New York, factory office.
"Mr. Felix's telegram," a clerk presented the translated message to Catherine.
Catherine quickly scanned it, and the tense expression on her face, which had been there for several days, finally relaxed.
She immediately summoned Jones and Bill, the two individuals responsible for production and raw materials.
"Mr. Felix's telegram."
Catherine's voice carried a hint of joy.
"He succeeded; the first batch of five hundred live cattle has already departed from Kansas. He chartered a train, and they are expected to arrive in New York within ten days."
"That's great!"
Corporal Jones excitedly clapped his hands.
"Five hundred cattle! This will keep our raw materials stocked for at least half a month. The workers won't have to worry about the factory shutting down due to lack of meat!"
"It's more than just half a month!"
Bill's face also showed a relieved smile.
"That kid Felix is a devil; I was just getting overwhelmed by that alliance of wholesalers, and he just air-dropped reinforcements from the sky for us!"
"So, Miss Catherine, does Mr. Felix have any further instructions?" Jones asked.
"Yes."
Catherine's expression, which had been smiling, became serious again.
"Mr. Felix's instructions are clear. Bill, your purchasing work in New York is to continue. But do not engage in any more price wars with the wholesaler alliance. If they raise prices, we will buy small quantities to maintain the illusion that we are 'short on cash.' Our main task is to mislead them, to make them think we are still in this small pond of New York, fighting a tough tug-of-war with them."
"Understood." Bill nodded, "It's just acting, and I'm good at that."
"Jones." Catherine turned to the production manager.
"Factory production must be maintained at maximum intensity. We need to pile up finished goods in the warehouse. Mr. Felix said that when our 'Roman Legion' arrives in New York, he will need enough 'ammunition' to welcome an unprecedented great victory."
Meanwhile, in Chicago, Felix's game entered its next phase.
He invited Charles Reeves, the stubborn owner of the railroad company, to his hotel suite for dinner.
"Mr. Argyle."
Reeves's face carried a long-lost, reborn glow.
"I must say, your freight payment was truly a godsend. My workers have all received two months of overdue wages. My oldest 'Pioneer' locomotive finally has the money for a thorough overhaul."
"I'm glad I could offer you a little help, Mr. Reeves."
Felix poured him a glass of whiskey.
"In fact, I hope this is just a small beginning to our long-term cooperation."
"Long-term cooperation?"
A flicker of longing passed through Reeves's eyes.
"Yes," Felix said, "The first batch of cattle was just a test. My factory needs at least two thousand cattle every month. I hope your railroad can become my exclusive transportation artery from Chicago to New York."
Reeves's heart pounded violently.
But then he thought of something and shook his head bitterly.
"Mr. Argyle, I appreciate your generosity. But I'm afraid this will be very difficult."
"Why?"
"Because those people have already noticed us."
Reeves's tone became solemn.
"The day after your train left Chicago, representatives from the Eastern Railroad Alliance approached me. They offered a very high price to acquire my company."
"Then I assume you refused them."
Felix took a sip of his drink, a smile in his eyes as he spoke.
"Of course."
Reeves's face showed the stubbornness and pride characteristic of an engineer.
"I told them my railroad is not a commodity for speculation. It is my life's work."
"And then?"
"Then they bared their fangs."
A flash of anger crossed Reeves's eyes.
"They threatened me, saying that if I insisted on cooperating with you, they would use every means to deal with me. They would make sure my trains could never find an available track once they entered their jurisdiction. They would also stop my coal suppliers from providing me with coal. They want to completely paralyze my railroad."
Felix listened quietly.
All of this was within his expectations.
Then he suddenly asked a seemingly unrelated question.
"Mr. Reeves, why do you so stubbornly operate a company that is constantly losing money? With your talent, you could become a top-tier engineer at any major railroad company, earning the highest salary."
This question seemed to touch the softest part of Reeves's heart.
He was silent for a long time before slowly speaking: "Because I hate them, Mr. Argyle."
"I hate those bankers, those speculators. They don't understand engineering, they don't understand machinery, they don't understand how many sleepers a railway track needs to be laid securely. They only understand one thing: monopoly.
They use capital to form alliances, stifle all competition, and then brazenly charge exorbitant and unreasonable freight fees to the merchants and farmers who painstakingly transport their goods to the station."
"I once saw a wheat farmer from Kansas who, unable to afford the freight fees, could only watch as his entire year's harvest of wheat rotted in the station warehouse."
Tears welled in Reeves's eyes.
"From that moment on, I swore that I would build a fair and free railroad that belongs to us practical people."
