The Chicago Stock Exchange.
This was the closest place to hell in the entire American West.
Hundreds of men in black suits crowded into a poorly ventilated, smoke-filled hall.
They had no chairs, no tables, just like a herd of bulls thrown into an arena, fighting for capital with roars and complex gestures only they understood.
At the front of the hall was an enormous blackboard.
Several young men in white shirts stood on ladders, rapidly updating the dense stock codes and prices on the blackboard with chalk.
Every change in a number would cause a more frantic commotion in the crowd.
"Mississippi and Eastern Railroad! 4.5 dollars, I offer 4.5 dollars! I'll take as much as you have!"
A loud-voiced broker representing the Eastern Railroad Alliance was waving his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs.
All eyes in the trading hall focused on this inconspicuous corner.
Everyone knew that a frantic acquisition battle surrounding this nearly bankrupt railroad had entered a white-hot phase.
Meanwhile, on the second floor of the exchange, in a quiet private office overlooking the entire hall.
Felix and his broker, Blackwood, were calmly enjoying the farce they had personally orchestrated downstairs, like two gentlemen watching a play.
"Mr. Argyle, your opponent seems to have lost his mind."
Blackwood observed the prices on the blackboard through a monocular, his tone full of exclamation.
"The stock price has been driven up to 4.5 dollars by themselves. They are burning money frantically to stop you."
"These railroad magnates think this is a war of numbers."
Felix waved his right hand, holding a cigar, his tone calm.
"Thinking that whoever has more money wins is a ridiculous idea."
"According to my informant," Blackwood put down his telescope.
"In the past hour, they acquired about ten percent of the company's shares at a price nearly thirty percent higher than the market price. For this, they overspent at least two thousand dollars."
"And five percent of those shares were sold by us. Now they should hold about 13% of the shares, and there are virtually no circulating shares left in the market."
"Isn't that good?" Felix nodded. "Let them bleed. The more they bleed, the weaker they'll become. It's time to end this game."
"You mean?"
"Mr. Blackwood." Felix stood up. "Please submit a formal statement of equity change to the exchange's board of directors on my behalf."
A knowing smile appeared on Blackwood's face.
"It would be my pleasure, sir."
He picked up a document that had already been prepared and left the office.
A few minutes later, in the trading hall, a crisp bell suddenly rang in front of the huge blackboard.
This was the signal from the exchange's board of directors that an important announcement was to be made.
All the noisy brokers temporarily stopped their shouting and curiously turned their gaze to the blackboard.
An official recorder from the exchange, dressed in a white shirt, climbed a ladder.
He used a wet cloth to wipe away all the content in one corner of the blackboard.
Then, stroke by stroke, he wrote a passage that would silence the entire Chicago financial world.
"Statement of Equity"
"This certifies that Mr. Felix Argyle from New York has concluded a transaction with the Kansas Ranchers' Association, acquiring thirteen percent of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad shares held by them. He now holds a total of fifty-one point seven percent of the company's shares."
"Mr. Argyle's public tender offer of four dollars per share is hereby terminated immediately."
After ten seconds of deathly silence, the entire hall instantly erupted in a tsunami of exclamations and discussions!
"My God… fifty-one percent… When did he… How did he do it?"
"Damn it! This tender offer… was a smokescreen from the start! A diversion!"
"We all thought he was still struggling for that fifty-one percent controlling stake. But we didn't expect that he had already… already won!"
In the crowd, the chief broker of the Eastern Railroad Alliance, who had just been frantically buying up shares at the high price of four dollars and seventy-five cents, now stood frozen like a stone statue.
All color had drained from his face.
Looking at the text on the blackboard, his lips trembled uncontrollably.
He knew that he and the arrogant bosses behind him had been played for fools.
They had thought they were carrying out a sure-win encirclement.
But they didn't expect that the opponent had already pulled the rug out from under them, destroying their base.
The stocks they bought back at exorbitant prices were just a pile of worthless paper.
Without lingering another second, he let out an unwilling roar, then frantically pushed through the crowd and rushed out of the exchange.
He had to send a telegram, to tell the big shots in New York that they had lost.
Lost completely.
In the office, Blackwood poured two glasses of fine French brandy for Felix and himself.
"To victory, Mr. Argyle."
His tone was filled with genuine admiration.
"A perfect battle, worthy of being written into any financial textbook. You exploited their arrogance, public sentiment, and even the credibility of your allies. You made the enemy fight air and pay real money for it."
