Geneva, Autumn 1828
Alex Carter stood by the window of his inn room, gazing out at the mist curling over the Rhône River. On the surface, he was just a well-dressed young man newly arrived in the city. But behind those calm eyes was someone with a purpose far deeper—and far more dangerous.
He was Franz Joseph Charles Bonaparte, once called the King of Rome, believed to be dead by all of Europe.
Now, reborn in secret, Franz had shed his royal name and crafted a new identity. No more palaces or servants—only a sharp mind, a forged passport, and a burning need to reclaim his place in history.
Behind him, Count Széchenyi flipped through a stack of forged documents and business plans. His brow furrowed with doubt.
"You're really planning to start your comeback with... cotton contracts and silver trades?" the Count asked.
Franz gave a quiet smile. "That's the opening move."
He laid out a map, along with notes and charts drawn in his neat handwriting. "A hurricane just hit the American South. Cotton prices will spike. At the same time, tensions in Eastern Europe are pushing up silver demand. We can ride both waves—buy low here, sell high there."
The Count's face remained unreadable. "You're the son of Napoleon. People expected you to lead armies—not open bank accounts."
Franz looked him straight in the eye. "This century belongs to capital. My father conquered Europe with cannons. I'll do it with coin."
Széchenyi said nothing for a long moment. Then, he slowly pulled out a check.
"Fifteen thousand francs. You asked for this when we last spoke in Vienna. I told you I'd back you. I'm keeping my word."
Franz nodded. "This won't be charity. I'll triple it."
And he meant it.
Within days, under the name Alex Carter, Franz had quietly opened three shell companies across Geneva. Using Széchenyi's contacts, he gained access to trusted merchants and financiers. Every move was calculated—timed to strike before the rest of the market caught on.
He bought cotton futures while everyone else hesitated. He dumped silver bonds just before prices dropped. It was as if he could see the future.
And to some, it started to feel like he could.
Rumors of the mysterious young investor spread quickly through Geneva's financial circles. One name kept coming up: Alex Carter.
Baron Dufour, a respected liberal banker, met Franz at a private club. After a short conversation, he leaned back and said, "You're not trading. You're playing chess."
Franz simply replied, "Money is the board."
Another pair of eyes was watching, too—Adrien de Castellane, a sharp heir from a rival branch of the Rothschild family. He had come to Geneva expecting to make a name for himself. Instead, he found himself intrigued by this rising phantom.
In less than three weeks, Franz had turned Széchenyi's 15,000 francs into over 200,000.
When Széchenyi read the final numbers, he didn't speak for a full minute.
"You actually did it," he whispered.
Franz closed the ledger, his voice calm but resolute."This is only the beginning."
He had money now. Enough to open doors. Enough to build something real.
The real game had just begun.
Just outside the Geneva Exchange, a well-dressed young man paused beneath the fresh drizzle. His tailored wool coat clung to his tall frame, and the brim of his black top hat shadowed sharp, calculating eyes.
He studied the newly posted contract board, where one name stood out among the sea of numbers.
"Alex Carter…" he murmured, a flicker of intrigue lighting his gaze.
His name was Adrien de Castellane—a scion of one of France's oldest banking families. Though his father and brother sat at the heart of the family empire, Adrien had always been left at the edges, overlooked, underestimated.
But Adrien wasn't looking to follow.He was looking to strike.And this mysterious trader, this Carter, might just be his way in.
He smiled faintly, eyes never leaving the name on the board.
Back in his rented apartment, Franz remained unaware.He had played his opening move.But destiny had just moved its first piece, too.