Business in New York had two major developments in the past month.
The first was the official launch of Argyle & Co. Foods's new factory, a colossal structure resembling a giant beast.
Its terrifying production capacity and the signing of military contracts suffocated all competitors.
The second development was the newly established sales department of Williams Company.
This morning, in Felix's office,
Catherine was reporting to him the results of this new department's first week.
"Boss, the sales department's report is out."
"Speak."
"Very successful. The three young people I selected were like three hungry wolves. In one week, they visited every shop in the city that could use tin boxes."
Catherine opened the report.
"They signed a total of twelve trial supply contracts. Clients included New York's largest tobacco manufacturer and two of the most famous candy companies."
"Excellent. How are the profits?"
"The profit margin on these tin box orders is lower than our food business."
"However, they successfully consumed the surplus capacity of our manufacturing plant. Now, that factory is also generating considerable profits for you every day."
"That's enough." Felix nodded. Why complain when there's profit to be made?
"After all, what a machine fears most is not wear and tear, but idleness."
Catherine understood but still voiced her concern.
"Felix, is it really okay to sell controlled resources?"
Felix understood. No wonder Catherine had been occasionally frowning these past two days; she was worried about this.
"Oh... sweetheart, you don't have to worry about this, because everyone does it, even some people in the military department will personally participate.
As long as we have the entry ticket, then we can naturally do the same."
After hearing Felix's explanation, Catherine finally felt completely at ease.
Not long after, Supervisor Jones and Smith knocked and entered together.
"Boss."
"Regarding that machine Dr. Thorne needs, the one that can draw out air, we've had some breakthrough ideas."
"Oh really, tell me about them." Felix was very interested.
"Following your idea, we disassembled a discarded military steam pump."
Jones helped explain from the side.
"Its principle is to use steam to create a pressure difference to pump water. We think that if we reverse its entire structure and equip it with a more precise sealed piston, hand-ground by Smith, perhaps it could achieve the effect Dr. Thorne wants—to suck all the air out of a can."
"A very good idea."
Felix nodded in approval, then asked,
"What support do you need?"
"Money."
Smith's answer was direct.
"We need to import the best Krupp steel from Germany. We also need Dr. Thorne himself to work with us. We rough men who tinker with steel don't understand science. We need him to tell us exactly how much suction is needed to achieve what he calls a vacuum."
"Approved."
Felix agreed without any hesitation.
"Catherine, immediately set up a dedicated R&D budget of five thousand dollars for this project. Jones, you are responsible for coordinating our scientists and engineers to work together. I want to see technological sparks fly between the two departments."
After solving the engineering problem, Felix and Catherine walked together towards the independent annex building.
The Chemical Research Laboratory.
Dr. Thorne, wearing his white coat, was inspecting various instruments.
On the experimental bench in front of him, various bubbling, colorful glass vessels were arranged.
"Boss, Miss Catherine."
Seeing the two, he immediately waved excitedly.
"Please look."
In front of him, there were two beakers, one large and one small.
The large beaker contained the most expensive industrial cleaner Felix had bought from the market.
The liquid was turbid and emitted a pungent alkaline smell.
The small beaker, however, contained Dr. Thorne's own "creation."
A nearly clear, transparent liquid with almost no smell.
"This one on the left." Dr. Thorne pointed to the large beaker.
"I analyzed its composition. It's mainly crude lye and some animal fats. The cleaning effect is very poor, and it's highly corrosive to machines."
He picked up the small beaker, a pride unique to geniuses showing on his face.
"And this one on the right is my latest formula. I used petroleum by-products that my friends at the refinery throw away like trash, combined with a special phosphate. Its decontamination ability is five times that of the former, and its cost is only one-third."
Catherine's eyes were filled with surprise.
Even Felix was surprised that a prototype had been developed in such a short time.
It seems he really did recruit a master.
"Doctor, did you really only take one week?"
"Of course..."
Dr. Thorne's tone was full of a scholar's self-confidence.
"This is just a simple chemical equation. I've already had Supervisor Jones test it on the greasiest machine tool in the factory, and the effect is excellent."
Dr. Thorne, in the most direct way, proved that his high salary was worth it.
"Haha... excellent, Doctor."
"So, how is the progress on the more important project?"
"Disinfectant?"
"Yes."
At the mention of this, Dr. Thorne's expression began to turn serious.
"Boss. That is a completely different world."
"That's not a simple equation. It's a challenge to God's domain."
He led the two to the other side of the laboratory.
There, a huge human anatomy chart hung.
"I carefully studied the paper by Dr. Lister in Europe." He pointed to the drawing.
