"Well… you're right. Dad, I recently mastered a spell that can create copies of objects. They come out genuine—without the slightest flaw."
"I see…" Grosvenor Senior drawled. "Let's assume wizards can indeed do such things. And what exactly did you do?"
"Oh… nothing special. Just a little platinum."
"A little?"
"The tiniest bit."
"And how little is that?!"
"Well… about half a ton."
"A 'little,' you say?!" Gerald's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Absolutely," Richard nodded calmly. "By Friday, I plan to increase the amount of metal to a full ton."
"Trifles…" Mr. Grosvenor drawled with irony. "And what exactly do you need platinum for? Have your investments gone downhill?"
"Thank God, no! It's just that I can't withdraw funds from my capital right now. At the same time, I urgently need money to invest in wizard chips."
"Ahem… Richie, tell me—can all wizards do that?"
"Yes, Dad. But not everyone thinks to act this way. According to my mentor, in the distant past, wizards created a ritual that prevents them from copying gold, silver, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. But back then, platinum wasn't considered a valuable metal, so no one thought to prohibit copying it."
"Is that so? Remarkable! And what do you want from me?"
"Your help, of course, Father. I need to exchange the platinum for gold, which is valued among wizards, then trade that gold for galleons and invest them in a magical research and experimental center."
"The platinum is genuine, I hope? It won't vanish after some time?"
"Dad, the metal is real, and nothing will happen to it. The only drawback is that all the bars are identical copies."
"Ha! Ha-ha-ha! Oh, Richie, I see your dilemma. That does look suspicious. In that case, you'll need to approach someone who knows how to keep his mouth shut."
"Dad, I assume you have someone in mind?"
"For example, Robert Finch-Fletchley, your friend's father. He's a banker. But…"
"How much?"
"Ten percent… Yes, Richie, you're right. No one is going to buy off-the-books metal just like that. Robert is no exception. But something else concerns me. Son, you're not planning to abandon business and dedicate yourself to replenishing the world's platinum reserves, are you?"
"No, of course not," Richard replied sincerely. "It's far too risky. But if I urgently need money, I won't rule out the possibility of resorting to such a method of earning money. But only in the most extreme case."
"Richie, are you saying this is an extreme case?"
"Yes. I could take out a loan against my shares, but why, if there's a more profitable option?"
"I partly agree with you, but you could simply have asked me for the money."
"Dad, I already asked once," Richard said with irony. "And what did you do? You lent me the money—with rather strange conditions attached. I'm simply afraid that next time I make a similar request, you might impose terms that are completely impossible to fulfill. No thank you! I'd rather work with a bank—at least everything there is transparent and clear."
"Hm…" Mr. Grosvenor frowned. "I meant well, but it turned out as it always does. I'm sorry, Richard. I never meant to push you away; I just wanted you to become a little more independent and responsible. Of course you can come to me with any problem, and I'll help you."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"In any case, don't worry. Richie, I'll arrange things with Robert myself."
"In that case, Dad, you should know that seventy-one platinum bars are in your study at the London house. The rest will remain in my study here."
"Very well. This matter should be settled over the weekend. But how will you carry the gold to the wizards? If I'm not mistaken, it should amount to more than eleven hundred kilograms."
"To begin with, I'll need only one bar," Richard explained. "I'll take it to the goblins and test the waters. If the exchange proves successful and profitable, I'll buy or commission an expanded-space bag to transport the remaining gold."
"Well, that sounds reasonable. And yes, Richie… Well done for bringing this problem to me instead of making a mess of things on your own. Still, I can't help but ask—why do you need a business among wizards?"
"It's not even a business. Dad, I simply want to ensure the safety of myself and our family. To that end, I've decided to establish a company among the wizards that will hire magical craftsmen whose sole task will be to create new artifacts designed to protect the Grosvenors and provide for our comfort."
For a brief moment, Gerald failed to maintain his mask of composure and stared at his son in astonishment.
"Is that so?! Son, what makes you think we need protection?"
"Wizards… Hmm… How should I put this? They are weapons of mass destruction in and of themselves. Imagine if, instead of platinum, I were copying an atomic bomb…"
Gerald swallowed convulsively as he pictured such a possibility.
Richard continued:
"Among wizards, just as among ordinary people, there are lunatics, maniacs, terrorists, and other marginal types. Add to that their racism toward non-magical people. In the end, we can't be certain we won't fall victim to some wizard—or that some madman won't decide to destroy our country, or even the planet. In short, I intend to invest capital into developing means to counter powerful wizards."
"Richie, if you had told me this from the start, we might have found other financing options. I imagine the Crown would sponsor such research to arm the secret service."
"Dad, I'm not planning to put myself in the Crown's debt. For now, just a modest set of artifacts for personal and family use. As for arming the special services—I'll think about it…"
"Well, there is logic in that. We'll return to this discussion later—perhaps after you come of age. For now, you may play with your toys, provided they pose no danger to you or our family."
(End of Chapter)
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