After Arthur left Buckingham Palace, news of a royal order worth £20,000 from the King swept through London's financial and business circles like a whirlwind.
At that point, the entire city of London erupted!
"Have you heard? That young man named Arthur was summoned by the King!"
"Summoned? It was far more than that! The King immediately gave him a massive order for a thousand sewing machines!"
"Good heavens! A thousand units! That's £20,000! He's made a fortune!"
"A fortune? What are you talking about? He's now a Royal Supplier! That title alone is worth a hundred times more than £20,000!"
In an instant, the name Arthur Lionheart became the hottest topic in all of London.
Those bankers, material suppliers, and speculators who had been hesitating up until then went mad, waving their chequebooks and desperately trying to get in touch with Arthur's newly founded Future Industries.
The entrance to the building Arthur had just rented filled daily with luxurious carriages, and visitors were endless—practically wearing down the threshold.
Despite all this, Arthur didn't let success go to his head.
He knew that when a person stood under the spotlight, they received not only flowers and applause, but also cold arrows shot from the shadows.
He waited. He waited for Conroy to make his move.
And that afternoon, trouble finally came.
Arthur was in the newly expanded factory building, directing workers as they set up a brand-new production line. To complete the King's order, he had invested all the profit he had previously made, along with the low-interest loans offered to him proactively by the bank. The workshop had been expanded fivefold, and more than three hundred workers had been hired.
At that moment, Henry came running toward him in a panic, his face pale.
"Arthur… Arthur! This is bad! The tax office is here!"
"Tax office?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, not surprised at all. "How many came?"
"Seven or eight! The one in charge is Chief Baroque, the deputy head of the Tax Inspectorate—famous for being incorruptible… no, infamous for being ruthless and malicious! He loves causing trouble for businessmen like us!" Henry wiped sweat from his forehead in distress. "As soon as they arrived, they sealed all our accounting books, saying they want to conduct a thorough investigation to see whether our company has been evading taxes!"
"Is that so?" Arthur's lips curled into a cold smile.
He knew perfectly well what this was. What thorough investigation? This was clearly Conroy making his move.
Trying to ruin him with an audit? Such an outdated method.
"Let's go. Time to meet them."
Arthur brushed the dust from his hands and walked calmly toward the office.
Inside, a stocky, middle-aged man with a red nose sat arrogantly in Arthur's chair, flipping through the factory's account books. It was Baroque. Several tax officers behind him rummaged through the office cabinets like wolves.
When Arthur entered, Baroque didn't even stand. He simply lifted his eyelids and said with a mocking tone, "You are Arthur Lionheart? Hmph. So young, yet so mysterious. We received a report accusing your Future Industries of serious tax evasion. From this moment on, your factory must cease operations and cooperate with our investigation!"
Cease operations?
Arthur laughed when he heard that.
He was currently racing against time to complete the royal order. Time was money, and shutting down even for a single day would cause immeasurable losses. Their intention was clear: choke him and prevent him from finishing the order on time. Their malice was blatant.
"Chief Baroque, is it?" Arthur pulled up a chair and sat directly across from him, crossing his legs. With a calm tone, he asked, "May I know who kindly reported us? And what evidence supports the accusation of tax evasion?"
"We are obligated to keep the informant's identity confidential!" Baroque slapped the account book on the desk. "And evidence? Once we investigate, the evidence will naturally surface! I advise you to be honest!"
"Investigate? Very well." Arthur spread his hands casually. "Every transaction in our books is transparent and fully compliant with imperial law. Even if you investigate for a year—let alone a day—you won't find a single issue."
He was telling the truth. As a modern-minded man, he understood well the importance of proper financial management. The factory's books had been handled from the start by some of the best accountants in London—they were flawless.
Baroque hadn't expected this young man to remain so calm. His expression darkened, and he sneered: "Still being stubborn, I see! Whether there's a problem isn't up to you—it's up to me! Men, take all the account books, orders, and contracts to the tax office. We'll examine them slowly!"
It was the most shameless tactic.
If they couldn't find problems, they could still confiscate your books and keep them for ten or fifteen days. Without the books, factory operations would be crippled, and by the time they returned them, you would already be gravely weakened.
Henry, the plump manager, was so anxious he nearly cried—if they took the account books, the factory would be finished!
Just as Baroque's subordinates moved to act, Arthur suddenly burst out laughing.
"Chief Baroque, I suggest you think very carefully before you touch anything."
"What? Are you threatening me? Threatening an imperial official?" Baroque leapt to his feet, pointing at Arthur's nose and swearing.
"No, no, how could I ever threaten you?"
Arthur raised a finger, slowly pulled a document from his pocket, placed it gently on the desk, and slid it toward Baroque.
"I merely wish to remind you that among the initial funds for my workshop is a sum of £600 from the 'Royal Special Investment.' The owner of that capital is Her Royal Highness Victoria. In other words, Her Highness is one of the shareholders of Future Industries."
"I have no objection to you inspecting my accounts. But what you are about to confiscate includes Her Royal Highness's personal investment accounts. I am uncertain whether imperial law grants you authority to investigate the private assets of the royal family."
"What did you say?!"
The moment Baroque heard the name Her Royal Highness Victoria, his head buzzed as if struck by a club.
He looked at the document: an official investment certificate with a royal seal—and he recognized Lady Frances's signature!
Cold sweat instantly drenched him.
He had merely accepted a bribe from Conroy to cause trouble for a small workshop owner. But who could have imagined that behind this "small workshop" stood the future queen?
Investigate royal property?
He wouldn't dare even with a hundred lifetimes of courage! If the King caught wind of this, he could kiss his position goodbye—and his entire family would suffer for it!
"This… this…" Baroque's lips trembled. His arrogance evaporated instantly, replaced by sheer terror.
Arthur watched him, a cold smile forming inside.
Trying to play the "background card" with him?
His background would someday be the future of the empire.
Arthur stood, leaned down beside Baroque, and whispered softly—just loud enough for the two of them:
"Chief Baroque, give a message to the man behind you. His methods are far too crude. If he wants to play, we'll play big. Next time—I'll be waiting."
Straightening up, he addressed the trembling tax officers:
"Gentlemen, you've had your tea and enjoyed the show. Our factory is quite busy, so we won't be seeing you out."
Baroque, as if receiving a royal pardon, practically stumbled and crawled out with his men, fleeing the factory in disgrace—his bedraggled appearance a stark contrast to his swagger upon arrival.
Manager Henry stood frozen in shock. Only after they left did he grab Arthur's arm excitedly:
"Arthur! You… you're incredible! Her Royal Highness… is truly one of our shareholders?!"
Arthur gently pulled his arm free, looked out the window, and his gaze turned cold.
He knew this was only the beginning.
Men like Conroy—when one scheme fails, they always devise another.
"Send out my new order," Arthur said coldly. "From today on, strengthen the factory's security. Go to the veterans' market and hire fifty hardened men who have fought and bled. Pay them double."
"And tell the workers to distrust any strangers and stay alert during production."
"The storm is coming."