"Phenol, commonly known as carbolic acid, can indeed kill those deadly 'bugs' that we cannot see with the naked eye."
"However, it can also kill our own healthy human cells. It is a double-edged sword that doesn't distinguish between friend and foe. Using it to disinfect wounds is like drinking poison to quench thirst."
Felix was a bit confused, as he wasn't a chemistry professional in his past life, so he asked directly,
"So, what is your direction?"
"It's gentle selectivity."
In Dr. Thorne's eyes, the rational light of science flickered.
"I am trying to mix alcohol with an iodide extracted from kelp. My goal is to find a golden ratio that can effectively kill those 'bad' microorganisms while maximizing the protection of human tissue."
"However, this requires a large number of experiments."
"What kind of experiments?"
"Live experiments."
Dr. Thorne replied softly.
"I need animals, rabbits or pigs. I need to create standard wounds on them. Then, I will use my different formulas to verify the effects and record data. This will be a long process, and a very, very expensive one."
Catherine's heart slightly relaxed; she had thought it would involve live humans.
"I understand, Doctor, Catherine."
"Yes, Boss."
"At that time, you arrange for a small workshop to be built on the last empty plot next to the manufacturing plant, turning it into Dr. Thorne's animal experimentation center."
After making the arrangements, Felix turned and looked at Dr. Thorne again.
"Doctor, I will give you everything you need. Money, time, and unchecked authority."
"I only want one result."
"A result that can make me money and allow soldiers to walk off the battlefield alive after being hit by a bullet."
---
New York, Argyle & Co. Foods.
In Felix's office, the end-of-month financial meeting was underway.
Felix sat in his office chair, listening as Catherine, the company's chief housekeeper, stood beside him, reporting on the current operational status of the company.
Catherine bent down and opened the thick ledger.
"Boss, this is this month's financial summary."
"It's just the two of us, no need to be so serious, sweetheart, alright... you speak."
Felix saw her insistent gaze and spread his hands helplessly, but placed his right hand on a rather delicate and rounded area.
"Okay, first, our profitability."
"Excluding income from military orders, the company's net profit from the civilian market last month totaled twenty-eight thousand dollars. The Gold Label series contributed nearly half of that."
"Our new businesses have also begun to create value." She turned a page and continued.
"External orders for the manufacturing plant brought you a net profit of four thousand dollars. The Chicago newspaper, under Mr. Fowler's management, also miraculously generated a profit of a few hundred dollars. The meat company, in which you hold a seventy-five percent stake, contributed three thousand dollars in profit last month."
"Which means your regular monthly net profit is now stable at over thirty-five thousand dollars."
"Very good."
Felix nodded in satisfaction; this figure was already enough to make most New York businessmen envious.
As he spoke, Felix's hand began to wander.
Catherine's cheeks immediately flushed, and she nervously glanced at the office door, letting out a sigh of relief when she saw it was tightly shut.
Ignoring the mischievous hand, she continued her report.
"However, expenses are also significant."
"For the acquisition of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company, and a fifty-thousand-dollar bank loan."
"And your promise to provide a fifty-thousand-dollar loan to the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company. This month, we need to pay the second installment of ten thousand dollars."
"There's also the expansion of the new factory, the equipment procurement for Dr. Thorne's laboratory... these are all areas that are continuously burning through cash."
Catherine, blushing, pressed her long legs together, not allowing the large hand to wander further.
"So... so, Felix."
Catherine composed herself and delivered her summary.
"Although the company is making money every month, the money earned is quickly reinvested into new expansion. This is a healthy cycle."
"So, how much usable money do we actually have on the books right now?"
Felix nonchalantly withdrew his hand from the warm enclosure.
"This is the most important thing to discuss today."
A hint of disappointment flashed in Catherine's eyes.
"After receiving the last payment from the military and settling all of this month's expenses, as of this morning, our company's total liquid funds in the bank are..."
"One hundred two thousand dollars."
"And the last batch of goods for the one-million-dollar order we are producing for the military will be delivered in full this Friday."
Catherine looked at Felix with a radiant smile.
"By next Monday at the latest, our liquid funds in the bank will reach an unprecedented figure."
"Three hundred thousand dollars."
Silence fell in the office for a moment.
Three hundred thousand dollars. In cash.
This sum, in America in 1862, was enough to launch a small war.
"Three hundred thousand dollars..."
Felix wiped his hands, stood up, and walked to the office window.
"This is dangerous money, Catherine," he said slowly.
"Dangerous?"
Catherine was somewhat puzzled; could having too much money be a bad thing?
"Felix, this money can allow us to pay off all our bank loans. It can make us the financially healthiest company in all of New York."
