Chapter 153: Bitter Fruit
At the same time, deep into the night, in a small house on the outskirts of Hamburg, several armed guards stood outside beneath the eaves, cigarettes glowing between their fingers as they kept watch over the dark road.
The countryside was silent.
Too silent.
Upstairs, under the harsh glare of electric lamps, Lohan stared at the new passport in his hand. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his fingers trembled so badly that the paper rustled softly.
There were still too many assets he had not liquidated.
Factories. Shares. Houses. Accounts hidden under other names. Men like him spent half their lives building webs, and now, when he needed to flee, those same webs had become chains.
But money, no matter how much, was still less important than his life.
The gold in his Swiss bank account was enough. As long as he could escape, as long as he could reach Britain, he could start again. He had done it once before, and he could do it again.
Originally, Lohan had planned to flee to America while Germany's political situation was in chaos. He had not expected the prolonged border lockdown to trap him in Berlin like a rat in a sealed granary.
Now, however, America was no longer safe either.
Britain seemed more reliable.
At least Britain still understood how to protect useful men.
Thinking of this, Lohan turned toward the inner rooms and shouted, "Loca! Perri! Hurry up! We finally found a border inspector willing to let us through. The other club members are already on the road. If we do not leave now, it will be too late!"
A noblewoman walked out of the bedroom with visible displeasure on her face. The jewelry hanging from her earlobes swayed as she moved, catching the lamplight with each step.
The sight made Lohan's temper flare.
He strode forward, grabbed one of the earrings, and tore it off.
She cried out in pain.
"What time do you think this is?" Lohan hissed. "You are still wearing things this expensive? Did I not tell you? I offended that devil Jörg. Once he settles everything, he will never let us go. When that happens, those earrings will become burial ornaments!"
Loca, who had only recently come of age, could no longer suppress his resentment.
"Father, can you not simply apologize to Herr Roman? I do not want to flee to another country like a refugee. What about our home? What about my friends?"
Lohan had no patience left to explain the rules of power to children.
Apologies were for men who had made mistakes.
Men like him had gambled against a beast and lost.
There was no apology that could save him.
He dragged both of them downstairs, pushed them into the car, and shoved an envelope stuffed with American dollars into the hands of one of the guards. Then he climbed into the passenger seat, pistol hidden beneath his coat.
Looking out into the darkness beyond the windshield, Lohan made the sign of the cross over his chest and whispered, "Almighty Father…"
His prayer lasted only a few seconds.
The speeding car suddenly lurched.
The engine groaned, the chassis dipped, and power began to drain away as the vehicle slowed.
Lohan's face changed. He immediately drew his pistol and swept his gaze across the roadside, but the dark fields and bare trees revealed nothing suspicious.
He turned sharply toward the driver.
The driver forced himself to remain calm.
"It may be a nail. The tire is probably punctured. Don't worry, Mr. Lohan. We took your money. We will not go back on our word."
As he spoke, he opened the door and stepped out. He had just started toward the rear of the car for the spare tire when the night cracked open.
Bang!
A gunshot echoed through the darkness.
The bullet punched through the driver's skull. Blood sprayed across the window, painting the glass in a hot red smear.
The mother and son in the back seat screamed.
"Drive! Drive the car!"
The guards in the vehicle behind them had barely climbed out when two more shots rang out.
Bang! Bang!
Two bodies staggered, their chests torn open, then collapsed onto the road.
The remaining guards lost all courage. Without hesitation, they scrambled back into their own car, started the engine, and fled, abandoning Lohan and his family to the darkness.
"Come back! Come back!"
Lohan slammed his fist against the dashboard, his voice breaking with fury.
"You filthy Germans! I order you to come back! You faithless cowards! You people lower than dung, you exist only to serve men like me! Come back!"
No answer came.
Only the retreating sound of the engine disappeared into the night.
The darkness outside the blood-streaked window seemed to swell, transforming into a man-eating beast.
Lohan lunged toward the steering wheel.
Bang!
A bullet shattered his finger.
Bone flashed white through torn flesh.
Lohan, who had spent his life surrounded by silk, silverware, and servants, had never suffered such pain. He fell across the driver's seat, clutching his ruined hand, howling like an animal.
