1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 73 The pen is our weapon!

The next morning, as the sun rose above the horizon, it bathed the port of Piraeus in golden light.

A carriage bearing the royal coat of arms, escorted by the Royal Tax Police, drove straight into the heavily guarded port area.

The car door opened, and those who stepped out were neither royalty nor high-ranking military or political officials.

Leading the group was Professor Andreas, whose hair was gray but whose spirit was high. Behind him followed twenty young men. They were all dressed in matching dark suits, their collars neatly buttoned, and their faces devoid of any superfluous expression. Each carried a heavy briefcase filled with calculating tools, blank ledgers, and sharpened pencils.

This group of people, standing alongside the heavily armed and imposing soldiers around them, formed a striking, even somewhat bizarre, contrast.

They are Constantine's other "army." An army that fights with numbers and logic.

Constantine was already waiting at the entrance of the port building to personally greet them.

Without any further pleasantries, he led this special team directly into the largest conference room in the port building. The room had been cleared out, leaving only rows of long tables and chairs.

Constantine walked up to Andreas and solemnly handed him the authorization decree of the Emergency Act, which had been passed by Parliament and bore the King's seal and the Speaker's signature.

"Professor," Constantine's voice echoed in the empty conference room, "from this moment on, you and your team have the authority to examine any document here, summon any official here, and enter any warehouse here."

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the twenty young and earnest faces.

"The prime minister and the oligarchs think I'm using guns and violence to solve problems. They're wrong."

"You are the core of this operation."

"The pens in your hands are the scalpels used to pierce the deepest tumors in this country!"

Constantine's voice suddenly rose in pitch, taking on a metallic quality.

My request to you can be summed up in just three words!

"Fast! Accurate! Ruthless!"

"Yes, Your Highness!" The twenty senior accountants and economics graduates (all former friends and prized students of Andreas. When they were down on their luck, it was Andreas who helped them "get on the coattails" of the royal family) responded in unison, their voices not loud, but unusually firm.

Once the order was given, this "accountant legion" immediately went into battle.

Boxes of original account books seized from customs warehouses and port authority archives were continuously carried into the conference room by soldiers. Some of these account books had tattered covers, and others had yellowed and brittle paper. They were piled up on the floor, quickly reaching above people's ankles, like a hill built of lies and greed.

The entire conference room was instantly enveloped in a tense yet efficient atmosphere.

No more conversations could be heard.

The only sounds were the rustling of paper turning and the crisp crackling of abacus beads being moved quickly, rising and falling in a continuous chorus.

Professor Andreas stood in the center of the conference room, like a seasoned battlefield commander. He didn't personally go through the ledgers, but instead quickly and precisely broke down the tasks.

"First team, verify all vessel entry records and tonnage declarations!"

"Second group, specifically responsible for reviewing all outgoing cargo manifests! I want you to find out the whereabouts of every single box of cotton, every single sack of grain, and every single barrel of olive oil!"

"Groups three and four, compare the customs tax rates with the actual amount of tax paid! Record any discrepancies in red!"

"In the fifth group, extract all transaction records related to the names 'Scopelos,' 'Sigros,' and 'Stretter'!"

Orders were issued one after another, and the twenty accountants, like twenty precisely operating machines, quickly took up their respective posts.

However, the difficulty of the battle far exceeded their expectations.

Just an hour later, problems began to arise.

"Professor! I can't understand this ledger at all! It's full of strange codes! What does 'Black Rose' mean? And which ship does 'Son of the Sea God' refer to?" An accountant held up a ledger, looking completely bewildered.

"Mr. Andreas! All the key cargo export manifests from last August to November have disappeared! The filing cabinets are empty!"

"Professor, look! These crucial customs ledgers have been deliberately smeared with so much ink that they're unrecognizable!"

A young accountant with gold-rimmed glasses, who looked quite refined, walked dejectedly up to Andreas, holding several documents that were almost completely stained black with ink.

"It's like we're fighting a bunch of ghosts. They've erased all traces."

The atmosphere in the conference room became somewhat oppressive. The initial enthusiasm and drive they had shown upon arrival were being gradually eroded by this seemingly insurmountable data maze.

Just then, the conference room door was pushed open.

Constantine walked in.

He looked at the mountain of account books and the team members' frantic expressions, but showed no surprise.

Instead of comforting the dejected young people, he walked straight to the wall. On the wall hung a huge map of the Piraeus port area.

"Professor," Constantine's voice drew everyone's attention, "I have a question for you. What should you do when faced with a fishing net entangled in countless knots?"

Professor Andreas adjusted his glasses, pondered for a moment, and replied, "If I have enough time, I will patiently unravel it one by one."

"But what if you only have three days?" Constantine pressed.

A flash of realization crossed the professor's eyes: "I will find the sharpest knife and cut it straight in half."

"Absolutely correct."

Constantine picked up a red pencil from the side and drew several circles on the huge map.

Those circles, though small, precisely enclosed the best-located and largest warehouses in the port area, as well as the corresponding dedicated berths with the deepest drafts.

"Our enemy has spent decades weaving a vast and complex network here. Every customs officer, every dockworker, and even every porter could be a node in this network."

"Trying to unravel the entire network will only waste our precious time and ultimately lead to nothing."

Constantine turned around and looked at Andreas.

"What we need to do is not to untie those tens of thousands of knots."

"Then we need to find the thickest, most crucial main rope that supports the entire net!"

"Then," his voice turned icy, "with all your might, cut it in two!"

He tapped the circled warehouses and berths on the map with a red pen.

Kostas and Andreas, who were present, both wore puzzled expressions. They knew those were the port's best assets, but they didn't understand the Crown Prince's deeper meaning.

Constantine's gaze swept across their faces as he slowly explained.

"The smuggling network throughout the port of Piraeus is like a giant octopus entrenched on the seabed. It has countless tentacles that reach into every corner of the port, sucking the blood of this country."

His finger pressed down heavily on the red circles on the map.

"And here, these warehouses, these berths, are the heart of that octopus."

"It has a name."

Constantine turned around, his blue eyes flashing with the excited and cruel light that only a hunter has when he sees his prey.

"It's called the Skopelos family."

"Now," he gave the order to launch a general offensive to his two generals.

"Let's dig out its heart."