.

His fingers trembled slightly, still holding the cigarette.

How long would the war last?

No one could say.

Four years? Five?

The Germans were still strong.

Their U-boats were sinking merchant ships faster than Britain could replace them.

Newspapers were already warning of an impending famine.

This wasn't like the last war.

Germany was stronger. Britain, weaker.

Weaker to the point of depending entirely on the Americans—who had their own designs.

And the Americans?

They were using every lever they had to force Britain to give up its colonies.

Britain had no choice.

So why didn't Pierre take the royal barrister Ian Thorpe's advice, and wait until next year to acquire the company?

Simple: information asymmetry.

In 1943, no one could predict when the Axis powers would fall.

But by 1944, the tide would turn.

Everyone would see that the Axis was losing.

Would share prices fall further by next year?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But one thing was certain: the shareholders would start to hope again.

They'd cling to dreams of restored profits and former glory.

Those dreams wouldn't be shattered until 1945, when the war truly ended.

In a perfect world, Pierre would wait until 1945.

By then, everyone would know that North Borneo was lost for good.

But he couldn't afford to wait.

Timing was critical.

He needed to be in North Borneo the moment peace was declared—for what came next.

"In the next four or five years, you'll pay over a hundred thousand pounds in debt interest,"

he said coolly.

"Can you really afford that?"

A swirl of smoke curled into the air.

"And when you can no longer pay…

the creditors will sue.

The court will order your assets seized and auctioned.

Everything—including this house—will be gone."

His words landed like knives.

And they hit their mark.

White, now past sixty, knew every word was true.

He had feared it for months—just as the other major shareholders had.

If the war continued, the debt alone would strip them of everything.

"Very well, sir,"

White said at last, voice subdued.

"I admit your reasoning is sound.

If you're still interested… I would consider selling at one shilling per share."

He hadn't even finished the sentence before he saw Pierre's expression:

a faint, mocking smile — one that said: Really? That's your idea of a deal?

"Mr. White,"

Pierre said, rising to his feet,

"if that's your offer, then I'm afraid there's no deal to be made.

We both know the truth—the company's shares are worthless."

He turned as if to leave.

Startled, White stood as well.

"Mr. Pierre—wait.

What, then, do you think would be a fair arrangement?"

Pierre didn't hesitate.

"Transfer your shares to me—free of charge.

I'll assume the burden of the debt.

And in return, I'll pay you a personal pension of two thousand pounds per year."

He placed his business card neatly on the desk.

"Mr. White, I'll be leaving London in the coming days.

Please make your decision quickly."