Philip knew that if there wasn't a satisfactory resolution regarding the land, he could forget about any further cooperation with William.
He sat silently on the sofa, weighing the pros and cons for a long while before finally speaking. "I'd like to know your valuation of the new bulletproof clothing company. And have you mentioned the land issue to Duke Devon? I recall that both of us had promised to help you. If it ends up being just me who fulfills that promise, what compensation will I receive?"
"Compensation?" William chuckled and shook his head. "This was something you promised me. Whether it's just you or you and Duke Devon completing it together doesn't concern me—I only care about the outcome."
William raised his hand to stop Wilson from speaking and smiled at Philip. "However, if your sincerity surpasses Duke Devon's, I'll be more inclined to favor you in future business deals."
"But—" Wilson began to speak but quickly fell silent when he felt his father, Prince Charles, place a hand on his.
Charles smiled warmly, patting Wilson's hand, and Wilson immediately quieted down, sitting up straight.
Philip glanced at his son and grandson. While Wilson had been performing quite well, the gap between him and William, who was only a year and a half older, was enormous. Philip felt a bit disheartened, as though Wilson couldn't even see the taillights of William's progress.
However, Philip reminded himself that he was grooming Wilson to be a king in a time of peace. If Wilson were like William, it might not be such a good thing; it could even throw the country into chaos.
With that thought, Philip grew more satisfied with Wilson again. He smiled at William and said, "Very well. Give me a few days, and I'll take care of the land issue for you. However, I'll only be responsible for persuading the Oxford council members, ensuring they don't obstruct your purchase. How much land you manage to buy and at what price will be your concern."
"Of course," William agreed without hesitation. What he needed was council approval—the rest was just a matter of money. In times of economic crisis, plenty of landowners were struggling. Even if he had to pay 30% or 50% above market value, William didn't care. Land prices had already dropped by more than half compared to the previous year.
As for the low returns and slow income from land, that didn't bother William either. He wasn't buying land to make money. Owning tens of thousands of acres was a status symbol. If he was going to become an earl, he needed vast estates to his name. If the land didn't generate profits, he could leave it empty, turning it into grassland. Having a field the size of thousands of soccer fields would be a source of pride, and it would also serve as grazing land for his prized horses.
"Since you'll be dealing with those politicians, how about doing me another favor?" William asked.
"Go ahead," Philip said with a smile.
"I want to demolish Stamford Bridge and build a new stadium with seating for over 60,000 people. The reconstruction requires approval from the Fulham district council."
"Hold on, William," Philip interjected. "You should ask Grosvenor for help with this. He'll certainly be able to assist you, whether it's with the rebuild or finding a new location." Philip smiled at Grosvenor. "After all, Grosvenor owns half of London, and I believe he owns the property just west of Stamford Bridge."
"Really?" William's face lit up as he looked at Duke Grosvenor. "It seems today's meeting was arranged by fate. Your Grace, you wouldn't refuse a request from a junior, would you?"
Wilson, who had been silently listening, couldn't help but roll his eyes. He couldn't help comparing himself to William—clearly, he hadn't yet mastered William's shamelessness. Just moments ago, William had been ignoring Grosvenor, but the moment he needed something, his tone and expression changed completely.
"Haha, no, don't worry. I won't refuse," Grosvenor said, laughing. "I also want to buy shares in your new company, but I'll be doing it in the name of my son, Hugh Grosvenor. I won't give you any cash, though, because Hugh doesn't have any money under his name. But if you're interested in land in London, we can discuss it. I might even have some advice on your new stadium."
William gestured for Grosvenor to continue.
"My suggestion is to sell you the community next to Stamford Bridge, to the west. That piece of land is three times the size of the current stadium. There's enough space to build whatever stadium you want. Once the new stadium is built, you can demolish the old one and build high-rise apartments. In return, you'll compensate me with 2.5 or 3 times the residential area in the new development. This way, no one can complain, and your new stadium, with additional facilities, will be three times bigger. Though you'll spend more, the increased land value will offset your costs. And while my land shrinks, I'll get a new building with 2.5 times the residential area without spending a penny."
It was a good idea, and William didn't bother quibbling over whether it should be 2.5 or 3 times the residential area. Once the high-rise was built, adding a few extra floors wouldn't significantly increase costs.
While Grosvenor would gain 2.5 or 3 times the housing area, he would face some losses. Clearing out the current tenants would be both costly and troublesome.
Secondly, time was a factor. Even if William brought in a Chinese construction company to speed things up, the new stadium would take at least a year or two to complete. Then there would be another year to demolish the old stadium and start building the new residential area, which could take another two years.
Finally, though the buildings would be taller, the land would be smaller. In the long run, Grosvenor would still suffer some losses.
But Grosvenor wasn't a fool. While he might lose time, he knew that by securing shares in William's new company, he wouldn't lose financially. Moreover, he would secure a future asset for his son that wouldn't be tied to the family trust.
The wealth of the Grosvenor family was entirely held within the family trust. If the assets were to be scrutinized closely, it would become clear that they didn't actually belong to Grosvenor himself. Years ago, to fend off those eyeing his family's wealth, he had been forced to establish the trust.
Though the wealth had been preserved, Grosvenor had grown tired of having to follow the trust's rules whenever he wanted to use money.
It was foreseeable that after his death, his son Hugh Grosvenor would face the same situation—seemingly a billionaire but unable to freely control his wealth.
By using the family trust's assets to secure a stake in William's company, Grosvenor was ensuring a fortune for his son outside the limitations of the trust. Only a fool would hesitate.
As for the issue of inheritance tax his son might face in the future, Grosvenor wasn't concerned. After all, by that time, he would be long gone. And in the worst case, his son could always donate the wealth back to the family trust.
"As for the council," Grosvenor smiled. "William, if you don't mind donating a bit of money to the Fulham district and rallying the fans to support the project, I'm sure we can get council approval within a week. Throw in a few contracts for local businesses that won't affect the cost or schedule, and you won't even need to bother with the London City Council."
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