"I just took one more step than them, Blackwood."
"How did you persuade the ranchers of the Kansas Ranchers' Association to agree to sell nearly thirty percent of their shares for four dollars? They actually passed up on making money?"
To be honest, Blackwood was very curious how Felix managed to convince those people, considering that at the time, the opponent had already offered four dollars and could raise the price at any moment.
Felix took the wine glass, a look of triumph on his face.
"It was nothing major. I simply explained to them the disadvantages of a monopolistic railroad alliance for them, and I also signed an order contract with them. In the future, my food company will purchase the products from their ranches, so what if they earn a few thousand dollars less on their stocks?"
"It seems the magnates of the Eastern Railroad Alliance will have headaches from now on."
Blackwood chuckled. Felix had certainly led the opponent around like a dog this time.
Not only had he acquired over fifty-one percent of the shares early on, but he had even sold five percent at a high price.
"Alright, let's not talk about this. Now, please take care of the last few matters for me."
"Please instruct."
"First, send a letter to my partner, Mr. Charles Reeves. Tell him that the company is safe from today."
"Second, send a telegram to Miss Catherine in New York. Tell her that the worries are gone, and to let the factory's production enter the next stage. Our product line needs to be expanded."
"Third…"
Felix looked at the gradually dispersing crowd downstairs, a slight smile on his lips.
"Also send a telegram to my other partner in New York, Mr. Bill."
"Tell him to come to Chicago as soon as possible. The follow-up matters here still need him to take over."
The times in Chicago had changed.
When the Chicago Daily Truth announced on its front page that Felix Argyle had taken control of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company, everyone realized that the era when the Eastern Railroad Alliance could do as it pleased in this city was likely gone forever.
Three days later, the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company held a new board meeting.
In the conference room, Felix, the company's new owner, sat in the main seat that had originally belonged only to Charles Reeves.
Reeves, meanwhile, willingly sat at his right hand.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
Felix smiled, his gaze calmly sweeping over each of the directors, whose expressions were complex.
"I think we don't need to waste time on some trivial procedures."
Felix's smile faded, and his tone was unyielding.
"I now propose that Mr. Charles Reeves continue to serve as the company's Vice General Manager and Chief Engineer. I believe no one understands better than him how to make trains run. Does anyone have any objections?"
The conference room was silent; no one raised an objection.
Felix looked around, a smile playing on his lips.
"Very good."
"Then, for the second motion, I will continuously grant the company a special debt-to-equity fund totaling fifty thousand dollars. This will be used for the comprehensive renovation of our existing tracks and locomotives, and to enhance the security level of all our transfer yards."
Fifty thousand dollars!
This figure made everyone present gasp.
This amount was more than the company's total profit over the past five years.
"My philosophy is simple, gentlemen."
Felix looked at them one by one, saying earnestly,
"The core of a railroad company should be its tracks and locomotives, not stocks and dividends. From today onwards, all profits of this company for the next three years will be reinvested in construction.
We will turn every dollar into sturdier sleepers and more powerful steam engines. We will build the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad into the safest, most punctual, and most efficient freight lifeline in all of America. Does anyone have any questions?"
Everyone exchanged glances, not knowing what to say, as the controlling shareholder had just taken over the company and provided a continuous loan of fifty thousand dollars.
Now that he was voluntarily requesting no dividends, the minority shareholders felt it improper to object.
Seeing that the scene remained silent, Felix stood up directly.
"It seems no one has any objections, so the meeting is adjourned. Mr. Reeves, please stay; everyone else can go about their work."
When only the two of them remained in the office, Reeves spoke in a voice almost like a dream:
"Felix... fifty thousand dollars... you... you really are going to invest that much money?"
"Of course, Charles. Besides, it's a debt-to-equity fund, which will directly convert into shares, so I won't lose out."
Felix's tone became friendly.
"I told you, I hate failure. And I hate failure caused by aging equipment even more."
"But what about your return?"
"No dividends for three years means your investment won't see any short-term returns."
Felix smiled, a nonchalant expression on his face.
"Short-term gains are for speculators."
"But we, Charles, are builders. Our returns are in the more distant future."
A knock sounded on the office door.
Felix's bodyguard, Flynn, led in a dusty but fierce-eyed man.
It was Bill, who had traveled overnight by train from New York.
"Felix!"
Bill gave Felix a big hug as soon as he entered, his voice still as clear as a bell.
