Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 408 Sumatra
The old port city quickly returned to calm after the turmoil caused by the Dutch withdrawal. The Dutch fortress here is now the residence of the Iranian governor, and only this fortress still tells the story of the Netherlands' former glory.

"I never imagined you'd be so capable now, already a governor."

Suleiman looked at what was now an Iranian stronghold and spoke to Sadiq.

"Yes, this place used to be subservient to the Ottomans, but now it has become our territory."

Suleiman nodded and took a sip of tea. "So, you didn't invite me here just to talk about these irrelevant topics, did you?"

“Smart,” Sadiq chuckled. “I’ve heard your business is doing well. I’d like to invite you to join me on a big collaboration, since partnering with the government is the fastest way to make money.”

Over the years, Suleiman's textile business grew increasingly large, and he even joined the Confederation of Industries at one point. The reason it's described as "on one point" is because the higher-ups had too much control over them, leading to his departure. And he wasn't the only one.

What these small and medium-sized businessmen found most intolerable was control over their businesses. To protect themselves, 28 small businessmen from all over Iran formed a business alliance in Baghdad. Their aim was to protect them from harm by others. Suleiman was the vice-chairman, wielding considerable influence over the actions of many of the businessmen.

Sadiq sent him a telegram, asking to meet. He arrived at the Old Port, and as soon as he stepped off the ship, the salty sea breeze hit him. Suleiman took a deep breath. The smell was a blend of the fragrance of tea, the rich aroma of spices, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of oil—kerosene from Baku, waiting to be loaded onto the ship. He suddenly realized that he was standing at a turning point in history. The Dutch era had ended, and their own era was just beginning.

At this point, after learning about the situation in Sumatra, Sadiq just wanted to curse the Dutch. They had taken all their savings with them when they left, and most of their documents had been burned. Now, the entire governor's residence only had 786,312 riyals left, which was only found after thoroughly searching the vault. Although the Banque de l'Indochine had provided emergency funds, government funding would take several months. Therefore, he came to Suleiman.

"Oh, I'd like to hear your opinion."

Sadiq remained calm and pulled out a map of the old port: "Look, here, here, and here, these are all excellent locations, with convenient transportation in all directions. If you invest here, you will definitely make money."

"Ah, so you want to invest." Suleiman feigned surprise; he had already guessed why his friend had invited him. Sumatra needed investment from Iranian businessmen like them.

Sadiq nodded. “Exactly. I’ve approached several local businessmen, but they have too little capital. You, my friend, and your business alliance can solve this problem for me. You see, the Dutch have taken everything from the area. To revitalize these assets, we must get these places moving.”

Not only in Old Port, but also in Aceh, Medan, and other places, there is a considerable amount of land available for sale. Sumatra needs money in many areas, including building an army, establishing government agencies, and most importantly, generating value for the government, ideally with a surplus.

Suleiman tapped his teacup lightly, the crisp sound of the porcelain echoing in the governor's drawing room. His gaze swept over the map Sadiq had spread out; the plots circled in red were indeed in prime locations—the Old Port docklands, the Medan trading market, the Aceh spice warehouses—each a golden goose. But he didn't respond immediately, instead taking a leisurely sip of tea, letting the silence stretch between them. "Sadiq, my friend," he finally spoke, a faint smile playing on his lips, "you and I both know that investing in Sumatra isn't the problem; the problem is—what will we get in return?"

Sadiq had anticipated this question. He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice: "Five years of tax exemption, priority trade rights, and..." He took out a document bearing the Shah's seal from his pocket, "...a government-granted tin mining license."

Suleiman's eyebrows rose slightly. Tin mines—this was the real bait. Malayan tin mines had been fiercely contested by Britain and the Netherlands, while Sumatra's tin reserves, though slightly smaller, were largely untapped. He took the document, his fingertips able to feel the fine texture of the parchment. The Persian terms were clear: the Commercial Alliance would receive a ten-year exclusive mining right to three tin mines around Old Port.

“The terms are tempting,” Suleiman said, closing the file, “but as you know, my alliance includes not only merchants, but also artisans, ship owners, and even a few small factory owners. Their primary concern isn't the minerals, but security—the Dutch may be gone, but there are still Aceh guerrillas, pirates, and those unruly local kings…”

Sadiq smiled. He clapped his hands, and a guard immediately brought in an ebony box. The box opened, revealing an exquisite gilded pistol, its grip inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a specialty of the Persian Gulf. “The first three thousand Persian guards have arrived in Palembang,” he said, picking up the pistol and gently placing it on the map, “and your caravan can be given priority in acquiring weapons like these.”

Suleiman finally broke into a genuine smile. He reached for the pistol, the cold metallic touch reminding him of how, ten years ago in Basra, he had used a similar weapon to save his first shipment from bandits. "Looks like you were prepared all along."

“For the future of Sumatra, we must naturally make thorough preparations.” Sadiq stood up and walked to the window. Outside, at the Old Port docks, cargo was being unloaded; workers chanted as they carried crates of tea and spices ashore. Further away, several merchant ships flying Persian flags were entering the harbor, their sails gleaming golden in the setting sun. “The Dutch took the gold, but they couldn’t take away the value of this land. Now, it’s ours.”

Suleiman walked to the window, gazing at the bustling port. He thought of his business associates—Hussein, the textile mill owner in Isfahan; Karim, the wine merchant in Shiraz; and Abbas, the shipowner in Basra. These men all possessed ample capital and the courage to take risks. If he could persuade them to invest together…

“I need two weeks,” he finally said. “I will come back with the league’s response in two weeks.”

Sadiq nodded. “That’s enough. However,” he added meaningfully, “several Austrian merchants are already inquiring about the dockland in Medan…”

Suleiman sneered, "Let them ask around. Once my fleet arrives, they won't be able to steal a single plank."

The two exchanged a smile and clinked their glasses. With a crisp, clear sound, the future of the old port was subtly altered.

(End of this chapter)