The pen scratched against the damp paper.
Count Heinrich von Alvensleben.
The signature was shaky. The arrogant Prussian giant looked like a child who had been caught stealing candy.
"Done," Alvensleben whispered. He dropped the pen into the mud. "Prussia stands down. Frankfurt is yours."
"Wise choice," I said.
I signaled Charles. He handed the stack of bonds to the Count.
"Burn them," I said. "Or frame them. I don't care."
Alvensleben took the papers. He looked at me with a mix of hatred and fear.
"You fight without honor, Miller. You fight with paper."
"Honor is a luxury," I said, turning my wheelchair around. "Survival is a necessity."
I looked at Napoleon.
"General. The bridge is open."
Napoleon grinned. A wolfish, predatory grin. He drew his saber and raised it high.
"Forward! To the vaults!"
The French drums began to beat. Rat-a-tat-tat.
The Army of the Rhine surged across the bridge. Thousands of hungry, unpaid men marching toward the richest city in Germany. They didn't look like liberators. They looked like locusts.
I watched them go.
"We have to get to the bank first," I told Charles. "If the soldiers get there before us, they will loot everything. I need the ledgers, not just the gold."
"The carriage is ready," Charles said.
We rode into Frankfurt.
The city was a wreck.
It hadn't been shelled. It hadn't been burned. But it looked like a war zone.
Shop windows were smashed. Debris littered the streets—ledgers, broken furniture, scattered coins. The Bank Run had done more damage in six hours than a siege would have done in six days.
The citizens peered out from behind shuttered windows. They looked terrified.
We rolled down the Zeil, the main banking street.
At the end of the avenue stood the Rothschild Bank. A fortress of stone and iron. The doors were battered but still standing.
A squad of French Grenadiers was already there, trying to pry the doors open with bayonets.
"Stop!" Napoleon shouted, jumping from his horse. "Stand aside!"
The soldiers backed away. They looked sullen. They wanted their pay.
"Blow it," I ordered.
An engineer ran forward with a keg of gunpowder. He placed it against the lock. He lit the fuse and ran.
BOOM.
The iron doors groaned and twisted. Smoke filled the street.
"In!" Napoleon commanded.
We entered the lobby.
It was opulent. Marble floors. Mahogany counters. Oil paintings of ancestors staring down judgingly.
"Where is the vault?" Charles asked.
"Downstairs," I said. "Always downstairs."
We descended the stone steps into the cellar. It was cool and smelled of dust and old paper.
At the end of the corridor was a massive steel door. The main vault.
"It's unlocked," Napoleon said, surprised.
He pushed the heavy wheel. The door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges.
We walked inside.
Napoleon raised his lantern.
The light reflected off... nothing.
The shelves were empty.
No gold bars. No silver coins. No bags of diamonds.
Just dust.
"It's gone," Napoleon whispered. The shock in his voice was real. "It's all gone."
"Impossible," Charles said. He ran to the shelves. He checked the corners. "There was 50 million Francs in this vault yesterday! The spies confirmed it!"
"They moved it," I said. I felt a cold weight in my stomach. Not fear. Respect. "They moved it before the panic started."
"How?" Napoleon kicked an empty crate. "You can't move 50 tons of gold in a day without wagons! We would have seen them on the road!"
I rolled to the center of the room.
There was a small table. On the table sat a single object.
A Chess piece.
A Black Knight.
Next to it was a note.
I picked it up.
To the Administrator,
You took the city. Congratulations. You play the Pawn Game well.
But Gold is liquid, Alex. It flows.
While you were scaring the citizens, my barges were already on the river. The gold is in Rotterdam now. By tomorrow, it will be in London.
Come and get it.
- J.R.
I crushed the note in my hand.
He had baited me. He let me take the city. He let me create the panic. While I was focused on the "Audit," he was focused on the logistics.
"He played us," I whispered.
"We have nothing?" Napoleon asked. His voice rose. "We have an army to pay! If I walk out there and tell them the vault is empty, they will hang us!"
"We have the ledgers," Charles said.