"You rascal! You actually carved out a territory in Chicago!"
"Let me introduce you, Bill," Felix said, "This is the partner I mentioned to you, Mr. Charles Reeves. The true soul of this railroad company."
"Mr. Reeves, I've heard much about you!"
Bill enthusiastically extended his thick hand.
"Hello, Mr. Bill."
Reeves also stood up and shook his hand.
One was an idealistic engineer, the other a grassroots slaughterhouse overlord.
Two people who would never have intersected, stood together somewhat awkwardly, brought together by Felix.
"Charles, Bill," Felix said, "From today onwards, you two will be my most important right and left hands in Chicago."
"Charles, you are responsible for everything on the tracks."
"Technology, engineering, dispatching. You must ensure our trains are always on time, always safe."
Then Felix turned his gaze to Bill.
"Bill, you are responsible for everything under the tracks."
"Under the tracks?"
Bill was a bit confused.
"Yes."
"Your mission is to guard the Union Stock Yards, our most important source of goods."
"You are to make friends with those ranchers, drink with them. Use your best methods to ensure that every head of cattle from our clients is transported onto our trains as quickly, at the fairest price, and in the safest way possible."
"Charles, you are responsible for making the trains run. And you, Bill, are responsible for ensuring the trains always have something to pull. You two will jointly manage this lifeline of our West. Understood?"
Reeves and Bill exchanged glances.
Both saw admiration for Felix in each other's eyes.
After establishing this stable management system in Chicago, Felix knew it was time for him to go home.
The day before he left, Vice Bank President Harris of Chicago City Bank visited again.
"Mr. Argyle."
Harris's tone was more respectful than ever before.
"I received a letter from Mr. Sloan, which he asked me to deliver to you."
Felix took the letter and opened it.
There were no threats, no curses in the letter.
Only one sentence.
"You won this round. I look forward to our next encounter."
Felix smiled, casually tossing the letter into the fireplace.
"Mr. Harris, please also convey a message to Mr. Sloan for me."
"Please speak."
"Tell him, I also look forward to it."
The next day, as Felix boarded Reeves' company's special train for his journey back to New York, he felt incredibly relaxed.
The logistics base in Chicago was stable.
The production factory in New York, under Catherine's management, was generating profits at an unprecedented speed.
The political front in Washington had also successfully laid the most important groundwork.
His trip west not only resolved an imminent supply chain crisis, but more importantly, it placed a crucial strategic piece for his future business empire.
Looking out at the vast western plains rapidly receding past the window, Felix believed that his name and canned goods would soon conquer every corner of this continent along these railroad tracks.
----
When the train Felix was on slowly pulled into Grand Central Station in New York, its brakes hissing steam into the cold air, Catherine and Miller were there to greet him on the crowded platform.
It was deep autumn now, though it had been the height of summer when he left New York. The trees lining the avenues had transformed into burning tapestries of copper and gold, their leaves drifting down like forgotten promises onto the cobblestones below.
There was a hint of northern chill in the wind, carrying with it the scent of coal smoke and roasting chestnuts from street vendors.
"Sir, welcome home."
Catherine's face held a genuine, relaxed smile, the first Felix had seen reach her eyes in what felt like years.
She had been under immense pressure during Felix's absence, carrying the weight of his enterprise on shoulders that seemed too delicate for such burden.
Now, the man who could support her had finally returned.
"I'm back, Catherine."
Felix looked at the assistant he had personally recruited, noticing she was a little thinner than before, the angles of her face more pronounced, but her blue eyes were brighter and more confident than ever, like sapphires polished by the friction of challenge and triumph.
"Is the company doing well?"
"Of course, everything is better than ever."
Catherine's reply was full of pride, her chin lifting slightly in that way that spoke of battles won.
"The last batch of goods for the first military contract was delivered on time last week. Lieutenant Carter sent a letter of thanks, quite effusive, I might add. Mr. Tilford's 'Gold Label' series has sold out three times, and the retailers are practically begging for more. And our bank account holds a sum of cash large enough to command the respect of any banker on Wall Street."
"You've worked hard."
Felix's words were simple, but carried significant weight, settling between them like an unspoken oath of loyalty.
On the way back to the factory, Felix looked out the window at the familiar yet somewhat strange streetscape of New York. The city had changed in subtle ways during his absence, new storefronts, different faces, the relentless march of progress that never paused for any single man's journey.
For the first time, he felt a true sense of coming home, a sensation that surprised him with its warmth and intensity.
