Building a Conglomerate in Another World

April 12th, 1881 – Fitzwilliam Estate @@novelbin@@

The afternoon sun bathed the Fitzwilliam estate in a soft, golden glow, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawns and gardens that surrounded the sprawling manor. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the oak trees lining the cobblestone path, creating a serene atmosphere that spoke of wealth and tranquility.

Amber Fitzwilliam was in the courtyard, tending to her favorite rose bushes. Dressed in a modest yet elegant gown of pale blue, the fabric hugged her form in just the right places, accentuating her natural grace and beauty. The dress was simple enough for casual wear, yet refined enough to reflect her family’s status. Her golden hair was tied back with a silk ribbon, keeping it from her face as she worked.

A sudden sound drew her attention—a rhythmic clopping of hooves approaching the estate. Looking up, she saw a postman riding a weathered brown horse, the animal panting lightly from the long ride. The postman was a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, with ruddy cheeks that only reddened further as Amber straightened up and met his gaze.

Sliding off the horse with an awkward haste, the postman dusted off his uniform before making his way toward her. He fumbled with his satchel, clearly nervous under the intensity of her gaze.

"Good afternoon, Miss Fitzwilliam," he stammered, tipping his hat as he approached. "I’ve got an urgent telegram for Mr. Fitzwilliam."

Amber offered a polite smile, her sapphire eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Thank you. You can leave it with me. I’ll make sure my father receives it."

The young man hesitated, holding the envelope as if it were a precious artifact. "A telegram sent directly from West Tejas," he added, almost as if trying to prolong the conversation. His gaze flickered over Amber’s figure, but he quickly averted his eyes, his face flushing a deeper shade of red.

Amber’s smile widened slightly at his awkwardness. "Very well, I’ll see to it that he gets it promptly," she assured him, holding out her hand.

With a sheepish nod, the postman finally relinquished the envelope. As Amber’s slender fingers brushed against his, he nearly dropped his hat in his haste to bow and take his leave. She watched him mount his horse and ride away, chuckling softly to herself at his flustered demeanor.

Inside the Manor

Amber turned and made her way into the grand hall, her soft footsteps barely audible against the marble floors. She passed through the richly decorated corridors lined with family portraits and tapestries until she reached her father’s study. The door was slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light to spill into the hallway.

Knocking gently, she waited for her father’s deep voice to bid her enter before stepping inside. Charles Fitzwilliam, a man in his late fifties with silver-streaked hair and a stern yet thoughtful expression, looked up from his desk, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Amber, my dear," he greeted warmly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Amber held out the telegram. "A message arrived for you, Father. It’s from West Tejas."

Charles’s eyes widened with interest. Setting aside the financial reports he had been reviewing, he took the telegram from Amber and quickly unfolded it. His gaze scanned the message, and a slow smile spread across his lips.

"Ah, it seems young Hesh has done it," he murmured to himself, more to his daughter’s curiosity than to her understanding.

"Hesh? You mean Matthew? What is he doing in West Tejas?" Amber asked.

"Well I haven’t told you before but Mr. Hesh has made a deal with me. He was asking for two million florins for his automobile venture but I can’t simply hand that amount. He offered me a deal where if he struck oil in West Tejas, I’ll give him the funds he needs."

"Uhm what is the significance of West Tejas in his automobile venture?" Amber asked again, visibly confused.

"The automobile that he invented used fuel to run, and the source of that fuel is no other than oil. He intended to create his own supply of oil for his automobile, resulting in a large amount of investment needed, and to establish different enterprises related to automobile production," Charles explained.

"Why didn’t you say this to me earlier? And when was that deal?"

"It’s about almost twenty days…and this doesn’t concern you, Amber. My concern to you is if you had made efforts to get along with Edward Rochestire. Have you yielded any result? You know one day both of you have to marry for the partnership of our family right?"

Amber’s expression immediately hardened at the mention of Edward Rochestire. She stood straighter, her hands clenched at her sides, the delicate fabric of her gown rustling faintly with the motion.

"I don’t see how that concerns me, Father," she said, her voice clipped and cold. "My future should not be reduced to a mere business transaction."

Charles Fitzwilliam let out a heavy sigh, removing his reading glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Amber, this is not just about you," he said, his tone patient but firm. "This is about securing our family’s future. You know the influence the Rochestires wield. With their support, we can achieve so much more—control markets, push for favorable laws, expand beyond what we ever thought possible."

Amber shook her head, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "The Rochestires may hold the keys to power, but I have no desire to be tied to Edward," she retorted. "He is nothing more than a tool in his father’s political machine, a puppet with no mind of his own. And I certainly have no intention of spending my life shackled to a man chosen for me by circumstances beyond my control."

Charles’s eyes narrowed, his usually composed demeanor cracking slightly. "He is the son of the current president of our nation. And he will soon follow his steps."

"Father, I don’t care if he’s the son of the president or the emperor of the world," Amber shot back, her voice rising slightly despite her effort to keep it calm. "I refuse to have my future dictated by your business alliances. I will not marry Edward Rochestire just because it’s convenient for you."

"Shut up!" Charles’s voice erupted.

Amber jolted in her place, shocked by a sudden outburst of his father.

"I am your father, you will follow me!"

Charles allowed himself to calm a little and then spoke. "I am doing this for your future, Amber. One day, you will have to live on your own and it must be with a man that can give you whatever you want."

Tears trickled down on Amber’s cheek as she was hurt by her father’s loud voice. She couldn’t bear herself to be in the same place as him, so she left his office and made her way to her bedroom.