The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 599 Ch.598 The Destroyer (Thanks to Whispering Poetry in the Mist for the reward)

Several days followed.

Take a nosedive.

A voice began to spread in the market that Harold Bekanov, who came from nowhere, was a liar.

This is probably because of a funny London story that was widely circulated before - it is hard to believe how much the "country people" outside of London are eager to hear jokes about London.

It doesn't matter if it's from a big or small person, as long as it's from London.

For these residents living in the "crown jewel", citizens from other places always have a kind of "nothing special" expectation, and are keen to prove this with all kinds of stories. So much so that for a long time, most people at the bottom of society would say with a smile when talking about London:
So you are the great shoe shiner from the great city of that great country.

Besides, what else is there? 'I may have twelve shillings a day, but by the Queen! I have it much harder than that gentleman who gets seven shillings a week - I'm not in London!'

'You know what? If you can live in London, your skin will be pounded with steel by the guards - with this proof, when others praise the great country, you can hold your head high and proudly say that they definitely include me in their praise! '

In short, they are being sarcastic as much as possible and both sides dislike each other.

So when a 'big funny story' from London appeared in Porto, it was quickly remembered, spread and told everywhere by the workers - in just two days, no one on the dock didn't know about it.

Even a newsboy could tell you the beauty of this wonderful technique by repeating it in a proper manner.

The story is:

Ocean trade scam.

A group of unknown people used hundreds of letters to defraud at least 200,000 pounds.

They appear and disappear like ghosts, leaving no clues.

The citizens of Porto laughed at the stupidity of the rich in London, and laughed at their ridiculous love of face for trying to block the news that was impossible to block - as long as time passed, it would spread throughout the country sooner or later.

Laugh and talk.

Talking and talking.

Someone noticed something was wrong.

"Why does this method seem familiar..."

Soon, they mentioned a name: Harold Bekanov.

This mysterious young rich man.

Although he bought some of Cavendish's shares in Golden Smoke, lived a luxurious life, and made many near-miraculous promises - looking at the whole thing, he paid far less than he got.

Some people with a curious mind calculated that the amount of money raised through the "family business" and "golden smoke" was close to 30,000 pounds.

Thirty thousand pounds.

A complete and fairly respectable set of shirt, trousers, waistcoat, tailcoat, leather boots, gold pocket watch, watch chain and watch box, silk hat, tie and silver-handled cane - the whole gentleman's outfit cost only twenty pounds.

A good-looking and decently educated tutor (who knew several languages ​​and could paint) could only earn thirty to fifty pounds a year at most.

And Harold Bekanov had raised thirty thousand pounds without realizing it.

Six hundred years of a governess's salary.

With the comparison, the workers are more willing to talk about it.

The more we talked, the more people joined.

Soon, the news that Bekanov raised 30,000 pounds spread throughout Porto Port - at first, the investors were not worried because Bekanov bought part of the shares of "Golden Smoke" from Cavendish.

Even if he breaks his promise, the golden mist will never grow legs.

But now, they are starting to worry.

Because the value of Golden Smoke's shares is far less than 30,000 pounds.

Just one day.

Some worried investors came to visit and discuss how to recover their principal.

Even though Bekanov claimed that if the principal was taken back now, the investors would never be allowed to participate again, those investors would agree unanimously.

And then.

They found that Bekanov was "ill" and had gone into hiding, and had not appeared again.

At this moment, the entire Porto Harbor "exploded".

……

Second floor balcony.

The man sipping his coffee sat in a low hollow ivory armchair with his legs crossed, leisurely admiring the street scenery: servants ordered by their master came in groups, through the streets and alleys, to Harold Bekanov's apartment.

"There's a term in the banking world called a 'bank run.'"

Randolph said calmly, "The money in every businessman's pocket is like a 'chain' - we use these chains of varying thicknesses to pull the 'business'. If the business is big and heavy enough, the chain must be tougher and stronger."

The man narrowed his eyes, and his words were filled with endless teasing.

Bloodless wars happened to be what he was best at.

"Just like when Taylor first started his tobacco business, he used borrowed chains to pull his ships, tobacco cargoes, and hired workers - we borrowed chains from other people's pockets so we didn't have to have such a deep pocket ourselves."

He said.

"But Roland, do you know why this is dangerous?"

Roland nodded: "Broken."

"Yes."

Randolph put down his coffee cup and pointed at the carriages galloping under the balcony with his hands holding the cigar.

"The problem Mr. Harold Bekanov is facing now is not so easy to solve."

Jeff Cavendish's approach is not uncommon.

He thought he was imitating them, but in fact he went down another path - the scam in the City of London had no "actual subject", which meant that Roland, Randolph and Rose were invincible from the beginning.

The high returns they offer are just to defraud more money and make this golden snowball roll faster and bigger.

Jeff Cavendish's approach was different: he used a real 'real person' and real gold and silver to win the trust of these investors more quickly.

But the consequence of having an initiator is that when the whole thing goes wrong, a terrible chain reaction will occur.

Soon, the dam he built with words, that false, fragile and gorgeous disguise, will collapse at an unimaginable speed - he did not consider one problem.

time.

The scam in the City of London was carried out by correspondence.

The time it takes to go back and forth is enough for Randolph to move.

But Jeff Cavendish forged a 'rich man' and made himself famous here, drinking and having fun all day long.

"Not smart enough, and not fierce enough."

That's what Randolph said about him.

"There are no truly intelligent people in the Cavendish family."

Randolph raised his coffee cup and held it up to the rising sun.

"They're finished."

Now, there are only two ways to go.

Before the mystery is revealed, secretly sell the property, return the principal, and at the same time convince as many people as possible without asking for interest.

Either.

They're about to turn their heads...

I begged Taylor, whom I had always looked down upon.

If Randolph had been more ruthless, he should have agreed to Hayan's deal, taken the check, and promised to return to London with Jeff Cavendish within half a month to handle the transfer of shares - in half a month, Cavendish would probably no longer exist.

"Once Harold Bekanov is cornered by these blood-eating beasts, do you think he will betray Cavendish?"

Roland tilted his shoulders, looking surprised: "How do you know Cavendish is behind this whole thing?"

It seemed that as soon as he heard it that day, he instantly understood the whole story.

Randolph shook his cigar. "If you want to take revenge on someone... let's say a woman. If you want to make a woman drink too much water and make a fool of herself in public at the next dance party, who do you think should be controlled to achieve your goal?"

Ok…

"Driver?"

Roland thought about it.

The driver can control time.

What if she drank too much water and was delayed a little longer on the road... ?
No.

If you drink a lot of water beforehand...

Maybe, a personal maid…?
Randolph smiled. "It was one of her 'opportunistic' dance partners, Roland. Just like Harold Bekanov bought the shares of the Golden Smoke branch. Even if Jeff Cavendish was really stupid enough to sell it, Bekanov, as a 'young rich man', should know who the largest shareholder is - as long as I do something with the tobacco, he won't make a penny."

"Unless... he's not here to dance at all."

The more Randolph talked, the more ridiculous the whole thing seemed to him.

He felt that the Cavendish family had gone crazy, blaming the failure of the business entirely on intangible luck - didn't their family hold shares in the Golden Smoke branch and receive dividends every year?
(End of this chapter)