Chapter Three: The Plan

After inspecting his own estate, William White returned to his family’s ancient castle. Through several generations of renovation and expansion, the castle had grown into a sprawling complex. But don’t expect the architecture to be particularly exquisite—such things do not exist in Texas. The style, like the temperament of Texans themselves, is rugged and bold, and nothing else.

Uncle Ford had prepared a lavish lunch; at the very least, that Boston lobster was impressively large. Texans eat with the same rough vigor as they live—everything is simply grilled and served, proudly dubbed Texas barbecue.

Without a hearty appetite, life in Texas would be difficult, for failing to eat your fill as a guest is considered impolite. There’s simply no way around it. When your host places a mountain of meat before you, putting down your fork after only a few bites would certainly disappoint them.

Another hallmark here is how rare everything is served; the steaks bleed crimson. Usually, only ladies will request their steak medium, and even this so-called medium is closer to rare by any other standard.

What? You mention China?

Well, it’s hard to compare. From a Chinese perspective, this would be considered raw meat, and they might joke that Texans still eat as their ancestors did, fresh from the hunt. In truth, there’s a misconception: the nomads of the Chinese grasslands also eat their meat relatively rare, due to the freshness of their food. In China, who knows how long the beef in supermarkets has been sitting. Eating it too rare could be a real problem.

William had little need to involve himself in matters of the farm; the managers there had spent their lives in agriculture and knew perfectly well how to run things.

The continuous devaluation of the dollar was dragging the world’s economy into the mire. If the Federal Reserve failed to act soon, there could truly be war on the horizon.

The causes of world wars, after all, are rooted in economic turmoil. When the economy is a mess at home, the nation’s leaders will inevitably seek distraction elsewhere—otherwise, they themselves will bear the consequences.

The recent surge in gold prices was nothing short of absurd. Over the decades since the war, gold had soared from thirty dollars an ounce to over three hundred. Judging by the current state of affairs, there seemed to be plenty of room for it to climb further.

In a bid to curb inflation, the Fed had embarked on a frenzy of interest rate hikes. But now, it seemed, not only had inflation not been tamed, but the economy itself had been thrown into chaos.

On one side was severe inflation; on the other, sharp deflation. The dollar was losing value, and prices were sky-high, yet agricultural products hadn’t seen any significant increase in price—in fact, their sales had plummeted.

White Farm was close to Houston, which gave it a hefty advantage. Other farms in Texas were not faring so well. Many small and medium-sized operations were on the brink of bankruptcy.

“Uncle Ford, let’s reduce production a bit. This situation is going to last quite a while.”

“Very well, sir. We had already planned to cut dairy production by five percent. Meat as well.”

“That sounds about right. Cut another five percent next year.”

“Sigh, who knows how long we’ll have to endure days like these?”

“At most, three to five years, I’d say. After that, things should improve.”

“Heavens, if it takes three years, many farms are sure to go under.”

“That’s inevitable. Small and medium farms simply can’t withstand such risks.”

“Uncle Ford, I don’t intend to use my own account for this round of futures trading.”

“London is simpler, but it’s trickier in the States.”

“Just be careful. Open two accounts with a million dollars each. Assign two steady, experienced people to manage them.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll see to it at once.”

It was only April; he had plenty of time to prepare.

The so-called upper class always has resources unknown to outsiders, often involving overseas capital. The White family was no exception. His father had stashed over ten million dollars in a Swiss bank.

America’s inheritance tax is something of a joke. It only targets those caught off guard by misfortune. For the true elite, it’s hardly an obstacle.

The greatest burden falls on farm owners. These folks seldom have much cash on hand. After several generations, even the largest estates can hardly be preserved.

Inheritance taxes aren’t assessed based on annual profit, but rather on the value of the land itself.

And frankly, the prices these government appraisers come up with are often far higher than the land could ever fetch on the market. By the early 2000s, many Texas farms ended up under the management of the state government, as heirs simply couldn’t afford the taxes.

“Uncle Ford, send someone to buy everything on this list.”

“Yes, sir. These are all electronics, aren’t they?”

“That’s right. I’ll also need a few people—three software engineers and two electronics engineers. Use a headhunting agency; I’ve written out the requirements.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

For William White, these expenses were trifling—so much so that even Uncle Ford didn’t bat an eye. As long as the young master was happy, that was all that mattered.

America was facing an industrial transformation, and the White family was no different. It was both the best and the most perilous of times.

Survive this period, and you might become the founder of a great company. A few years from now, you’d discover all your competitors had gone under, leaving you with a natural monopoly.

Personal computers were just beginning to appear, and many big companies were still waiting to see which way the wind would blow. They didn’t believe the PC had much of a future.

Apple’s first computer, in their eyes, was a joke—a hastily assembled contraption, the product of a garage, and unreliable as could be.

Apple’s second machine looked more like a game console. It seemed practically useless.

If that was the case for Apple, other companies were even less impressive. The Blue Giant wasn’t interested in small systems; mainframes and databases were their true love.

William would not let go of the IT industry’s enormous cake. There wasn’t much room in hardware for now, so he set his sights on software.

Never underestimate the Apple II; this little device was still in use in Europe well into the 1990s. It wasn’t until the advent of the Pentium that the Apple II finally faded from the market.

The gap truly was enormous. When Windows 95 debuted, all other systems had no choice but to bow out; failure was inevitable.

For now, the top priority was paying taxes. If those matters weren’t settled, these billions in assets would not truly be his.

Inheritance tax was an utter farce—a shameless plundering of personal wealth. The Soviets might have gone in for that sort of thing, but for America to do the same? It was laughable. The Pilgrims had come to the New World to escape taxes, so why abandon that founding principle now? It was utterly perplexing.

“Sir, dinner is ready.”

“Good. Bring me a glass of red wine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Uncle Ford, raise the standard of meals for the family and the farm workers. It’s fine if we consume a bit more.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll see to it at once.”

“Uncle Ford, since meat and dairy are struggling, let’s expand our vineyards. Red wine can be stored for years, after all. At most, we’ll just have a larger inventory.”

“Sir, we still have seventy percent of this year’s vintage unsold, and the quality is quite good.”

“That’s not a problem. My intention is to double output within three years. If we find neighboring farms mismanaged, we can acquire them. As for the oil business, it’s best to sell it off in the future.”

“Your father had wanted to sell as well, but prices aren’t great right now.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Ford. As long as oil prices stay high, the value will return. For now, just let it be.”

“Understood, sir.”