Felix looked at this respectable, idealistic old man before him.
He knew he had found a perfect and most steadfast ally.
"Mr. Reeves."
Felix's tone also became elevated and full of power.
"Please rest assured, they cannot scare us. Because our war will not only be fought on the tracks."
"I hope it will truly be as you say, Mr. Argyle."
After seeing Reeves off, Felix immediately summoned his stockbroker, Blackwood.
"Good evening, Mr. Argyle."
Blackwood's face always wore that calm, unruffled expression.
"The funds in your account are steadily decreasing at a very healthy rate."
"How is the progress?"
"Everything is going smoothly."
Blackwood took out a report from his briefcase.
"The market is still like stagnant water. I have quietly acquired six percent of the shares of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company."
"Very good." Felix nodded, "But now, I need you to do something for me that has nothing to do with stocks."
"Oh?"
"I need you to find me a journalist."
"A journalist?" Blackwood was a bit surprised, "Are you planning to announce your acquisition plan? That's not a good move."
"Quite the opposite. I need a journalist who can keep my secrets."
"Someone who works for a newspaper that's about to go bankrupt, who is dissatisfied with reality, and full of hatred for those railroad magnates. A frustrated columnist whose loyalty can be bought with money, a pen for hire."
Blackwood looked at Felix, and ripples appeared in his calm, lake-like eyes.
He instantly understood Felix's intention.
"You… you're not planning to fight a financial war with them in the stock exchange," he said with some difficulty, "You're planning to start a war of public opinion."
"Yes."
A smile appeared on Felix's face.
"The Eastern Railroad Alliance wants to use commercial means to strangle Mr. Reeves. So I will use the media to turn this commercial strangulation into a touching story of 'greedy monopoly magnates ruthlessly suppressing a respectable independent hero who speaks for the people.'"
"A story that can make the people of Chicago, and even all of America, furious."
Blackwood looked at Felix, not speaking for a long time.
Finally, he also smiled.
"Mr. Argyle, I'm starting to enjoy working for you. Let me think."
He thought carefully for a moment, then said.
"There's someone who fits your description, Fowler of the Chicago Chronicle. A genius who's almost drowned in whiskey. He hates the railroad magnates because his father was driven to bankruptcy by them."
"That's excellent." Light gleamed in Felix's eyes.
After reaching that fragile transportation alliance with Charles Reeves, Felix did not relax.
Because he knew very well that the counterattack from the New York Wholesalers Alliance would come soon.
Therefore, during this brief period of peace, he had to forge a sharper weapon for himself, one that could be used on a completely new battlefield.
This afternoon, Felix's hotel suite welcomed a guest who was completely different from all the businessmen he had met before.
"Mr. Argyle, this is Mr. Fowler, the columnist for the Chicago Chronicle, whom I mentioned to you."
The stockbroker, Blackwood, gravely introduced the man beside him.
Felix looked at Fowler before him.
He was about forty years old, tall and thin, wearing a wrinkled woolen coat.
His hair was disheveled, his eyes were somewhat cloudy from long-term alcoholism, and he smelled of cheap whiskey, inexpensive cigars, and old newspaper ink.
"Hello, Mr. Argyle."
A mocking smile hung on Fowler's lips as he surveyed the luxurious suite, his tone flippant.
"It seems the capitalists in the East really know how to enjoy themselves more than us country bumpkins in the West. Tell me, esteemed sir, you've spent a fortune to invite a drunkard like me, who's about to be kicked out of the newspaper office. Do you want me to write a biography for you? To sing praises of how you transformed from a poor boy into a big boss who exploits workers?"
Facing this thorny opening, Felix did not get angry. He just smiled and poured Fowler a glass of Scotch whiskey.
"Mr. Fowler, I didn't invite you here to praise me. On the contrary, I want to ask you to crusade against some of our mutual old friends."
"Old friends?"
"Yes." Felix pushed the glass towards him.
"For example, the directors of the Pennsylvania Railroad, or the shareholders of the New York Central Railroad. I imagine you have more to say about these people than I do, don't you?"
Fowler's hand, which was reaching for the glass, stopped in mid-air.
He looked up, and sharp light shot from his cloudy eyes.
"I read your series of reports on railroad land grants from a few years ago, Mr. Fowler."
Felix picked up his glass and said unhurriedly.
"That was the most brilliant and insightful investigative article I've ever seen. You used the most detailed data to expose how those railway oligarchs exploited Congress's land grant acts, acquiring millions of acres of state-owned land out of thin air, and ultimately forming a monopoly."
Then Felix's tone shifted, tinged with regret.
