As an insignificant member of the imperialist family facing the world police of Great Britain, this outcome came as no surprise—at least not to Sheffield, who had grown up in such an environment in his past life. To him, it was simply history repeating itself.
Though the United States still deferred to European powers globally, it could dominate the Americas.
Unlike the stung diplomatic delegation, Sheffield's solemn expression stemmed from genuine concern over export setbacks. He remained unsure how to adjust strategy.
At this time, the U.S. still clung to the practice of exporting premium goods while keeping inferior products for domestic use. The problem was that even America's "premium" goods paled in comparison to European counterparts.
"Perhaps things will change. The British have too many issues to focus on Latin America indefinitely," Sheffield reassured the middle-aged diplomat, adding, "Victory and defeat are common in war."
His demeanor made him seem like the seasoned diplomat and the other a child. The act worked. With their protest against Britain yielding no results, Sheffield concluded his own agenda and prepared to part ways with the Secretary of State's entourage.
Finalizing patent authorizations from various nations and verifying them before returning home would take days. This era marked the end of lone inventors revolutionizing industries. Before, prodigies like Edison—prior to partnering with J.P. Morgan—could single-handedly drive progress. But Sheffield now faced an age where individual brilliance no longer sufficed; collective research institutions and laboratories were essential.
His final step: recruiting talent with fistfuls of cash. If European companies cooperated, he'd supplement their salaries. "What's most valuable in the 20th century? Talent!"
As for foreign talent earning higher pay sparking resentment among locals? Sheffield couldn't care less. If American talent were superior, their products wouldn't lag behind. The shoddy state of domestic goods spoke for itself.
Sheffield departed immediately, crossing the Channel back to France and rushing to Paris. "Who's this? Next time, dress properly before opening the door. I'm still young—this is too much!" He glared at the unfamiliar woman answering his family's apartment door.
"You must be Harry's son!" The woman welcomed him warmly.
*Since when do French mistresses act so brazenly?* Sheffield eyed her but entered without hesitation—it was his family's property, after all.
Another one! He rolled his eyes upon spotting a second young Frenchwoman lounging in scanty attire, the air thick with musk. A sound from the bathroom hinted at a third presence.
"Where's the old man?" Sheffield demanded coldly, scanning the room.
"Who taught you to speak like that? I'm still your father!" Harry Sheffield emerged casually from the bathroom, revealing no third woman.
"My father shows up like *this* every time?" Sheffield gestured at the pair before circling to jab a finger at Harry. "Not that I want to disrupt your peaceful life. My European business is done—I'm returning home."
After shooing the women upstairs, Harry lit a cigar and drawled, "So Britain might cut export quotas. No need to panic—even I can guess the solution. Trust me, your grandmother would laugh if she knew her heir was fretting over this."
"Enlighten me," Sheffield pressed, seeing no obvious fix.
"You'll figure it out yourself. I've seen this playbook before." Harry exhaled smoke and whispered, "Well? Did you succeed? No? Such a fine girl—that French count's daughter! Half our wealthy elites would kill to marry European nobility."
"I'm no simp," Sheffield scoffed, lumping his father among America's Euro-obsessed elite. "I sail in three days. Rest assured, I'll tell Grandmother *everything*. I'm an obedient child."
"You'd threaten your own father?" Harry rose, aghast.
"Grandmother would gut your Parisian playhouse profits. Oh, and those secret daughters? Black Gold operatives might 'resolve' those loose ends…" Sheffield inspected his nails.
"Must we be so hostile?" Harry chuckled nervously, knowing his mother's iron grip.
Slapping his thigh, Sheffield stood. "Relax—you'll keep your freedom. I've got work to do."
"Why not let Anne study in America?" Harry argued that night with Susan, one mistress. "We're filthy rich—it's no disgrace. She'll obey if you order her. Love grows over time—we started without it!"
"But Anne's never been so far…" Susan fretted.
"Why have daughters? Without me, you'd have fallen from high society after your husband died. Want luxury? Help me now. William's the heir—I need him for retirement!"
Behind the door, a slender shadow slipped away.
*End of chapter.*