When the carriage pulled into the massive, now twenty-four-hour-lit factory he had personally established, all the working laborers spontaneously stopped their tasks. The sudden silence was profound, hammers suspended mid-strike, conversations cut short, as they doffed their hats in respect to their young boss, their faces illuminated by the golden glow of gas lamps.
Felix didn't give a speech, simply doffing his hat in return, the gesture more eloquent than any words could be.
That night, the lights in the factory office burned late into the night, casting long shadows that danced across ledgers and contracts.
Felix needed to hear a detailed report on all company operations during his absence, every triumph and setback, every calculated risk and fortunate outcome.
And Catherine was the only one who could clearly present all the operational data of this machine to him, her mind as precise as any mechanical calculator.
"So, according to my calculations..."
Catherine closed the last ledger, her voice a little hoarse from speaking for so long, roughened by hours of explanation and analysis.
"After successfully opening up the entire New York market and completing the first military contract, the company's current monthly net profit has stabilized at over twelve thousand dollars. Our production capacity is also sufficient to support us in pursuing a larger contract, perhaps even the military contract for the western territories that you mentioned before your departure."
"I must say, you've done a hundred times better than I expected, Catherine."
Felix praised her sincerely, genuine admiration coloring his tone.
He looked at the young and beautiful assistant, who was currently organizing documents by the light of a kerosene lamp, its flame flickering gently as if keeping time with her movements.
Compared to just over a month ago, she had completely shed her youthful inexperience, that uncertain quality that had clung to her like morning mist.
In its place was a unique aura of strategic planning, typical of a successful businesswoman, a quiet confidence that radiated from her posture, her decisive gestures, the way she spoke of numbers and markets as though they were old friends.
"I was merely executing your plan, sir."
Felix didn't fully agree with that statement, shaking his head slightly.
"There's no need to underestimate yourself, Catherine. A plan is just a plan, words on paper, numbers in columns. You know that even the best plan needs people to implement it and to react flexibly to specific situations. You did an excellent job of that, successfully persuading Hudson to make the wire transfer, which saved me from having to borrow more money from the bank at usurious rates."
This praise made Catherine's cheeks flush slightly, a delicate rose tint spreading across her pale skin. She lowered her head and responded softly, almost shyly.
"Thank you, sir."
Felix looked at her and suddenly noticed the faint shadows under her eyes, purple crescents that spoke of sleepless nights and endless worry.
"Catherine."
His voice involuntarily softened a little, taking on a quality of concern that surprised even him.
"Have you not had a good rest this whole time?"
"I'm fine, sir." Catherine rubbed her eyes, a gesture so vulnerable it made something tighten in Felix's chest.
"There was just so much to do. I was always worried I would make a mistake and let down your trust. Every decision felt like it could unmake everything we'd built."
"You've done more than enough. Starting tomorrow, take some time off. At least two days of rest, I insist."
"But, the company..."
"Listen to me."
Seeing Felix's serious gaze, dark eyes that brooked no argument, Catherine could only nod in agreement.
"That's right, don't just work all the time. Even the finest machine needs maintenance, or it breaks down."
Standing up contentedly, Felix took out a bottle of his treasured French brandy and two clean glass cups from a small cabinet nearby, the crystal catching the lamplight and throwing prismatic patterns across the desk.
"Now, work time is over."
He poured a little less than half a glass for each of them, the amber liquid catching the light like captured sunlight, handing one to Catherine with a slight smile.
"Let's talk about something unrelated to business."
Catherine took the glass, a little surprised, her fingers brushing his for just a moment.
"Talk about what?"
"Let's talk about you."
Felix leaned against the desk, holding his glass and looking at her with an intensity that made the air feel charged.
"It's been so long, and we haven't properly talked. Before you met me, before you were a bookkeeper at Mr. Gable's grocery store, did you ever dream of what kind of person you would become in the future?"
This question made Catherine freeze, her hand suspended halfway to her lips.
She lowered her head, looking at the amber liquid in her glass as if it might hold answers, and fell into a long silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost wistful.
"I don't know, sir."
"My only dream before was to earn enough money to cure my father's illness. After my father passed away..." Her voice caught slightly. "I thought I might save enough money to open a small bookstore of my own. Something quiet. Something safe."
"A bookstore?"
"Yes."
Her eyes brightened a bit when she mentioned books, like stars emerging at dusk.
