In General Reed's study, Felix sat calmly opposite the desk, a symbol of immense, centralized power. Colonel Hudson's final resentful look as he was dragged away had not stirred a ripple in Felix's heart. The marketplace and the battlefield abide by the same merciless rule: the defeated forfeit all right to sympathy.
"Mr. Argyle, please sit." General Reed's voice was weary but sharp, filled with a soldier's scrutiny.
"Yes, General."
"I need your canned goods. A great quantity." The General's tone was not a discussion, but a decree. "The Federation is undertaking the largest mobilization in history. I cannot let hundreds of thousands of young men eat poorly on the battlefield."
Felix answered without hesitation: "General, my factory is ready to serve the Federation at any time."
"Very good. I will award you a contract for fifty thousand dollars to start. Now, Mr. Argyle, how many qualified rations can this amount procure for my soldiers?"
Fifty thousand dollars was a staggering sum, enough to buy half of the Bowery District.
"That depends entirely on your choice, General," Felix replied, instantly assuming the role of a business negotiator. "Do you require the Premium Gold Label, or the Standard Red Label?"
"The Gold Label is potent stuff," Reed said with grim humor. "Good enough to make a division capture hell for you. But its price, I fear, would have those stingy fellows on Capitol Hill strip me of my rank." He leveled a serious look at Felix. "What I need is the Red Label. Something better than hogwash, but that won't make my logistics report look like a ransom note. Give me your final offer, sir."
"Sixty cents per can, General," Felix quoted his price. "This includes all costs, as well as direct transportation to your designated dock."
"Sixty cents?" The General frowned. "That is twenty percent more expensive than your civilian price."
"Yes, General." Felix's answer was composed. "Civilian orders are delivered in batches; military orders have rigid deadlines. To fulfill this contract, my factory must run twenty-four hours a day, requiring double wages for my workers. And raw materials must be purchased urgently. All of this is cost. But I assure you, General, every cent is converted into a tangible guarantee on the soldiers' plates."
General Reed stared at the young man, realizing Argyle wasn't just a businessman, but a masterful salesman. "Alright, sixty cents it is." Recalling the Washington telegram, he finally nodded. "But there can be no compromise on quality or delivery. I need the first twenty thousand cans delivered to the dock within ten days. The rest must be delivered within one month. Can you meet that?"
"Of course, General, but I have one request."
"A condition? Out with it," Reed said, surprised.
"A request to ensure speed, General. This contract is massive for my company, requiring immediate purchase of mountains of beef and tinplate. With all due respect, I require startup capital. I hope for a thirty percent advance on the total contract amount: fifteen thousand dollars. With this money, I guarantee my factory runs twenty-four hours a day until completion. Without it, I can only slowly raise funds, and delivery will be delayed by at least half a month."
General Reed looked at Felix for a long time, then smiled. "You are a born businessman, Argyle. Very good, I agree." He turned to Lieutenant Carter. "Lieutenant Carter, you are the sole person in charge of this contract. Your mission is to satisfy Mr. Argyle's every reasonable request, and simultaneously ensure he delivers everything he promised. Understood?"
"Yes, General!"
When the General left, only Felix and Lieutenant Carter remained.
"Congratulations, Mr. Argyle." Carter's eyes were filled with admiration and a hint of residual fear. "I never imagined the matter would be settled in a single day."
"This isn't just my victory, Lieutenant," Felix smiled. "Without your principled help, even the most perfect plan is merely talk. We are partners." He placed the five-hundred-dollar envelope on the desk. "This is your rightful compensation."
Carter hesitated, then pushed it back. "No, Mr. Argyle." A relieved smile washed over his face. "My medal of honor is seeing Hudson receive the judgment he deserved. That is compensation enough." He looked at Felix, his tone solemn. "I only have one request. Please, ensure that every can you send to the front lines is as good as what we saw today. Help me fulfill my promise to the General and to all the soldiers. That would be the best reward for me."
"Done. I promise you, Lieutenant," Felix extended his hand. "On my honor."
Back at the factory, the entire Argyle & Co. Foods premises buzzed with the news of the contract. Felix immediately began assigning tasks without any time for celebration.
"Catherine, immediately send a letter to Mr. Harrison at New York Bank. Tell him our company is about to receive a fifteen-thousand-dollar remittance from the Federal Treasury. At the same time, contact Bill and other suppliers to draft maximum raw material procurement contracts. We need them to keep pace."
"Jones!"
"I'm here, sir!"
Felix stood with one hand on his hip, ambition surging within him. "The factory will continue operating on a two-shift, twenty-four-hour rotation. Tomorrow, recruit another batch of workers. I want the factory's output to quadruple within a week!"
