Several months passed after the maneuvers.
Life in the regiment gradually returned to its usual rhythm. Morning formations, squadron drills, official reports, and occasional exercises outside the city. Everything proceeded calmly and predictably, as it usually does in peacetime.
Saint Petersburg lived its ordinary life.
In the mornings a cold mist rose above the Neva. Carriages rattled across the stone streets, gas lamps slowly went out one by one, and the gray winter light replaced them. Shops and cafés opened along Nevsky Prospect while newspaper sellers loudly announced the headlines of the newest editions.
But for Skoropadsky these months passed differently.
More and more often he felt that his life was dividing into two separate worlds.
The first belonged to the army.
The second belonged to the future he was trying to build.
One evening he sat at the desk in his room in the officers' quarters. A letter from the estate lay on the table.
He slowly unfolded the paper.
The handwriting of the estate manager was neat and precise.
Hryhorii Stepanovych wrote in detail.
The distillery had begun operating. The first shipments of alcohol had already been sent to Poltava. The state warehouses accepted the product without delays. The profit was still modest — the equipment was still being adjusted, and the workers were only beginning to become accustomed to the production process.
But the most important thing had already been achieved.
The factory was working.
Skoropadsky looked at the letter for several seconds.
This was the first project that had truly begun to produce results.
Not discussions.
Not plans.
Real production.
He carefully folded the letter and placed it back on the desk.
But the distillery was only the beginning.
The real opportunity lay elsewhere.
Kryvyi Rih.
Over the past months he had gathered almost all available information.
Iron ore deposits.
Railways.
Labor.
Everything aligned.
The south of Russia was changing rapidly. Railways connected new cities, and foreign companies had already begun to show interest in the region.
Yet large metallurgical industry still did not exist there.
That meant only one thing.
Whoever began first would gain a tremendous advantage.
Skoropadsky quietly said:
—"Now the most difficult part remains."
Money.
That same evening he went to meet his father-in-law.
The house of Petro Durnovo stood not far from the city center. The large stone mansion looked strict and austere. Tall windows reflected the light of the street lamps, and the heavy doors resembled the entrance to a government building rather than a private residence.
A servant led Skoropadsky into the study.
Durnovo sat at his desk reviewing documents. When Pavlo entered, he calmly set the papers aside.
—"Pavlo Petrovich. Please."
They exchanged a handshake.
Skoropadsky sat opposite him.
For some time the conversation concerned family matters and military service. Durnovo asked about his daughter and grandchildren and briefly inquired about the regiment.
Soon the conversation turned to business.
—"You wrote to me about an industrial project."
—"Yes."
—"Metallurgy?"
—"Kryvyi Rih."
Durnovo remained silent for a moment.
—"You have chosen a difficult undertaking."
—"But a promising one."
Durnovo stood and walked to the window.
—"The south of Russia is changing faster than many people in Saint Petersburg understand."
He turned.
—"But a metallurgical plant is not a distillery."
—"I understand."
—"It requires tens of millions of rubles."
Skoropadsky answered calmly:
—"And decades of profit."
Durnovo studied him carefully.
—"The French and the Belgians have long been searching for opportunities to invest in the industry of southern Russia."
He paused.
—"But they are cautious."
—"And they are right to be."
—"They have already lost money in several unsuccessful enterprises."
He leaned slightly forward.
—"So they will test you."
Skoropadsky answered calmly:
—"Let them."
Durnovo watched him for several seconds.
—"Very well."
—"I will arrange a meeting."
—"But you will be the one speaking."
—"I understand."
—"And one more thing."
Skoropadsky looked at him.
—"They must not see a Guards officer with an interesting idea."
He paused.
—"They must see a man who intends to build an industrial empire."
Skoropadsky replied calmly:
—"That is exactly what I intend to do."
The meeting took place three weeks later.
One of the private clubs in Saint Petersburg.
The room was not large, but it was furnished elegantly. Heavy curtains covered the windows, and lamps and water decanters stood on the table.
Several men were already seated.
Skoropadsky did not know all of them.
But among them were representatives of foreign companies.
One Frenchman spoke Russian almost without an accent. The Belgian preferred French, and a translator sat beside him.
The conversation began cautiously.
They discussed railways, the development of the southern provinces, and industrial growth.
The Frenchman said:
—"The southern regions of Russia are developing faster than many expected."
Durnovo nodded.
—"The railways have changed the situation."
The Belgian asked through the translator:
—"But why Kryvyi Rih specifically?"
Skoropadsky placed several documents on the table.
—"Ore."
He unfolded a map.
—"The largest deposits are located here."
The Frenchman leaned closer.
—"How large?"
—"Large enough to support several metallurgical plants."
The Belgian studied the map carefully.
—"But there are no major enterprises there."
—"Not yet."
The Frenchman asked:
—"You propose building a plant?"
—"A metallurgical plant near the mines."
The Belgian asked another question:
—"What production volume do you expect?"
Skoropadsky answered calmly:
—"Approximately fifteen thousand tons per year during the first stage."
The Frenchman raised his eyebrows slightly.
—"That is smaller than many European plants."
—"But the project is designed for expansion. Production can later increase to thirty or even forty thousand tons."
The Belgian nodded.
—"A cautious approach."
—"Sometimes caution is wiser than excessive ambition."
The Frenchman asked:
—"What level of capital will be required?"
Skoropadsky replied:
—"Approximately eight million rubles for the first stage of construction."
The Belgian leaned back in his chair.
—"Eight million rubles is not a small experiment."
The Frenchman added calmly:
—"Especially in a region where large metallurgy does not yet exist."
For a moment the room became quiet.
Skoropadsky answered without raising his voice.
—"That is exactly why the opportunity exists."
Durnovo spoke calmly:
—"If the project succeeds, it may become one of the largest metallurgical enterprises in southern Russia."
The Belgian looked at Skoropadsky again.
—"Who will manage the company?"
—"I will."
The Frenchman said:
—"You are a military officer."
—"Yes."
—"That is unusual."
Skoropadsky smiled slightly.
—"Sometimes it is useful to look at things differently."
The Frenchman thought for a moment.
Then he asked:
—"If the company is established, what will it be called?"
Skoropadsky answered:
—"Dnipro Metallurgical Partnership."
The Belgian repeated the name quietly.
—"That sounds serious."
The Frenchman slowly nodded.
—"If the calculations are confirmed, we are prepared to continue negotiations."
Late in the evening Skoropadsky stepped outside.
Saint Petersburg was quiet.
Street lamps illuminated the wet pavement.
He walked slowly along the street.
Today's conversation had only been the beginning.
But now everything felt more real.
If the metallurgical plant was built,
if a new company appeared,
his position would change.
And not only his.
The industry of southern Russia could change the future of the entire region.
He already understood something that many politicians in Saint Petersburg still ignored.
Industry would decide the wars of the future.
Armies marched.
But factories sustained them.
This plant, if it was built, would be only the beginning.
Skoropadsky stopped for a moment.
Then he continued walking.
There was still an enormous amount of work ahead.