𝟶𝟿:𝟶𝟶, ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅɪsᴛ ᴄᴇɴᴛʀᴀʟ ʜᴀʟʟ, ᴡᴇsᴛᴍɪɴsᴛᴇʀ, ʟᴏɴᴅᴏɴ

In a forgotten back room at the end of an uninspiring hallway in Methodist Central Hall, twelve dejected diplomats meandered their way to the seats they had occupied for the last three months. These men, representing the Quatripartite Powers of the United States, United Kingdom, French Republic, and Soviet Union, had been tasked with one of the least enviable jobs in European diplomacy - finding a solution to the question of Trieste. More specifically, they had been tasked by high-ranking members of their diplomatic corps with "finding a way to get this issue solved without pissing everyone off", a task much more easily said than done.

But being the diligent diplomats that they were, they gave it their best shot. And for the most part, things seemed to go pretty well overall - they worked out a solution where neither the Italians nor the Yugoslavs got the territory. Instead, it would be governed as a Free Territory, complete with a Governor, Council of Government, a People's Assembly, and a Judicial Body. Trieste would remain as a Free Port, and would make up a bulwark of the economy for the eponymous territory, as well as serve as its capitol. With its existence guaranteed by the United Nations Security Council, and at the agreement of all parties present, the Free Territory of Trieste would come into full force upon a unanimous approval for the Governorship by the Quatripartite Powers, until then being administered by a mix of American, British, and Yugoslav troops. It seemed like the road was nearing its end.

Of course, it turned out that the hardest part was, you know, agreeing who should be governor.

While the initial plan for the Free Territory had been drawn up in less than a week, the last twelve weeks had been spent bickering and arguing as to who should actually be put in charge of the new government. In that time, the U.N. had come, met, and adjourned in the very same building, an yet not one of the dozen men considered for the governorship had been approved. Everyone suggested by the Americans or British was shot down by the Soviets, the few men suggested by the Soviets were shot down by the Americans or the British, and the French could never seem to figure out what they wanted out of a governor. Defeat seemed to be crossing the faces of everyone in the room, and it was silently agreed that if no governor could be chosen soon, the Territory would simply remain under military administration, and the responsibility for fixing it could be dumped on literally anyone else.

So that morning, when a strange-looking Frenchman sauntered into the room with far too much energy for an early-morning meeting, it seemed like it would be more of the same, and all were wondering if they could get this meeting over with by noon so they could head out for an early lunch. But Marcel Dassault had other plans.

"Good morning gentlemen," he began in perfect English, gesturing to the British and American diplomats, "monsieurs," bowing to the French delegation, "and comrades," he finished, giving a quick salute to the Soviet emissaries. "My name is Marcel Dassault, and I am here to give you all the opportunity of a lifetime - namely, to give me an opportunity to run the Free Territory of Trieste."

The assembled diplomats looked around the room in confusion - was this guy for real? - before being once again caught up in the performance Marcel was putting on.

"Some of you may know me from my work in the aircraft industry, where I grew a small company into one of thousands leading up to the War and produced hundreds of planes for the French air force. Others of you may know me for the assistance I provided my brother Darius in the French Resistance movement after the defeat of the Republic, assistance for which I was thrown in prison after prison by the Nazi leaders of Pétain's treasonous French state, including a camp I nearly died in. But I made it out, I changed my name, and now I am here to lend my services to the continuation of peace in Europe. My business acumen - "

"Hold on a moment," a British diplomat interjected, "so you have zero experience in governance?"

"Well," Dassault replied, applying a liberal use of mocking air quotes "if you mean in a narrow-minded view of 'governance' that only relates to the running of a 'state apparatus', then no, I do not meet your criteria for 'governing experience'."

This was met by silence from the British diplomat, but was followed up bluntly by one of the Americans. "So then why on God's green Earth should we put you in charge of a government?"

Dassault smiled. "Well now, there's no need to flip your wig. I understand your hesitation, in fact I am glad to see it, as it means you care about this selection. It means that you understand that this is an extraordinary circumstance that requires an extraordinary choice for governor. And I can assure you good men, that I am anything but 'ordinary', and may in fact be just what this territory needs."

Seeing that he once again had the full attention of the room, Dassault continued "Trieste has always been a center of commerce, innovation, and coffee. Stretching back to its time as a Free City in the Holy Roman Empire, it was the port of choice for traders wanting to move goods in and out of the Mediterranean without going through Venice, especially thanks to it's proximity to the Suez relative to other major ports. However, the city has been bombed to high heaven over the course of the war, and needs someone innovative and commercially focused to bring it back into the light and start raking in the clams again. We don't need some fat-head bureaucratic fuddy-duddy, we need someone with a proven track record of unparalleled success in business development. Someone with the ability to manage large groups of people, someone who has overseen expansion and growth. Someone, like me. Now, are there any questions?"

Silence hovered over the stunned room, the assorted men still confused as to what had just happened. Only a French diplomat managed a response that sounded anything like a real question. "Monsieur, parlez-vous même Italien? Sir, do you even speak Italian?"

"Non, pas du tout," Dassault replied, "No, not at all."

"Parlez-vous Slovène? Ou Croate? Do you speak Slovenian? Or Croatian?"

"Non. No."

"Then how do you intend to communicate with the people there?" A British diplomat jumped in.

"Why, with translators of course." Dassault replied with a smirk. "Besides, this is a Territory divided by two different groups of people who each want the whole thing. By speaking neither language, I am not appearing to play favorites with either, and I can be seen as a more impartial, commercially-focused leader!"

The diplomats gave up on that line of questioning, and all further lines of questioning for that matter. Bidding their energetic assailant out of the room, the men looked at each other in a state of disbelief. Then, one of the Americans began to laugh.

"Well that was an absolute gas! He has some moxie, I'll give him that."

"I rather liked him," replied one of the Frenchmen, "and besides, we do need someone to run the territory."

The British delegation looked around, defeated. "Well then I suppose we better get the next part over with so we can head to lunch. The United Kingdom approves the appointment of Marcel Dassault as the Governor of the Free Territory of Trieste."

"The United States concurs."

"The French Republic agrees with the United States and United Kingdom."

With that the focus of the room turned to the Soviet Delegation, which until this point had been silent. Everyone expected them to vote no, as they always did, and have the session end in no decision, as was always the case. But not this time.

Scholars and historians would debate for years as to why the Soviets responded how they did. Maybe they figured that putting such a crazy capitalist nutjob in charge of a nation would demonstrate how ineffective the ideology was at governance. Maybe they thought they could easily sway the strange man towards their orbit. Or maybe they were just tired of all the bickering, and wanted the meetings to be over with for good. Whatever the reason, after a few moments of discussion, the leader of the Soviet delegation turned towards the room and said "Da."

[Meta] I will be claiming as the Free Territory of Trieste, headed in this timeline by Governor Marcel Dassault, the French aerospace tycoon. In OTL, the territory never became governed independently, as the Soviets denied all suggestions for the governorship. I have talked to the US, UK, France, and the USSR, and all four agreed on my governor appointment, as well as the composition/setup of the Free Territory until this point as the same as OTL. I also have mod approval for writing a claim for a territory not on the claims list.