Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 490 Changes (Part 1)

Hafiz was quick enough that more than 30 draft financial documents went missing that very night due to damage caused by a "leak" in the basement.

Just one day after this incident, a special supplement to the Tehran Daily ignited a nationwide uproar. The front-page headline read: "Termites are gnawing at the tree of reform," accompanied by a blurry but recognizable sketch of Farzadi meeting with foreign businessmen. Inside, photographs of documents allegedly provided by "anonymous patriotic officials" were published, revealing handwriting on a bribery list identical to that of Ministry of Finance documents.

Farzad's hands were shaking. Who was this suicidal person who slandered (exposed) him like this? Don't they know his status?
Suddenly, he remembered the person he had dined with Mahdi at the restaurant earlier. That person must be a journalist, otherwise there wouldn't be such a detailed report. This must be a conspiracy by the Grand Vizier.

"My lord, a letter from the palace," Farzadi snatched the letter from the steward. Inside was an order from the Shah to go to the Gulestan Palace; given the size of the Tehran Daily, the Shah must already know.

"Prepare the car!"

Farzadi arrived at the Gulestan Palace, but instead of seeing the Shah in his office, he saw another person—Grand Vizier Musharraf.

“Ah, Lord Farzadi,” Musharraf smiled and raised a glass of pomegranate juice, “what a coincidence, you’ve also come to see His Majesty?” His voice was infuriatingly gentle, “Would you like to try the new drink prepared by the royal chef? It’s said to cool you down.”

Farzadi's beard trembled with rage, and he nearly crushed the newspaper in his hand. "Coincidence?" he gritted his teeth as he approached. "The Tehran Daily's slanderous article has just been published, and you 'just happen' to be here?"

Musharraf raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Slander? You mean those... uh, 'friendly meetings' with foreign businessmen?" He sipped his juice and added slowly, "Journalist Hafez is always meticulous; he must have solid evidence—"

"Evidence?!" Farzadi slammed the newspaper on the coffee table, making the crystal ink bottle clink. "This is clearly a frame-up! Those so-called Ministry of Finance documents are nothing but—"

"What is it?" Musharraf suddenly interrupted, his eyes sharp as knives. "A forgery? Then explain why the Chief Administrator Kerman's ledger clearly records the jade necklace given to your wife last year?" He pulled a folded piece of paper from his sleeve. "Coincidentally, the sales records of Tehran's largest jeweler are right here with me."

Farzadi's face turned deathly pale. He certainly remembered the necklace—a gift from a local nobleman for his fiftieth birthday, with the nobleman specifically requesting a cash transaction so no record would be kept. But now was not the time to show weakness. He retorted with a cold laugh: "The Grand Vizier is certainly well-informed. Does the postal system even dare to open private letters?"

“The postal system only cares about national security.” Musharraf calmly took a letter out of his briefcase. “For example, this letter written in code to the British was mixed in with ordinary parcels.” He paused deliberately. “It’s signed with your butler’s name.”

Farzadi's pupils contracted sharply. That letter should have been delivered by his trusted confidant; how could it have fallen into Musharraf's hands? Unless… the steward had been bribed. Cold sweat trickled down his back, but he remained defiant: "Absurd! This is clearly a trap you set!" "A trap?" Musharraf suddenly raised his voice. "The blood and tears of the Kerman peasants are also a trap?" He flung out a stack of petitions covered in handprints. "Three hundred tenant farmers have jointly accused the local nobles of seizing land, and every petition mentions your name!"

Farzadi was finally enraged. He grabbed Musharraf by the collar: "You insidious nouveau riche! You think you can bring me down with a few forged documents?" The silk collar made an ominous tearing sound as it was being pulled. "When my grandfather was assisting Fatah Ali Shah, your grandfather was selling carpets in Tabriz!"

Musharraf remained unmoved, even offering a pitying smile: "Ah, finally speaking your mind." He gently pried open the other's fingers. "In your eyes, reformers are all lowly clowns, aren't they?" He suddenly lowered his voice: "But you've forgotten that the one sitting on the throne now is the Shah, who secured his position with the support of 'nouveau riche'."

The office door suddenly opened, and the royal secretary bowed respectfully: "Your Excellencies, His Majesty has changed his plans to meet with the Austrian envoy at the Winter Palace. Please come again tomorrow."

In the corridor, Farzadi blocked Musharraf's path with a menacing look: "Don't be too smug! Do you really think the Shah would abandon us, his loyal subjects for generations, for a few commoners?" He leaned close to the other's ear, his breath carrying the scent of aged whiskey: "Just wait and see, let's see who gets out of Tehran first."

Musharraf straightened his tattered collar, watching Farzadi's angry figure disappear at the end of the gilded corridor. He turned to the servant in the corner, who was pretending to wipe oil paintings—actually a secret agent from the Royal Investigation Department—and gave a barely perceptible nod.

As soon as Farzadi's carriage left the Gulestan Palace, an urgent secret letter arrived in another room of the Shah's library. Nasser al-Din unfolded the letter, a cat-and-mouse smile playing on his lips: "Our old fox has finally taken the bait."

That evening, two explosive pieces of news suddenly spread throughout Tehran: first, Farzadi had suffered a "sudden heart attack" and needed long-term rest; second, Nizam, a conservative elder statesman and current member of the Council of Experts, would propose a "reform and optimization plan" at the extraordinary session of parliament the following day. The nobles exchanged bewildered glances—who didn't know he was a notoriously stubborn figure? What was going on here?
Then, what they found inside shocked them. It proposed expanding the power of the central government, strictly investigating corruption in local governments, and forcefully promoting changes to the land tax system. Those who disobeyed would have their land confiscated and be exiled, even nobles.

It's unclear why this 72-year-old man would make such a proposal, but it received strong support from the Liberal and Whig parties, while the Progressive and Revival parties tacitly approved it.

Some conservative lawmakers couldn't resist getting into a fight with those cheering, but the farce couldn't stop the proposal from passing. Generally, approval by the expert panel means the proposal has gained national approval. No one can prevent its implementation.

In Kerman, the Third and Fourth Army Corps had gone to suppress the riots, imposed a curfew, and a temporary court sentenced 162 people to death, 1365 to exile, and 4629 to forced labor. 356210 acres of land were confiscated, much of which belonged to local mosques. These mosques had previously escaped land reforms, but this time they were utterly wiped out.

(End of this chapter)