gnovel Chapter 26 Oil Barrels
Chapter 26 Oil Barrels
The last time there was a "war" in the Wells family was two years ago when Thorne's ex-girlfriend showed up at their door while heavily pregnant.
Thorne was only 17 years old at the time.
Wells was so angry that he wanted to kick Thorne out of the house, but Emma desperately stopped him.
Of course, that was the work of the "former" Thorne.
It was later discovered that this was a trap set by oil giants to quickly plunge Wells into financial difficulties, and there was no "belly" at all.
This time, it was because Thorne was leaving home to join the army.
Wells was supportive of this, especially after hearing about Thorne's position:
"Wartime industrial liaison officer? Do you know what that entails?"
"If you think that's just about purchasing, you're sorely mistaken."
"He was usually in charge of things outside of normal channels. For example, when there was a severe shortage of fuel during wartime, the military would offer high prices to industrial liaisons to purchase it, including through the black market."
If Thorne could stay in this position, he could sell fuel to the military at black market prices, instantly multiplying his profits several times or even ten times.
Emma's years of "cultivation" crumbled at this moment, and she glared angrily at Wells:
"Oh, that's great! You've finally found a way to make money?"
"But have you forgotten why we left the company? Everything we did was to get Thorne away from that horrible place!"
"Have you ever considered that these profits might have come at the cost of Thorne's life?"
"How dare you?!"
Wells countered, "That's an industrial liaison, my dear. Thorne doesn't need to go to the battlefield with a gun; he won't be in danger..."
Emma interrupted him, her tone agitated and angry:
"And what about last night?"
"Thorne went to Borg Arab, the location of General Montgomery's headquarters."
"If even the command center is in danger, do you think anyone else can escape unscathed?"
Wells grew anxious: "These are two different things. No one can guarantee safety during wartime, and we are no exception."
But Emma's eloquence was far superior to his: "So, this is your reason for sending Thorne to the army? Because the rear isn't safe either? Because it's not safe here either?"
Wells was speechless.
The usually understanding Emma now resembled a wounded wild beast, her bloodshot eyes glaring fiercely as she bared her sharp fangs and claws at the enemy who tried to harm her cubs.
"I will not allow this to happen. They know Thorne is exempt from military service."
"If that's possible, shouldn't we let those congressmen fight first, and exempt them from military service as well?"
"And then there are those oil tycoons and their sons..."
"Mom!" Thorne interrupted her, "I did it voluntarily."
"What?" Emma was stunned, staring at Thorne in disbelief, as if to say: No, you're lying!
Thorne was indeed lying; he wouldn't admit to being threatened, which would only drive Emma further insane.
Thorne gave another reason:
"If we can't hold the El Alamein Line, everything will be over."
"The oil company will be taken over by the Germans, and so will our only villa."
"Even if we escape, we'll be burdened with a debt we can never repay in our lifetime."
"So," Emma laughed angrily, "you mean, without you, our hundreds of thousands of troops couldn't hold the line? You'd let the enemy get here..."
Thorne didn't speak, he just stared at Emma quietly.
Emma suddenly realized that this seemed to be true; Thorne had single-handedly held the line last night.
Thorne softened his tone and comforted her:
"My father was right about one thing: I was an industrial liaison."
"I don't need to carry a gun, I don't need to go to the battlefield, what I do is no different from what I'm doing now."
"So I'm not in any danger!"
He held Emma's hand and continued:
"It's wartime now, Mom."
"No one can remain unaffected. What we really need to do is end this war as soon as possible!"
"Only in this way can we live a stable life, a real life."
Emma stared at Thorne for a long time before finally nodding in agreement, but tears streamed down her face like pearls falling from a broken string.
"You've grown up." She gently stroked Thorne's face. "I'm so proud of you, my child!"
Thorne felt a pang of guilt.
The person here right now should be the "former Thorne".
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The next day, Wells sent Thorne to Borg Arab to report.
The two remained silent throughout the car ride, creating a rather awkward atmosphere.
It wasn't until the military camp came into view that Wells broke his silence: "I hope you understand, Thorne, there are too many things in life that we can't control."
"I understand," Thorne replied, his voice cold.
"I'm not like your mother thought, that I pushed you into the army for money," Wells said with a hint of guilt in his voice.
"I understand." Thorne nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping across the car window towards the desert.
"Sometimes poverty is worse than military life," Wells said bitterly. "It's just that your mother didn't realize that. The marketplace is another dimension of survival, sometimes even more brutal than the battlefield."
Thorne fell silent.
He has no reason to blame Wells.
Wells was always the one facing economic pressure head-on. Borrowing, loans, and competition all weighed on his shoulders, forcing him to carefully calculate the company's future.
Otherwise, Thorne will have to join the army the day the company goes bankrupt.
After a long silence, Thorne asked, "The company is still having difficulties operating, isn't it?"
Wells admitted:
"We're pricing too low, Thorne."
"After deducting all expenses, the profit per gallon is less than two pence."
"It will take us at least five years to pay off the loan, and we cannot afford any mistakes during those five years."
"Relax, Father," Thorne said. "We should think about things other than fuel."
"Besides fuel?" Wells didn't understand, then suddenly realized, "You mean your position in the military? Yes, that would definitely help..."
No, that's not it.
"That is..." Wells found himself unable to guess what his son was thinking.
"Oil drums, Father," Thorne reminded him. "Remember those German-made portable oil drums Gray delivered to the factory?"
"Of course," Wells nodded.
"Be prepared to produce these oil drums," Thorne said.
"I investigated the oil drum factories in Egypt, and there is only one factory in Alexandria that specializes in producing oil drums."
"The others are either imported from overseas or produced by oil giants themselves."
"What do we do?" Wells asked.
"Buy it," Thorne said decisively.
"This factory is worth £30."
"But this is wartime, and the Germans could very well take Alexandria."
"Therefore, nobody is optimistic about this company, and we might buy it for £10."
Wells thought of the £10 that Thorne had recently borrowed.
Wells, however, didn't quite understand: "But our current oil drums have been in use for many years. Is anyone going to buy new oil drums?"
"Of course." Thorne smiled confidently. "I will persuade Montgomery to buy it, and the entire army will buy it."
Wells was taken aback by Thorne's statement.
Purchased by the entire army?
"God!" he exclaimed in his heart.
That would lead to the use of these oil drums throughout Africa... no, even in Britain, and even globally.
Wells swallowed hard.
If this succeeds, he may no longer need to worry about loans, and might even make a profit.