"No, no, my dear."
"If a company has so much money that it can only sit in the bank, then it's not an asset, but a burden. It will make us lazy and conservative. It will also attract countless greedy jackals, and we must find a way for this money to generate greater profits before others smell blood."
Catherine suddenly understood; such a large sum of money indeed shouldn't just sit in the bank.
"Are you saying, go to Boston or Philadelphia and open a new factory?"
"No, sweetheart, no."
Felix turned and denied Catherine's guess.
"Our management team is already fully occupied with our operations in New York. Blindly expanding our physical businesses will only lead to indigestion. We need a new investment approach."
"A way for capital itself to fight for us."
He once again looked through the window towards Lower Manhattan, that dark forest he had never entered but had observed for a long time.
"It's time to go to Wall Street."
"Wall Street?"
Catherine was somewhat incredulous, her voice filled with caution.
"Felix, that's not a good place. The newspapers say that there..."
"I know, full of scammers and speculators who profit without effort."
Felix understood what Catherine wanted to say and interrupted her.
"You're right. It's a dirty casino, full of lies and greed. But Catherine, you must remember. Anyone who wants to truly sit at the poker table in this country must learn how to be a better, and more ruthless, gambler."
"War isn't just fought on the battlefields of Virginia."
"It's also fought in the exchanges on Wall Street. The war bonds issued by the Federal Government. The stocks of companies producing armaments for the war, and even the price of gold. Every fluctuation is closely related to every cannon shot on the front lines."
"Even our company is like this, only we're not listed."
Felix's eyes gleamed with confidence.
"We have Captain Carter inside the military, and Senator Clark in Washington. We are closer to the source of information than most Wall Street brokers."
"We cannot waste this unique advantage."
"But Felix, we've never done anything like this."
Felix put his arm around Catherine's waist, leaned close to her ear, and gently retorted.
"Oh no, sweetheart, I've had an experience in Chicago, haven't I?"
Catherine, feeling a tingle in her ear, was left speechless.
"But you don't need to worry. I also know that I am an industrialist, not a stockbroker who understands the market. So I need a guide, a reliable guide who can lead me through that dark forest of Wall Street."
"A broker?"
"Yes. But not brokers from large families that are already self-contained, like the Augustas or the Drews. Collaborating with them is tantamount to playing with fire. They are our future enemies."
"What I need is someone more independent, an old hand who understands street wisdom. He might not be famous, but he's been in this game for a long time, an old fellow who has seen all the booms and busts."
He patted Catherine's rounded, shapely bottom, which felt very fleshy and elastic.
"Sweetheart, help me find this person."
"A Wall Street guide whose loyalty we can earn with money and respect."
Argyle decided to enter Wall Street, a piece of news he had only shared with Catherine so far.
This was because venturing into Wall Street was an endeavor full of unknowns and risks.
Before finding a reliable guide, secrecy was the top priority.
Catherine was highly efficient after receiving Argyle's orders.
However, this time she did not consult the bankers who had business dealings with the company.
She knew Argyle's requirements clearly: independent, experienced, and underestimated by important figures.
Such a person would not appear on the recommendation list of Mr. Harrison, the Bank President of New York Bank.
Her first stop was Mr. Tilford's office.
"To find an independent stockbroker for Argyle?"
This most high-end food merchant in New York immediately understood the deeper meaning behind Catherine's subtle request.
A meaningful smile appeared on his face.
"Miss O'Brien, please convey to Argyle."
Mr. Tilford slowly savored his Cuban cigar.
"Most industrialists, after earning money, like to turn it into more comfortable houses and more beautiful carriages. But he wants to take his money to Wall Street to make more money, which is a very dangerous hobby."
"Boss merely hopes to make the company's capital more effectively utilized," Catherine replied gracefully.
"Alright, I think I understand," Mr. Tilford nodded.
"Most people, when they want to play this game, go to August Belmont or Leonard Jerome. They are the biggest players at this table, but Argyle deliberately wants to avoid them."
"This shows that he does not want to abide by the so-called 'rules' set by the big players."
Mr. Tilford tapped his cigar in the ashtray.
"Interesting, I like his way of doing things."
He thought for a moment and then uttered a name.
"Tom Hayes."
"You go and inquire about this man."
"Back in the fifties, he was a prominent figure on Wall Street. A true trading genius, but unfortunately, he had bad luck. In the Great Panic of '57, he gambled everything away and went bankrupt. Since then, the big banks and families have blacklisted him."
"Now he is just an outdated trader barely making a living from private commissions from a few old clients. Everyone says his courage was completely shattered by that panic. But I always feel that a fox like him has merely retracted his claws."