Several men in black coats emerged from the roadside shadows, rifles in hand, moving with the cold precision of trained hunters.
Loca, still trembling in the back seat, tried to grab the pistol that had fallen near his father's feet.
The car door opened.
A rifle butt smashed down.
The arrogant young man collapsed unconscious before his fingers could close around the weapon.
One of the agents pulled a wanted notice from his pocket and pressed it against Lohan's horrified face.
"Lohan," he said coldly, "you are under arrest."
Morning.
Berlin, suburban estate.
Jörg could have moved into the presidential residence. Hindenburg had even sent someone to deliver the keys personally. Yet Jörg still had not moved.
The reason was neither symbolic nor political.
He was simply used to this place and disliked needless disruption.
In the bedroom, Lucy, dressed in a silk nightgown, leaned against his shoulder. Behind him, Senna gently massaged his neck and shoulders while commenting on the film playing on the screen.
"Whose script is this? It is surprisingly good."
"Joseph directed it," Jörg said. "Not bad."
The plot was somewhat conventional, but its purpose was obvious and effective. It portrayed the Progress Party as the force that had dragged Germany from defeat and humiliation back toward dignity.
The scenes of defeat ten years ago, followed by the dispatch of troops to Danzig, were enough to make the blood of any German viewer burn.
Lucy looked at the actor playing Wilhelm II and gave her honest opinion.
"My father was not that tall."
Senna's hands paused for a moment.
"I believe that is called… setting the atmosphere, or something like that."
Knock, knock, knock.
The door sounded.
After Jörg nodded, a maid opened it slightly and said, "Herr Roman, Herr Vito has arrived."
Jörg acknowledged her with a nod. With Lucy's help, he put on his overcoat and walked slowly to the office.
Vito had already been waiting for some time. The moment Jörg entered, he stood and saluted.
"Führer!"
"Spare me the ceremony. Get to the point."
Jörg sat behind the desk and pushed the cup of tea brought by the maid toward Vito.
Vito accepted the gesture but did not drink immediately.
"Führer, the members of the secret financial club who attempted to flee last night have all been captured. What are your instructions?"
"Squeeze every last mark from their assets," Jörg said without looking up. "Do not miss a single account, shell company, trustee, or hidden holding. If they dare conceal funds, execute them immediately."
As he spoke, Jörg casually examined the economic reform documents spread across the desk.
There were plans for fifteen armories and pharmaceutical factories. Proposals for the formation of a national oil company. Site selections for large civilian and military airports. Expansion plans for several major cities under the name Eternal Capital. Highway construction routes were densely marked across the map, and the agricultural investment bill waited only for his signature.
Beside those documents lay two flag designs.
One was the new national flag, a black, white, and red tricolor. Yet unlike the old imperial banner, the white had been moved to the bottom, while black and red dominated the field, marking a clear break from the past while still inheriting its authority.
The other was the new military flag.
Half white, half red, with a black Prussian eagle spreading its wings at the center.
"I understand, Führer." Vito hesitated briefly, then asked, "If they cooperate, how should we deal with them?"
Jörg finally raised his gaze.
"Do you know what the most painful punishment is, Vito?"
Vito remained silent.
"It is not death," Jörg said. "It is making a man watch himself lose everything. Send them to the coal mines. Let them use their bodies to repay what they took from this country. Their wages will remain at the minimum living standard."
His tone was calm, almost indifferent.
"I imagine it will not take long before some of them choose death themselves."
Vito nodded, then asked, "And the ordinary Jewish citizens?"
"Do not act against them," Jörg said. "But do not allow them to run wild either. As long as they do not speak on behalf of those traitors and obey the policies that will be issued later, they remain citizens of Germany."
His fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
"If not, then they may leave everything behind and go to the deserts of the Middle East to await the fate they have chosen."
"As for the cultural and scientific circles, Joseph will handle them. You need not concern yourself with that."
After speaking, Jörg opened a drawer and took out a large Iron Cross medal and a gold ring.
"I heard you are getting married, Vito."
Vito froze.
"I have read your wife's file," Jörg continued. "She will be a good wife."
He placed the medal and ring on the desk and pushed them forward.
"I wish you a happy marriage."
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]