Transmigrated as Jane’s Ghostly Godmother - Chapter 50

Chapter 50: The Ultimate Winner — The Rise of Miss Eyre

When Ferreira’s carriage came to a halt at Vine Manor, his mood was exceptionally complex.

In business, encountering unexpected situations is the norm. Merchants know that in the arena of profit, there are no eternal friends, and similarly, no eternal enemies. Thus, even though he had initially excluded John Eyre from his list of potential partners, as the situation shifted, the man could transform back into an “old friend” of many years.

It’s just borrowing some blending machinery, he reasoned. At most, it’s a processing collaboration. If he doesn’t bring it up and I don’t say anything, the EIC won’t need to know.

When the steward respectfully led him into the drawing room, the scene confirmed his thoughts. John Eyre sat leisurely in the primary seat, slowly sipping black tea. Seated slightly further away in a side chair was a quiet young lady.

Who is this?

A flicker of confusion crossed Ferreira’s face. Noticing his gaze, John Eyre offered a faint smile and introduced her candidly: “Allow me to introduce my adopted daughter, Jane. Jane, this is Mr. Ferreira of Goldstone Winery.”

The rumor that had circulated in Madeira for years without confirmation was now acknowledged with such nonchalance that Ferreira’s heart skipped a beat. John Eyre truly had an heir.

But immediately, his shock morphed into an almost irrepressible contempt mixed with a sense of the absurd.

A daughter.

In his view, a business without a male heir was like a ship without a captain, destined to capsize in the storm. He appraised the quiet, almost timid-looking girl, then looked at the prime-aged, presumably shrewd John Eyre, with only one thought: Has he lost his mind?

He had expected John Eyre to be a formidable opponent; now, it seemed the man didn’t even take this deal seriously, letting a girl sit here to “learn.” This made things much easier. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to yield much profit; John Eyre likely just wanted his “heir” to show her face and learn a few things from a real merchant.

With this newfound, condescending confidence, Ferreira donned his professional smile and bowed slightly.

“Mr. Eyre, it has been a long time.”

“Please, sit, Mr. Ferreira,” John Eyre gestured. “I heard your winery suffered some accidents last night. Truly regrettable.”

“Just a small bit of trouble, not worth mentioning,” Ferreira brushed it off. He didn’t beat around the bush further: “Mr. Eyre, you are aware that the EIC order has specific blending requirements. My equipment was unfortunately damaged and cannot be repaired quickly. However, I believe with the Eyre family’s strength, providing some ‘production assistance’ shouldn’t be an issue. In exchange, I am willing to make some concessions regarding the profit.”

He spoke graciously, but his posture was high, as if he were bestowing an opportunity.

John Eyre did not answer immediately. He set down his teacup with a soft clink. Then, he turned to the daughter who had remained silent.

“Jane,” he said with a voice of unquestionable trust, “I have given you full authority over this EIC business. What do you think of Mr. Ferreira’s proposal?”

The smile froze on Ferreira’s face. He looked at Jane in shock, his mind buzzing. He thought she was just an observer; now he was being told to negotiate with a green girl? This felt like a deliberate insult.

He stood up, his tone icy. “Mr. Eyre, it seems you have no sincerity in receiving guests today. If that’s the case, we have nothing to discuss. There are other wineries in Madeira with production capacity.”

He turned to leave.

“Mr. Ferreira,” a calm female voice rose behind him, “I’m afraid you no longer have any other choice.”

Ferreira stopped. He turned to see Jane standing. Her face was devoid of emotion; her clear eyes watched him coldly. She didn’t explain; she simply pulled a document from a folder and pushed it to the center of the table.

“What is this?” Frowning, Ferreira walked back and picked it up.

It was a supply agreement. As he read the contents, his pupils contracted. The “Party A” of the agreement was the representative of the “Anit Trading Company”—Jane Eyre. And the name signed with a flourish under “Party B” was one he knew all too well:

Julian Harrison.

The agreement stated that Julian Harrison would resell all the wine he had acquired in Madeira to Jane Eyre’s Anit Trading Company at a predetermined price.