"Most importantly," Mr. Tilford finally added.
"He has grudges with some of the current big bankers. I think he would be very happy to see some 'interesting' things happen on Wall Street."
After getting this name, Catherine did not immediately report to Argyle.
She utilized the resources Argyle had given her.
First, she discreetly inquired about Hayes's financial situation through the company's account manager at New York Bank.
The reply she received was that the man had a good reputation, no bad habits, but was no longer wealthy.
Then she assigned this task to Miller.
Miller, in turn, dispatched his most capable plainclothes investigators.
Two days later, a detailed report on Tom Hayes's life was on Catherine's desk.
"Boss."
Catherine was in Argyle's office, giving her post-investigation report.
"Target individual, Tom Hayes. Fifty-two years old this year, living alone in a small apartment in Greenwich Village. His life is very regular, with almost no superfluous social activities apart from going to the stock exchange and a small private club."
"Miller's men tracked him for forty-eight consecutive hours."
"He has no bad habits like gambling or alcoholism. His only interest seems to be feeding pigeons in the park."
"A genius abandoned by the whole world because of one failure."
Argyle laughed after listening, quite satisfied with this target.
"He wasn't scared witless, Catherine, he became disillusioned. Such a person is like a treasured sword forgotten in a corner, covered in dust. He doesn't lack sharpness; he only lacks a master who dares to draw him from his scabbard again."
"Arrange a meeting."
Argyle thought for a moment and made a direct decision.
"Not at the factory, nor in his office. Find a quiet restaurant."
"Understood..."
The next day at noon, in a private room of a French restaurant in Midtown Manhattan, known for its privacy.
Argyle met this legendary Wall Street veteran.
Tom Hayes looked more ordinary than Argyle had imagined.
He wore a clean but somewhat outdated suit, his hair was gray, and his eyes were as calm as stagnant water.
"Argyle."
Hayes's tone was flat, even carrying a hint of imperceptible detachment.
"May I be so bold as to ask, why would an industrialist of your renown be interested in a failure like me, who has long been forgotten by the market?"
Argyle's reply was relaxed.
"Because I never believe the market is always right, Hayes."
Argyle poured him a drink.
"Quite the opposite. All my profits come from discovering and correcting market errors."
"Oh?"
"For example, the market believed that traditional lead-soldered cans were acceptable. But I thought it was wrong. So I made my first money."
"The market also believed that an independent railway company would inevitably be choked by oligarchs. I thought it was wrong, so I owned my own railway."
"And now," Argyle looked at him, "the market believes that you, Tom Hayes, are a worthless, outdated trader. I also believe this judgment is wrong."
A ripple appeared in Hayes's eyes, which had been like stagnant water.
"Argyle, Wall Street is not your factory."
He stared intently at Argyle and slowly said.
"There are no machines, no workers, only greed and fear. Your success in industry does not guarantee you can survive here."
"I know."
"That's why I need a guide. I have capital, and I have accurate information that any trader in this country dreams of!"
"Information?"
"Yes."
Argyle leaned forward slightly.
"I am the federal army's largest provisions supplier, with the most direct daily contact with the Quartermaster Department. My company has its own office in Washington and maintains friendly relations with the gentlemen of the Senate. My newspaper has its own reporters in Chicago, who can know the slightest stirrings in the West earlier than anyone else."
"So I can know a major battle is about to begin one step ahead of the market."
"And I can also know one step ahead whether a battle is proceeding smoothly. Because the army's consumption rate of supplies will be on my desk through Captain Carter's report at the earliest possible moment."
Argyle looked at Hayes, his face serious.
"Hayes, I have the sharpest bullets, but I lack a marksman who knows how to pull the trigger."
"I don't need you to be a shark."
"Because I am the shark."
"I just want you to be my eyes and navigator."
After explaining his ideas, advantages, and needs, Argyle named his price.
"If you agree, you will receive an annual fixed consulting fee of two thousand dollars, and one percent of all net profits from transactions you manage, as your personal bonus."
"You will become wealthy again, Hayes. Even wealthier than before your bankruptcy."
"What's more..."
A playful smile appeared on Argyle's lips.
"Perhaps you will witness firsthand how those big bankers who kicked you out of the game back then are torn to pieces by us, one by one."
Tom Hayes remained silent for a long time.
He just picked up the wine glass in front of him and drank the strong liquor in it in one gulp.
On his face, which had long been smoothed by years and failures, a dangerous gleam named "ambition" reappeared.
"Argyle."
He extended his hand to Argyle.
"In my opinion, you don't need a guide."
"But rather, a knife."
"And this weapon of mine has been rusting in its sheath for too long, too long."