"I love to read. I love to understand a wider world I've never seen through those words, distant lands, great minds, possibilities beyond the narrow confines of my daily life. I once thought that was my greatest pursuit in this life. To be surrounded by stories and knowledge, to help others discover the magic I'd found."
She looked up at Felix, her blue eyes full of sincerity and something deeper, harder to name.
"But now, I realize I was wrong."
"Oh?" Felix raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Because you, Mr. Felix, you showed me with my own eyes a world more exciting and grand than any story in a book. A world that can be created and changed with one's own hands. You proved that I didn't have to simply read about extraordinary things, I could participate in creating them."
She raised her glass to Felix, the gesture graceful and deliberate.
"So I should thank you. You made me find a more interesting life than opening a bookstore. To you!"
Felix looked at her and also raised his glass, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Then, to this more interesting life of ours, cheers!"
"Cheers!"
The two gently clinked their glasses. The crisp sound echoed in the quiet office, a small crystalline note that seemed to linger in the air between them.
Time quietly slipped away during their somewhat aimless chat, minutes dissolving into hours without either of them noticing.
They talked about their shared homeland, Ireland, the green hills neither had seen in years, the songs their mothers had sung. They discussed the operas recently playing in New York, Catherine admitting she'd never actually attended one but had read reviews in the newspapers. They even ventured into astronomy, Felix sharing observations he'd made during his travels while Catherine revealed a surprising knowledge of constellations learned from her father's old maritime charts.
Felix was surprised to discover that Catherine's knowledge was far more extensive than he had imagined, her mind a treasure trove of seemingly random but fascinating information.
And Catherine was equally surprised by her boss' seemingly omniscient and visionary mind, the way he could connect disparate ideas and see patterns others missed.
For a moment, a subtle emotion, transcending their superior-subordinate relationship and their partnership, quietly grew, catalyzed by the alcohol and the late hour and the intimacy of shared confidences. The office, with its pools of lamplight and deep shadows, seemed to exist outside of time itself, a small bubble of warmth in the vast, indifferent city.
When the wall clock struck midnight, its chimes resonating through the still room, Catherine realized how late it was.
"Sir, I... I should go back."
She stood up, her body swaying slightly from sitting too long and perhaps from the brandy warming her blood.
Felix instinctively reached out and steadied her arm, his hand firm and warm, pulling her into his embrace almost without thinking.
His chest was warm and strong, solid as oak.
Catherine's arm was slender and soft, her frame feeling impossibly delicate against him.
The moment their skin touched, the air seemed to freeze, everything else falling away.
Catherine could clearly feel her heart skip a beat, then begin to race, a wild drumming in her ears.
Like a startled fawn, she quickly pulled away from Felix's chest, her cheeks instantly reddening like the evening sky, suffused with color that spread down her neck.
"I'm... I'm sorry, sir. I... I might be a little tired."
She stammered, unable to meet his eyes.
"I should be the one apologizing, Catherine, for keeping you chatting for so long."
Felix's hand also retracted somewhat awkwardly, the absence of contact suddenly glaring.
"I'll see you back."
"No, there's no need!"
Catherine's expression was slightly nervous, almost panicked, as she quickly refused.
"Miller has already arranged for a carriage. I... I'll take my leave now."
She practically fled the office, her skirts rustling with the speed of her retreat.
Just as she reached the door, she stopped, her hand on the frame, and turned back. In a complex tone she herself couldn't understand, something caught between gratitude and longing and fear, she softly said,
"Good night, Mr. Felix."
With that, without waiting for Felix's reply, she disappeared down the corridor, her footsteps echoing and then fading into silence.
In the office, only Felix remained.
He looked at the seat Catherine had just occupied, still bearing the slight impression of her presence, at the half-finished glass of brandy with the faint impression of her lips on the rim, and remained silent for a long time. The lamp flame wavered, casting his shadow large and uncertain against the wall.
It seemed that between him and his most capable female assistant, under the influence of alcohol and their accumulated time together, some things had begun to change, shifts in the foundation of what he'd thought was a simple professional relationship.
He had always thought of himself as a lonely outsider in this era, existing only to build a business empire, to prove something to a world that had never believed in him.
But now, he found that he seemed to have begun to have a glimmer of warmth, a light called "home." And perhaps, though he barely dared admit it even to himself, the possibility of something more, something he hadn't known he'd been searching for until this very moment.
The lamp burned low, and Felix sat alone with his thoughts until dawn began to paint the eastern sky with streaks of gold.