When Skoropadskyi returned to the estate, it was already late.
Several windows were still lit.
The house was awake.
When he entered, his wife immediately noticed his expression.
—"Judging by your face, the trip was productive."
Skoropadskyi removed his gloves.
—"Productive and expensive."
She smiled slightly.
—"That is usually the same thing."
They entered his study.
New documents were already waiting on the table.
He sat down and placed the telegram beside them.
His wife looked at it.
—"Three weeks?"
—"Yes."
—"A new position?"
—"They have not specified it yet."
He opened the financial reports from Kryvyi Rih.
—"Before that, several matters need to be finished."
She sat across from him.
—"How much will expansion require?"
—"If we want to reach thirty thousand tons, approximately two and a half million rubles."
She looked at him carefully.
—"That is a serious sum even for your bank."
—"Which is why we will need additional capital."
She immediately understood.
—"Lizohub."
—"And others."
He opened a list of investors.
—"The Kochubei family."
He turned another page.
—"Khanenko."
Another page.
—"Part of the Tereshchenko family."
She raised an eyebrow.
—"Sugar magnates are now interested in heavy industry?"
—"They are interested in profit."
She quietly laughed.
—"That sounds more honest."
Several days later guests began arriving at the estate.
Carriages entered the courtyard throughout the morning.
By lunch the house was full.
Fedir Lyzohub
A representative of the Kochubei family.
Khanenko.
A representative of the Tereshchenko family.
After brief formalities they quickly moved into the study.
A map of central Ukraine lay across the table.
Railways.
Factories.
New industrial projects.
Fedir Lyzohub spoke first.
—"I see you continue building faster than we can count money."
Skoropadskyi answered calmly.
—"Europe is moving quickly as well."
The Tereshchenko representative reviewed the financial report.
—"The flour enterprise looks stable."
He turned another page.
—"But weapons production and metallurgy require far larger investments."
The Kochubei representative added:
—"Especially if the market overheats."
Khanenko spoke more directly.
—"If Europe remains at peace, part of your military calculations may become useless."
Skoropadskyi remained silent for several seconds.
Then he answered:
—"If Europe remains at peace, we still gain railways, machinery production, construction steel, exports, and a domestic market."
He pointed at the map.
—"If there is no war, we profit."
His finger moved to another region.
—"If there is war, we survive better than others."
The room became quiet.
The Tereshchenko representative looked at him carefully.
—"Do you truly believe a major war is inevitable?"
Skoropadskyi did not answer immediately.
—"After the Balkans, I believe Europe is moving toward a crisis faster than its politicians are willing to admit."
Fedir Lyzohub leaned back in his chair.
—"And what do you propose?"
Skoropadskyi opened new documents.
—"An additional stock issue."
The Kochubei representative frowned.
—"That will dilute ownership."
—"Partially."
Skoropadskyi continued:
—"But it allows us to attract capital without excessive debt exposure."
The Tereshchenko representative asked:
—"Expected returns?"
—"Metallurgy offers eight to nine percent during peacetime."
He paused.
—"Significantly higher during wartime."
Fedir Lyzohub smiled slightly.
—"You know how to sell risk."
Skoropadskyi answered calmly.
—"I prefer to sell preparation."
That evening the formal meeting ended.
Financial documents disappeared from the table.
Dinner was served.
The atmosphere became less formal.
But the conversation quickly turned toward politics.
Fedir Lyzohub raised his glass first.
—"To profitable investments and a peaceful Europe."
Several men quietly laughed.
The Tereshchenko representative responded first.
—"The second part sounds overly optimistic."
Khanenko slowly placed his glass on the table.
—"After the Balkans everyone speaks about war."
The Kochubei representative shook his head.
—"European banks are too interconnected for a major war."
Skoropadskyi looked at him calmly.
—"In 1912 many believed the Ottoman Empire would hold the Balkans."
He paused.
—"Within months the entire regional map changed."
Fedir Lyzohub nodded.
—"Austria-Hungary is nervous about Serbia."
—"And not only Austria-Hungary."
