A shabby coal wagon stopped in front of an old inn on the eastern outskirts of Toul.

Ehrlich reined in the horse, turned around, and knocked on the wagon, speaking softly through the small window, “We’re here. Check your ‘tools.'”

After getting off the wagon, Ehrlich paid 2 sous to the innkeeper to find out which room Marat was in, then turned to his two men and instructed them, “Room 32 on the first floor. Dim, you distract them at the door. Eichen, you’re with me—we’ll go in through the window. Keep it quiet. No need for me to say more, right?”

The two strong men nodded silently, one of them turning to leave.

Inside Room 32, Marat was sorting through the clues related to Necker when he heard a knock at the door. “Sir, your beer is here.”

“You must have the wrong room; we didn’t order any beer.”

But the knocking continued, “But it’s already paid for…”

Marat’s assistant, Evans, stood up in confusion, ready to open the door, but Marat suddenly stopped him, frowning as he glanced at the window.

In the next moment, there was the sound of shattering glass, and a hand reached through the broken window, fumbling with the latch.

Marat’s pupils constricted, but he remained incredibly calm. Having worked in anti-monarchy journalism for so many years, he had seen his share of dangerous situations. He quickly blew out the candle, grabbed a nearby travel bag, and pulled out a loaded pistol.

Evans, on the other hand, panicked and backed away. Suddenly remembering the “innkeeper” outside, he thought of asking for help—being a newcomer to the job, Evans had no idea how ruthless assassins could be. So, he turned around and yanked open the door, shouting, “Someone’s trying to break in—”

Marat silently cursed, “This is bad,” but before he could stop Evans, the latter was already on the ground, a blade protruding from his chest.

In the blink of an eye, Marat, using the dim light from the hallway, lifted the travel bag, aimed at the figure in the doorway, and pulled the trigger hard.

With a loud bang, the figure fell backward. Marat hastily dropped the bag and dashed out of the room.

At the same time, someone pushed open the window. The first person who leaped in saw Marat’s retreating figure and, without hesitation, flung a dagger at him.

Marat had just turned his head to spot the exit at the end of the corridor when he felt a sharp pain in his left hip. Reaching down, he found a dagger embedded there.

Having some medical knowledge, Marat knew he shouldn’t pull out the knife, so he pressed down on either side of the blade and hobbled toward the exit.

By this time, it was late, and the inn’s lobby was deserted, save for the innkeeper, who was snoozing drunkenly at the counter. Seeing two shadows close in behind him, Marat had no choice but to turn and flee outside.

In a small town like Toul, the streets were deserted at night. Despite the pain, Marat ran toward the town center, but the faster he moved, the more blood flowed from his wound.

The footsteps behind him kept him from slowing down or calling for help—any noise would only guide his pursuers straight to him.

Soon, he felt his heart racing, his chest tightening, and his vision beginning to blur.

Just as despair was setting in, he saw a figure at the window of a small house ahead, seemingly watching him.

Waving frantically, Marat suddenly felt his left leg give out and collapsed to the ground.

A woman in her early twenties rushed out of the house. She helped Marat up, but before she could ask what was wrong, he weakly gasped, “Hide me, quickly—someone’s trying to kill me…”

The woman was flustered, but when Marat told her he was a police officer from Paris, she mustered the courage to drag him behind the fence outside her house.

She had just closed the gate when two men with pistols came running down the street.

The taller man scanned the area, ready to continue the pursuit, but the shorter one crouched down, feeling something sticky on the ground.

Raising his hand to his nose, he sniffed and immediately looked around warily. “It’s blood. He’s close.”

The taller man nodded and began searching the nearby trees, his gaze quickly settling on the small house.

Marat heard the sound of boots approaching and felt his heart pound in his chest. He was too terrified to even breathe.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped right outside the gate. Marat was about to breathe a sigh of relief when two hands suddenly appeared on the fence. A shadow leaped to the top, coldly staring down at the cornered prey.

“Good evening, ‘Mr. Busybody’! Where will you run now?”

“Run!” Marat shouted desperately, shoving the woman who had helped him aside, then closed his eyes, waiting for death.