"It's a pity, though, that such a great article was ultimately suppressed by a concerted effort from the major mainstream newspapers."
"They have money, Mr. Argyle. With money, they can turn all newspapers into their mouthpieces."
Fowler's tone was filled with cynical resentment.
"But now, things are different."
Felix looked at him and said slowly.
"Because I also have money. And I am willing to spend money to buy your pen, to buy your anger, to buy your heart of justice that has not yet been completely corroded by alcohol."
He placed a prepared plan on the table.
"I am currently at war with the Eastern Railroad Alliance. They are using the most despicable means to try and strangle my partner in Chicago, Mr. Charles Reeves, and his Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company."
"Reeves?" Fowler clearly knew the man.
"He's a respectable fool, a Don Quixote who dares to charge at windmills."
"Exactly." Felix nodded. "And now I need you, Mr. Fowler, to be the bard who sings of this Don Quixote."
"I want you to write his story. To write the story of a stubborn idealist who fought against the darkness of an entire industry for half his life for the sake of 'fair freight rates.'"
"And I also want you to continue to expose how those railway oligarchs use capital, connections, and dirty backroom deals to suppress every opponent who dares to challenge them."
"Write down everything you've wanted to write in your life but haven't dared to because of fear and oppression. Write it as a series, a series that will shake all of Chicago."
Fowler listened quietly.
His breathing also began to quicken.
What Felix described was precisely his dream, yet it was so out of reach.
"Write it out? And then what?"
However, after calming down, he sneered and retorted.
"Will my timid editor throw my manuscript into the fireplace? Mr. Argyle, you are too naive. The media today are all just lapdogs of capital."
"I know that, of course, so I plan to buy your newspaper along with you."
Felix's understated remark was like a bomb dropped into a calm lake.
Even Blackwood, who was accompanying them, showed surprise.
"You... what did you say?"
Fowler couldn't believe his ears.
"The Chicago Chronicle." Felix said, "I've investigated. It's on the verge of bankruptcy, and its owner is eager to get rid of it as a burden. How much does it cost to buy it? Ten thousand dollars? Or twenty thousand?"
He turned to Blackwood:
"Mr. Blackwood, tomorrow, you go and talk to its owner. I want to acquire ownership of this newspaper."
Then, he turned his gaze back to Fowler, who was completely stunned.
"When I become the new owner of this newspaper, the first thing I will do is appoint a new editor-in-chief. And you, Mr. Fowler, will become the chief investigative reporter for this newspaper."
"I will create a brand new column for you, let's call it 'Truth Under the Tracks.'"
In this column, you will have editorial freedom without any interference.
As long as your articles are factual and supported by evidence, then no matter who your enemies are, or how powerful they may be, I and this newspaper will be your strongest backing."
Fowler, a man who had been disappointed for half his life, tormented by alcohol and reality, and made cynical, was completely broken at this moment.
He looked at Felix, this man twenty years his junior, this mysterious capitalist from the East.
The other party gave him not just a salary, a job.
But a newly sharpened sword of vengeance.
A stage where he could realize his lifelong ideals.
"Mr. Argyle..."
He picked up the whiskey glass on the table and drank it in one gulp.
The strong liquor seemed to ignite the flame in his heart that was about to extinguish.
"Who exactly are you? The devil? Or an emissary sent by God?"
"I am just a businessman, Mr. Fowler." Felix smiled, "A businessman who believes in the power of public opinion even more than he believes in money."
He extended his hand to Fowler.
"So, will you join?"
Fowler looked at that hand, stunned for a long time.
Then, he showed a smile like a wild wolf, full of fighting spirit and cruelty.
He firmly grasped that hand.
"You will get more than just a cooperation agreement, Mr. Argyle."
His voice was hoarse, but full of power.
"What you will get is my everything."
Only after Fowler left the hotel with a renewed vigor did Blackwood speak.
His tone was filled with bewilderment.
"Mr. Argyle, I must say this is a very... extravagant move."
"Buying a newspaper just to publish a few articles. This investment is not cost-effective from a business return perspective."
"Who said I was only doing it to publish a few articles?"
Felix walked to the window, looking at the myriad lights of Chicago in the distance.
"Blackwood, you must remember. A newspaper never prints news. It prints the 'reality' in people's minds. It shapes public emotion."
"And public emotion, once ignited, will be a weapon more powerful and more terrifying than any railroad, any bank."
Felix had gathered all the weapons needed to launch this war.
Capital, transportation, public opinion.
A trinity.
Next, it was time for all of America to witness a spectacular show, personally directed by him, titled "Ant Fights Elephant."