"Understood!"
(As for the double wages he mentioned to General Reed? That was a negotiating tactic. In this desperate era, a stable job was a privilege; double wages were unheard of. Felix, providing factory meals and potential bonuses, was considered the most conscientious businessman in New York.)
"And Miller, your security department must also be on twenty-four-hour shifts. No unexpected factors are to disrupt production."
"Understood, sir."
The half-million-dollar military order spread through New York's business community overnight. Coupled with Argyle's market dominance, some busybodies quickly dubbed him 'The King of Cans'.
The next morning, before dawn, a dense crowd had already gathered outside the factory gates: dockworkers, displaced farmers, Southern immigrants. Their commonality was a desperate yearning for stable work. They had heard Argyle & Co. Foods paid ten percent higher wages, and, crucially, included meals, real beef stew.
Behind a temporary recruitment desk sat Production Supervisor Jones and Security Supervisor Miller. Felix had wisely delegated this power to those who understood controlling men.
"Next!" Jones shouted gruffly.
A tall, muscular man swaggered up. "I can do the work of two of your men. Quit my last job because the foreman was an idiot, so I punched him."
Miller, who had been watching the man's demeanor, slowly drew a cross next to his name on the roster. He signaled Jones. "Go home and wait for news."
"Wait for news? You need workers, don't you?" the burly man grumbled.
"We want workers, not trouble," Miller's gaze was ice-cold. "Next."
The next applicant was a thin, middle-aged man, etched with life's hardships. Jones frowned. "This is physical labor, twelve hours, two shifts. Can your body handle it?"
"Sir, I can, please!" the man pleaded. "I have two children and a bedridden wife. I'll do anything! I promise, I can endure hardship more than anyone. I've never committed a crime, and I don't touch alcohol. Every penny goes to bread and medicine."
Miller watched his eyes, then nodded gently to Jones. "You're hired."
"Thank you, officer! Thank you!" The man was incoherent with excitement, bowing deeply, his eyes red.
Recruitment proceeded strictly all day. Jones evaluated physical strength; Miller conducted background checks, selecting the reliable components for the machine and removing the parasites.
Meanwhile, in the quiet office, Miss O'Brien's recruitment was a different scene.
"Hello, Miss Smith. You worked as a clerk for two years?" Catherine smiled, addressing a nervous young girl.
"Yes, Miss O'Brien."
"Solve this for me." Catherine handed her a slip of paper detailing costs: iron can, beef, vegetables, and overhead. The question: What is the total cost for each 'Standard Red Label' can?
The girl struggled with the fractions and simple addition. "It's eight and a half cents, Miss," Catherine finally finished for her. "You can go back."
The next applicant calculated the answer accurately. "Second question: Our premium Gold Label costs forty percent more to produce than the Red Label, but its selling price is double. Which should our factory primarily produce?"
"The Gold Label, of course, because it earns more!"
Catherine was looking not just for an abacus, but for someone who could grasp Argyle's core business logic and assist in refined management. These applicants did not meet the requirement.
In the evening, Jones and Miller happily reported recruiting sixty-six new frontline workers. "Sir, the production department is fully staffed! We can set up a third shift within three days. We're not far from five thousand cans a day!"
"Very good," Felix nodded, then looked at Catherine. "How about your side?"
Catherine shook her head, disappointed. "Sir, I interviewed over a dozen people. They might become qualified bookkeepers, but none of them are the kind of person I'm looking for, someone who can help me share the burden."
"No rush," Felix comforted her. "Talent is harder to find than gold. Take your time. Until you find the right person, let some clerks help with part of the office work."
Just then, the clamor of the night shift came from the dining hall. The new workers were receiving their first dinner from Argyle & Co. Foods: a large bowl of steaming, oily, real stewed beef, and two soft white bread rolls.
"My goodness... this... this is for us?" a new worker asked in disbelief.
"Of course it is!" Old worker Sullivan said proudly. "Argyle never treats us like animals. The food we eat is what we make. Hurry and eat! Only with a full belly can you have the strength to make the best canned goods for the company!"
The new workers devoured their food. Some even shed tears as they ate, unable to recall the last time they had a full meal.
By the office window, Felix and Catherine silently watched this scene.
"Mr. Argyle," Catherine said softly, "I think I'm starting to understand why you earn their respect."
"Oh?"
"Because you give them more than just a paycheck," a touching light flickered in her eyes. "You give them dignity, the dignity to survive."
Felix couldn't help but smile. "Oh, my dear Catherine, actually, I haven't done that well. It's just that this era is too rotten."