He pointed to a stack of books left in the corner.
"He left the paper trail," Charles said. "Why?"
I wheeled over. I opened a ledger.
It wasn't a bank record. It was a list of names.
General Pichegru.
Count Alvensleben.
Jean Chouan.
It was a list of everyone on his payroll.
"He's burning his assets," I realized. "He's giving us the names of his spies. His traitors. He doesn't need them anymore."
"Why?"
"Because he's moving the game," I said. "He's retreating to the island. To Britain."
I looked at the empty shelves.
"He knows we can't swim, Napoleon. We have the finest army in Europe. But we have no navy. He is safe in London, sitting on a mountain of our gold."
Napoleon slammed his fist into the wall.
"I will build a fleet!" he shouted. "I will chop down every tree in France! I will build a bridge of boats across the Channel!"
"No," I said.
I looked at the Black Knight.
The Knight moves in an L-shape. It jumps over obstacles.
"We can't invade England," I said. "The Royal Navy is too strong. If we try to cross the Channel, we die."
"Then what?" Charles asked. "We surrender?"
"No," I said. "We starve them."
I picked up the chess piece.
"Rothschild thinks he is safe because he is on an island. But an island is also a prison."
I looked at the map in my mind.
"If we can't go to the gold... we stop the gold from moving."
"A blockade?" Napoleon asked. "We tried that. It failed."
"Not a blockade of France," I said. "A blockade of Europe."
I turned my wheelchair.
"The Continental System," I whispered. "We close every port from Lisbon to St. Petersburg. No British ships. No British goods. No British gold."
"That means war with everyone," Charles said. "Spain. Portugal. Russia. They all trade with Britain."
"Then we conquer them all," I said.
It was madness. It was the logic of a megalomaniac. But it was the only move left on the board.
"We turn Europe into a fortress," I said. "We suffocate the island. We make their gold worthless because they have nowhere to spend it."
I looked at Napoleon.
"You wanted a war, General? You wanted to march?"
Napoleon's eyes lit up. The fire was back.
"Yes."
"Then prepare the army," I said. "We aren't going back to Paris."
"Where are we going?"
"Everywhere," I said.
I looked at the empty vault one last time.
"Rothschild wants to play global chess? Fine. I'll take the whole board."
I coughed. Blood splattered onto the white marble floor.
My vision blurred for a second. The exhaustion was overwhelming. I was dying. I knew it. The stress was eating my heart faster than the radiation had eaten my lungs.
But I couldn't stop. Not yet.
"Charles," I said.
"Yes, Father?"
"Take the ledgers. Find every traitor on that list. Audit them."
"Liquidate?" Charles asked.
"Audit," I corrected. "We need their money before we kill them."
We walked out of the vault.
Outside, the soldiers were waiting. They saw our faces. They saw the empty hands. A murmur of anger started to ripple through the ranks.
"Where is the gold?" a Sergeant shouted.
Napoleon stepped forward. He didn't flinch.
"The gold is in London!" Napoleon roared. His voice echoed off the stone buildings. "The English stole it! They stole your pay! They stole your bread!"
The soldiers muttered.
"Are you going to let them keep it?" Napoleon screamed. "Or are you going to help me take it back?"
"How?" the Sergeant yelled. "We can't walk on water!"
"We will take their allies!" Napoleon shouted. "We will take their markets! We will take their world until they choke on their own coins!"
He drew his sword.
"Who is with me?"
A silence. Then, a cheer.
"Long live the General! Death to the English!"
It worked. He had turned their disappointment into rage. He had redirected the mob.
I sat in my wheelchair, watching him. He was a genius of violence.
But I was the one who had to pay the bill.
I looked at the sky. Grey clouds were gathering. A storm was coming.
"The Continental System," I whispered to myself.
It was a suicide pact. It would destroy the economy of Europe to kill one bank.
"Inefficient," I heard Charles mutter beside me.
"Necessary," I said.
I closed my eyes.
The game wasn't over. It had just gotten much, much bigger.
And I wasn't sure I had enough life left to finish it.