Skoropadskyi continued.
—"Germany is accelerating rearmament."
—"France is expanding military service."
—"Russia is expanding railway mobilization networks."
The Tereshchenko representative said thoughtfully:
—"When industrialists begin profiting from military contracts, politicians rarely become more cautious."
Khanenko added:
—"And if war begins, it will be short."
Skoropadskyi immediately shook his head.
—"No."
The room became quieter.
He continued more seriously.
—"Every General Staff in Europe is preparing for a rapid campaign."
—"But they are underestimating the industrial capacity of their opponents."
He looked at everyone at the table.
—"If war begins, it will be longer, more expensive, and more destructive than anyone currently expects."
No one answered immediately.
Even Fedir Lyzohub stopped smiling.
Later that night, after the guests had begun leaving, Petro found his father on the terrace.
Servants were escorting the final carriages from the estate.
—"May I ask something?"
Skoropadskyi looked at him.
—"Of course."
Petro remained silent for several seconds.
—"Are you truly building all of this for war?"
Skoropadskyi did not answer immediately.
He looked into the dark courtyard.
—"No."
Petro waited.
—"I am building this so that in the future we can make our own decisions."
Petro frowned.
—"I do not understand."
Skoropadskyi looked at him.
—"States that depend on foreign industry, foreign credit, and foreign weapons are rarely truly free."
Petro remained silent.
Skoropadskyi continued.
—"If difficult times come, we must have our own railways, steel, banks, engineers, and officers."
Petro quietly asked:
—"We?"
Silence hung between them for several seconds.
Skoropadskyi answered carefully.
—"The people who live on this land."
Petro slowly nodded.
He understood more than Skoropadskyi expected.
Two days later the official letter arrived.
It carried the seal of the War Ministry.
Skoropadskyi opened it in his study.
The message was short and clear.
After the end of his leave, he was being appointed commander of a cavalry division.
He read the letter again.
The promotion had been expected.
But everything was becoming far more serious.
A division meant thousands of soldiers.
Officers.
Artillery.
Logistics.
Training.
And eventually war.
He carefully folded the letter.
Then he opened a blank sheet of paper.
The first letter he wrote was to Oleksandr Sliwinski.
The offer was direct.
A transfer into his new division.
A staff position.
Several days later the response arrived.
Oleksandr Sliwinski wrote respectfully and honestly.
He thanked him for the offer.
But declined.
His reasoning was simple.
Infantry.
Staff work.
Artillery.
After the Balkans, he believed the next great war would be decided there.
At the end of the letter he added:
—"If circumstances change in the future, I would be honored to serve beside you."
Skoropadskyi placed the letter aside.
He smiled faintly.
Sliwinski was thinking correctly.
That meant he would be even more useful in the future.
Then he opened personnel reports.
Now he searched for other officers.
The first name was Petro Bolbochan.
A young staff captain.
Strong evaluations.
Initiative.
Discipline.
Sometimes overly direct.
Skoropadskyi paused at the final line.
"Demonstrates independent decision-making."
He smiled slightly.
—"That may become either an advantage or a problem."
He wrote the first letter.
The next name was Mykhailo Omelianovych-Pavlenko.
A more experienced officer.
Strong field reputation.
Excellent discipline.
He also received an offer.
The final name was Marko Bezruchko.
A younger officer.
Strong academic training.
Excellent recommendations.
He also received a letter.
A week later the responses began arriving.
Petro Bolbochan accepted almost immediately.
His letter was short.
He considered service under Skoropadskyi an excellent opportunity.
Mykhailo Omelianovych-Pavlenko responded more cautiously.
But he accepted as well.
There was still no answer from Marko Bezruchko.
Late that evening Skoropadskyi sat alone in his study.
Letters covered the table.
Documents.
A map of Europe.
Outside it was quiet.
He looked at the map.
Industry was growing.
Armies were expanding.
Europe was slowly moving toward war.
But now he was gaining something even more important.
His own people.
And in the future that might change far more than a single victory on the battlefield.