But then, a gunshot rang out.

Marat flinched, but there was no pain.

“Did the killer miss?”

Trembling, he opened his eyes slightly, only to see the shadow on the fence fall straight to the ground.

Then, seven or eight figures burst through the gate. One of them, seeing Marat by the light of a torch, shouted, “Here! It’s Mr. Marat!”

Prosper, from the police, rushed over, crouching beside him. “The Prince expected you might be in danger, so he had us follow you. We just got near the inn when we heard the gunshot. Luckily… Are you hurt? We need to find a doctor!”

…

In Paris, in the office of the Industrial Planning Bureau on the second floor, Fouché placed a report in front of Joseph, speaking solemnly, “Your Highness, on the night Mr. Marat arrived in Toul, he was attacked. His assistant, Mr. Evans, was killed on the spot. Mr. Marat was lucky to be saved by a woman named Charlotte Corday, but he was injured in the leg.”

Joseph frowned as he flipped through the pages. “He met with Calonne and asked about Necker, and then someone tried to kill him. Were the attackers caught?”

“Two of them were killed, but one escaped in the dark,” Fouché replied. “According to Prosper’s investigation, the two dead men were local gang members from Toul.”

After a moment of hesitation, Fouché added, “Your Highness, could it be that Calonne ordered the attack to stop Mr. Marat from investigating Necker?”

Joseph shook his head, raising Marat’s report. “Mr. Marat is quite certain that Calonne and Necker have a grudge. It’s unlikely he would protect Necker by doing something like this. And Calonne is too clever to launch an attack on the same night he met with them.”

Calonne, having served as both Finance Minister and Chief Minister, was no ordinary figure. In fact, the French tax reform bill was his creation, and his successor, Brienne, had merely copied his work. But Calonne had ultimately been brought down by the powerful nobility and was exiled.

Fouché immediately suggested, “Then perhaps it was Necker’s men who did it?”

Joseph nodded slightly. “That’s a possibility. If that’s the case, it only further proves that Mr. Marat’s investigation is on the right track.”

He looked at the report again. “But if Calonne and Necker have a grudge, why wouldn’t Calonne share the evidence he has against Necker with Mr. Marat?”

Marat’s report clearly indicated that he had reliable information suggesting Calonne had dirt on Necker.

Fouché speculated, “Perhaps Calonne simply doesn’t trust Mr. Marat…”

Joseph tapped his fingers on the desk, shaking his head slightly. “Something doesn’t quite add up. Even without Mr. Marat, if Calonne had evidence against Necker, why wouldn’t he expose him? For example, why not report him to the King?”

Fouché pondered for a moment, “If they aren’t in collusion, then maybe Calonne was threatened, like Mr. Marat.”

But Joseph wasn’t convinced. Calonne, even in exile, was still a powerful noble who could easily afford a dozen bodyguards. And as a staunch royalist, trusted by Queen Marie, he had considerable political influence. Necker wouldn’t dare target him so easily.

Joseph thought it over and said slowly, “Aside from being threatened, there are other possibilities. Perhaps he’s holding out for a better offer, waiting for someone to pay a high enough price for the information he has. Or maybe Necker has dirt on him too. If he exposes Necker, he risks being exposed himself.”

Joseph gazed out the window, feeling frustrated. Calonne probably held crucial evidence, but how could they get him to reveal it?

Suddenly, Joseph remembered a strategy he had once used in solving proof problems: the process of elimination. If the reasons holding Calonne back could be narrowed down to a few possibilities, all they needed to do was resolve those issues, and Calonne would have no choice but to cooperate!

First, the idea that Calonne was under a life-threatening threat could almost be ruled out. If there were such a threat, it would be the easiest to address—just provide him with a hundred royal guards, and what would he have to fear?

Then, if Calonne was waiting for a better offer, they would need to present him with an irresistible deal. Having served as Finance Minister, Calonne likely wasn’t short on money, and Joseph wasn’t keen on using a fortune in livres as leverage. For someone like Calonne, the only thing more tempting than money would be power.