Ferreira’s hand began to tremble. Two facts hit him like a physical blow. First, the total defeat of Julian Harrison—the “madman” he thought had sabotaged his equipment had surrendered his entire hoard. Second, and more chillingly: the representative of Anit was the very girl he had just looked down upon.

The letter accusing Julian—she wrote it! He thought he had seen through an opponent’s plot, but he had fallen into a much deeper trap. His only source of raw materials had been cut off by this “harmless” girl.

It was a total encirclement. He looked up in disbelief. How did this happen?

Jane saw the shifting expressions on his face and knew exactly what he was thinking. She smiled inwardly, recalling her meeting with Julian the previous day.

Julian had received her with shock and suspicion. “I assume you now know, Mr. Harrison, that the EIC order is for a composite blend, not a standard vintage,” she had told him without preamble.

Julian had tried to be dismissive: “I don’t see how that concerns you, Miss Eyre. I prefer to speak with the principal. If Mr. Eyre thinks sending a young lady is new business etiquette, I find it confusing.”

Jane hadn’t been angry. She had simply used the information Eleanor provided. “I understand. I shall not waste your time. Allow me only to act as a messenger for an old acquaintance. Lena sends her regards. She says, ‘Dear brother, do not pressure yourself. Father expects much of you, and whatever the result, he will understand…'”

She had watched his pupils shrink at the mention of “Father.” Just as Eleanor said, Julian possessed an almost instinctive fear of their father.

Then, she had offered him a “dignified solution.” She revealed that her “adjutant,” Mr. Lintner, had discovered Ferreira’s secret recipe. She pointed out that Julian had the quantity, but not the quality—Mr. Barros had already sold his premium Sercial to a “mysterious buyer” (herself).

By the next morning, after Julian’s spy was caught red-handed at Goldstone, Julian realized he had no choice. To avoid total ruin or blackmail from Ferreira, he sold his stock to Jane. He had added a desperate clause: that his firm be included as the raw material supplier if she partnered with Goldstone.

Jane had accepted. She wanted him on her ship so that Ferreira would be truly trapped.

Back in the Vine Manor drawing room, Ferreira slumped back into his chair. The contract in his hand felt like lead. He had lost.

“Now, we can talk, Mr. Ferreira,” Jane’s voice called him back. “You need my production capacity to fulfill the EIC contract, and I need your recipe.”

She looked him in the eye. “My condition is that you ‘transfer’ the recipe to us for a symbolic price. In the final profit distribution, we will take seventy percent.”

“You’re dreaming!” Ferreira exploded, slamming the table. “The recipe is the soul of Goldstone! My life’s work! You want me to give it to you? You are delusional!”

He turned to John Eyre, shouting, “John Eyre, is this how you raise your daughter? To act like a common thief with no regard for the spirit of contract?”

John Eyre didn’t even blink. He blew the steam off his tea. “Mr. Ferreira, I believe I made it clear: Jane is in full charge. I will not interfere.” He paused with a hint of mockery. “As for the spirit of contract… Jane is simply skilled at mimicking her opponents and responding in the way they understand best. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Ferreira’s rage choked in his throat. He realized John Eyre wasn’t just observing; he was in total agreement.

Jane leaned in, her voice soft but piercing. “Mr. Ferreira, have you wondered why, out of all the equipment in your winery, only the most indispensable part of the blending process was damaged?”

Ferreira’s breath hitched. A chill raced up his spine. He understood the threat hidden in her gentle tone. It was her!

“The transfer of the recipe is just to give you a dignified way out,” Jane gave the final blow. “Vine Manor has excellent blenders. We might not even need your recipe to create a product that satisfies Mr. Phillips. At that point, do you think the EIC will still need a supplier who has lost their core technology and cannot deliver on time?”

It was a cold, naked threat.

Ferreira opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Every ounce of strength left his body. Before absolute power and cold calculation, his struggles were hollow. He looked at the girl who held every piece—Julian’s materials, Eyre’s capacity, and his own recipe—ready to crush any piece that didn’t obey.

Finally, he closed his eyes and squeezed out a raspy, humiliated answer:

“…I agree.”

“Miss Eyre, I look forward to our… successful cooperation.”