In the autumn of 1918, Sergei Witte laid the latest economic analyses from London and Paris on Mikhail's desk.
"It's over," the old financier said, his voice grim. "Germany has collapsed. But look at the victors. Britain and France are financially ruined. They have mortgaged their futures to us. Their industries will take a decade to recover, and their workforce is decimated."
Mikhail looked at the numbers. They confirmed what he already knew. The Great War had been a contest to see which of the old empires would go bankrupt first. The end of the fighting was not an armistice; it was a global liquidation. In Russia, there were no grand celebrations. There was only the thunder of industry. Mikhail's empire, untouched by the direct fighting, had become a titan, its coffers overflowing with the gold of Europe.
As the exhausted victors prepared to gather at Versailles to squabble over the spoils of their pyrrhic victory, Mikhail made his move. He issued a global proclamation, dismissing the upcoming conference as a "bitter squabble among bankrupt colonialists." He instead called for a Great Powers Congress, to be held in his own capital of St. Petersburg, to construct a new, lasting framework for global peace and prosperity. It was an audacious usurpation of the diplomatic initiative, and the exhausted powers of the world, dependent on his loans and resources, had no choice but to attend.
The St. Petersburg Congress was the physical manifestation of Mikhail's new world order. The leaders of Britain, France, the United States, a humbled Germany, and Japan arrived in a city that gleamed with new infrastructure and palpable power. They were escorted through clean, orderly streets, past new universities and bustling factories, to the Winter Palace.
Mikhail, as Chairman of the Congress, did not open with recriminations or demands for territory. He came with a blueprint for the 20th century.
First, he proposed the end of the British pound sterling as the global reserve currency. He unveiled the new "Gold Ruble," backed by Russia's colossal and very real gold reserves, as the new, stable foundation for the global economy.
Second, he announced the formation of the Eurasian Economic Union. It would be a massive free-trade zone stretching from Eastern Europe to the Pacific, with Russia at its heart. He offered to finance the complete reconstruction of Germany's shattered industry, on the sole condition that it integrate its economy into this new Russian-led bloc.
Third, he co-opted the American president's idealistic dream of a League of Nations. He proposed a new global body, the "Congress of Nations," to arbitrate disputes. But its powerful Security Council would not be based on vague ideals; it would be based on industrial and military might, with Russia holding a permanent, preeminent position.
The British Prime Minister, a proud man representing a fading empire, was aghast. "This is not a peace proposal!" he protested. "This is a hostile takeover of the global order!"
Mikhail met his gaze from across the vast table, his expression one of polite, unassailable calm. "The global order that you speak of, Prime Minister, is the one that just resulted in the deaths of fifteen million people and the bankruptcy of every nation at this table, save one."
He gestured to Sergei Witte, who slid a ledger across the table. It detailed Britain's and France's astronomical war debts to the Russo-Imperial Bank.
"That old order is dead," Mikhail stated, his voice quiet but carrying the immense weight of his new reality. "It died in the trenches of the Somme and the mud of Passchendaele. You can cling to its corpse, or you can be partners in building a new, more logical, and more prosperous world. A world, I might add, that will be financed by Russian gold and rebuilt by Russian steel. The choice is yours."
It was a checkmate delivered not with an army, but with an accounting book. There was no counter-move. The exhausted, indebted empires had no choice but to concede.
The chapter concluded with the signing of the St. Petersburg Accords. The world was officially remade. The global economy now revolved around the ruble, and the center of political power had decisively shifted from London to St. Petersburg.
Later, Mikhail stood on the balcony overlooking the Palace Square with Sofia and their young son, the Tsarevich Alexei. The foreign delegations were departing, their faces a mixture of resentment and grudging respect. He had done it. He had achieved the impossible. He had not only saved Russia, but had elevated it to a position of global supremacy beyond the wildest dreams of any Tsar before him.
Alistair Finch, the 21st-century historian, had once studied the fall of empires. Mikhail Volkov, the Lord Regent of Russia, had just orchestrated the birth of a new one, his own. He looked down at his son, the heir to the new world he had constructed. The great game was over, and he had won. The architecture was complete. He was the undisputed master of the 20th century.