Joseph’s eyes suddenly brightened. Calonne’s exile had ended his political career. If they could bring him back to Paris, it would be like giving him a second life—a political rebirth. That was an offer he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

But there was a problem. Brienne had only taken the position of Chief Minister after Calonne’s departure. If Calonne were to return, Brienne would surely have concerns.

How could he be convinced…?

After reporting the situation in Toul, Fouché left.

Joseph then headed to Versailles to discuss the matter with Brienne. On the way, he continued to consider the possibility that Necker might have dirt on Calonne as well. This was the trickiest scenario. The only way to get Calonne to talk would be to push him to a point where he had no choice but to expose Necker.

But one thing Joseph was certain of was that, historically, Calonne had been a loyal supporter of the monarchy. After King Louis XVI was executed, Calonne had led the Royalist Party in efforts to restore the monarchy, nearly bankrupting himself in the process.

In these times, when it was crucial to consolidate royal power, someone like Calonne was worth pulling back into the fold.

As Joseph absentmindedly flipped through the documents Marat had brought him, a smile suddenly appeared on his face. Perhaps the attempted assassination on Marat could be used to their advantage.

An hour and a half later, the carriage, speeding along the wooden tracks, arrived on the east side of Versailles. Just a few hundred meters remained to connect the wooden tracks directly to Versailles and Paris.

It was already 5 p.m. when Joseph headed straight to Brienne’s residence.

The Archbishop quickly came out to greet him, smiling as he bowed. “If there’s anything you need, Your Highness, you could have summoned me to your place.”

After some brief pleasantries, Joseph got straight to the point. “Archbishop Brienne, I need your help with something very important.”

“I am always at Your Highness’s service.”

Joseph nodded. “What would you think if I needed Viscount Calonne to return to Paris?”

Brienne was momentarily stunned, then forced a smile. “Your Highness, have I made a mistake?”

“Oh, no, please don’t misunderstand. You’ve been doing an excellent job. Both the King and I have absolute confidence in you,” Joseph quickly reassured him. “Bringing Calonne back is purely for ‘business.’ I assure you, it won’t affect your position in any way.”

“And what kind of ‘business’ are we talking about?”

Joseph deliberately lowered his voice. “For example, it could help you secure hundreds of thousands, if not millions, in revenue.”

Brienne’s eyes widened. “Is Viscount Calonne offering that much in political contributions?!”

“Ah, no… Bringing him back is just part of the plan,” Joseph explained. “You’ll understand the full picture later.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Brienne sighed lightly. “As long as Viscount Calonne doesn’t enter the Cabinet, I can accept it.”

He was probably more aware than anyone in France of the terrifying potential the young Prince possessed. It was thanks to the Prince’s extraordinary efforts that Brienne had been able to keep his position as Finance Minister; otherwise, he would have long since been exiled to Corsica, a fate worse than Calonne’s.

If the Prince was determined to bring Calonne back, there was nothing Brienne could do to stop him. The fact that the Prince had come to discuss it with him and promised it wouldn’t affect his position showed a gesture of goodwill.

This was a prime opportunity to show his loyalty and trust. He had enough political wisdom to recognize that. Besides, it could solve his biggest headache: the budget. What was there to lose?

Joseph hadn’t expected Brienne to agree so readily. He expressed his sincere gratitude, then took him to see the Queen—news of the assassination attempt in Toul would alarm everyone involved, so they needed to act quickly. There was no time to wait for a Cabinet meeting to slowly deliberate.

In the Petit Trianon, Queen Marie looked at Brienne in surprise. “You’re suggesting pardoning Viscount Calonne?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Brienne replied with an earnest expression. “Viscount Calonne was dismissed and exiled due to his failure to push through the tax reform bill.”

He leaned in closer. “You know that was really just to appease the Assembly of Notables. Now that the tax reform has been in place for months and the Parlements have been reformed, there’s no need to worry about what the Assembly thinks anymore.”

A seasoned politician, Brienne expertly framed the pardon as a way for the Queen to regain the face she had lost back then.

(End of Chapter)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep