The day after reaching an agreement with Tom Hayes.
Felix, Catherine, and Hayes appeared at one of the most famous and expensive law firms in New York City.
The lawyer placed two newly drafted contracts in front of the two men.
"Mr. Argyle."
"This is a private investment consultant agreement drafted according to your request. It details Mr. Hayes' scope of authority, compensation structure, and a one percent profit-sharing model. Please review it."
Felix only glanced at it briefly before picking up his pen.
Hayes, however, read it very carefully, scrutinizing every word and sentence. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief; there were no traps in the contract.
"No problem, a very fair contract."
Under the witness of the lawyer and Catherine, both men formally signed their names.
"So, regarding our 'battlefield,' how do you plan to arrange it?" Hayes asked, looking at Felix.
Catherine took over the conversation and handed a key to Hayes.
"It's been taken care of, Mr. Hayes. Following the Boss's instructions, we leased a small, independent office near Wall Street under the name of a newly registered 'Patriot Investment Company.' You will be working there in the future."
"Patriot Investment?"
A hint of a mocking smile appeared at the corner of Hayes' mouth.
"A very... ironic name."
Catherine ignored his tone; she knew he wasn't mocking her, but rather the big capitalists on Wall Street.
"We have already opened an independent brokerage account at New York Bank in the name of this new company. The first sum, totaling fifty thousand dollars, will be deposited into this account this afternoon, and you will have full trading rights for this account."
Hayes chuckled upon hearing this; it was the largest sum of money he had handled in recent years, and he was very satisfied.
"A base with no association to the Argyle surname. It seems, Boss, you were prepared to make a big splash from the start."
Felix patted his shoulder, and his address became more casual.
"Tom, I never fight a battle I'm not prepared for. Now I hope you can take me to familiarize myself with this new battlefield."
That afternoon, Felix, as a "player," walked into Hayes' inconspicuous new office near Wall Street.
The office was small, with only one desk, two chairs, and a constantly "ticking" telegraph machine.
"Welcome to hell, Boss."
Hayes poured them both a glass of whiskey; his tone was like an old gladiator showing a newcomer around the arena.
"In your factory, the rules are clear. Input, output, and profit—everything can be calculated."
Then he pointed to the unseen, yet omnipresent, bustling exchange outside the window.
"But here, the only rule is that there are no rules. There are only two things driving everything here."
As he spoke, he held up two fingers.
"Greed and fear. And war is the best catalyst for these two emotions. Boss, you think you have an intelligence advantage."
"Yes, you do. But you must understand that the big players have better intelligence connections than you, and on this street, every second, a hundred pieces of 'intelligence,' both true and false, are circulating.
What President Lincoln ate last night could become a major positive or negative factor affecting cotton futures prices by the next morning."
"My job is to help you find that one solid path to gold in this swamp of lies and rumors."
Felix nodded thoughtfully upon hearing such remarks, realizing he had oversimplified things.
"So, Tom, what do you think our first step should be?"
Hayes said in a deep tone, "It's waiting."
"Waiting for a target worthy of us firing the first bullet."
And this opportunity came sooner than they expected.
Four days later, in the morning, Felix received an encrypted telegram from Captain Carter.
The content of the telegram mainly concerned some details confirmation for the military's next batch of canned food orders.
But at the end of the letter, Carter casually mentioned something.
..."Additionally, in response to a possible new round of summer offensives in the Virginia theater.
Please, Williams Company, prepare an additional batch of five thousand cans of Special Gold Label for General McClellan's troops.
Accompanying this will be three times the usual supply of quinine and bandages.
This matter is confidential."
Felix placed the telegram in front of Hayes.
"Tom, what do you think?"
Hayes read it carefully three times.
Then, he picked up all the newspapers from that morning.
"Interesting."
A smile, like a hunter spotting prey, appeared on his face.
"Look."
He pointed to the newspaper headlines.
"All the newspapers are boasting that General McClellan's Peninsula Campaign is progressing smoothly. Wall Street commentators are also predicting that Federal troops will soon capture Richmond. The war will end before Christmas."
Hayes looked at Felix,
"So now the entire market is filled with a kind of foolish optimism. The price of war bonds is being continuously pushed higher. Everyone believes that victory is within reach. But..."
He picked up the telegram and waved it.
"A triple-normal supply of malaria antidote and bandages for gunshot wounds. That doesn't sound like an easy victory that's about to happen."
"That sounds more like a cautious general who foresees leading his men into a living hell filled with swamps, disease, and bloody battles."
Felix nodded in agreement, "It seems our thoughts align, which is very good. It appears the market is overly optimistic, so what do you plan to do, Tom?"
"I think we have our first trade, Boss."
Excitement shone in Hayes' eyes.
"When all the foolish optimists are buying, we must be the clear-headed pessimists."
"We will short war bonds."
He picked up a trading slip and wrote down an instruction.
"Short ten lots of the Federal Government five-year war bonds."
He handed the trading slip to the young trader who had been waiting nearby.
"Johnny, go to the exchange and quietly execute this for me. Remember to split the trades so no one notices us."
The young trader left to carry out the order, and Felix and Hayes sat in the office.
"Just like that? No need to do anything else?"
"No, do nothing else." Hayes' tone was calm.
He refilled their whiskey glasses.
"We just need to sit here, drink whiskey, and wait."
"Waiting for the sounds of gunfire from the Virginia front, filled with blood and wails, to play our victory anthem."
----
Wall Street, Patriot Investment Company.
Time passed exceptionally slowly to the old, ticking wall clock in Tom Hayes's office.
The order to short war bonds had been given two days ago, but the entire market was still immersed in a false sense of optimism.
The newspapers were full of boasts about General McClellan soon 'reclaiming' Richmond, so the price of war bonds had not decreased.
"No news yet, Tom?"
Felix's tone sounded calm, but his frequently tapping fingers on the desk betrayed a hint of impatience.
"Oh... esteemed Boss, be patient."
Hayes, a veteran who had weathered countless bull and bear markets, seemed more patient than Felix. He was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, as if asleep.
"The market's frenzy is like a high fever; it will always break at some point."
"The first reports from the front lines are always propaganda written by politicians for the public. We are not waiting for that."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
"We are waiting for something real."
Hayes's eyes remained closed as he slowly began to explain.
"For example, a casualty list much longer than usual. Or, an urgent request for medical supplies from a front-line hospital. Or, a military deployment order demanding reinforcements."
"These things, Boss, are the true face of war; you should know that."
Felix, of course, knew, but he had never experienced such a thing in his previous life, so he was inevitably a bit anxious.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, on the Virginia Peninsula.
Here, there were no heroes or triumphant songs from the newspapers.
Only endless gloomy rain and a swamp that could swallow a person's shoes and soul whole.
The soldiers of the Union Army, like a group of forgotten, pitiful rats, huddled in muddy, waterlogged trenches.
The air was filled with a mixture of gunpowder, blood, mud, and disease.
Ubiquitous mosquitoes, like swirling black cyclones, relentlessly tormented these young lives.
"Corporal."
A young recruit named Johnny, from Brooklyn, said to the veteran beside him in a trembling voice.
"I swear, even if we aren't killed by those Rebs' sniper fire, the mosquitoes here will carry us away alive sooner or later."
"Shut your mouth, kid."
The one called Corporal was an old soldier named Carmen.
His face was full of weariness and numbness.
"War isn't a walk in Central Park, New York. It's good enough to just survive. At least our dinner tonight isn't bad."
"You mean... this?"
Johnny pulled out a tin can with a blue shield logo from his damp, muddy backpack.
"Yes, that's it."
Corporal Carmen's eyes showed a rare flicker of brightness, the only one of the day.
"Kid, you just got here; you haven't tasted last year's rations. Those hardtack biscuits that could chip your teeth and the cured pork so salty it could kill a mule. Compared to those, this thing is a gift from God."
As he spoke, he heated it slightly, and then the two carefully pried open the can with bayonets.
The aroma of meat and vegetables instantly filled the cold, damp trench.
Several soldiers nearby, gnawing on cold, hard biscuits, couldn't help but cast envious glances.
"Hey, Carmen! Is that Argyle's can?"
A soldier swallowed, unable to resist asking.
"I'll trade you half a pound of my cured meat tomorrow for a spoonful of that damned gravy! What do you say?"
"Get lost!" Carmen cursed with a laugh.
Johnny scooped a large spoonful of the stewed beef, mixed with chunks of meat and thick gravy, into his mouth.
The next second, he showed an expression of pure enjoyment.
"Wow..."
He let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"This... this is real food. There's meat, there are potatoes... It tastes just like my mom's Sunday cooking."
"They all say the Boss who makes this canned food is named Argyle."
Corporal Carmen also took a bite, his face showing an expression of enjoyment.
"I heard he's a true patriot. In New York, he took down an entire gang by himself. Whether those rumors are true or false, I only believe one thing: after eating a can of this, you feel like a human again, not an animal waiting to die in the mud."
Just as they were enjoying this brief moment of warmth on the battlefield,
A blood-soaked messenger came scrambling through the communication trench from the front.
"Retreat! Quick! Retreat to the rear positions!"
The messenger's voice was filled with fear and despair.
"What's going on?!"
Corporal Carmen grabbed him.
"Didn't they say we were launching a general offensive today?"
"General offensive, my ass!"
The messenger's face was covered in tears and mud.
"We walked into an ambush! The Rebs had already dug fortifications on the high ground! Our men fell in rows as soon as they charged. General McClellan... he hesitated again! He ordered a full halt to the attack!"
"We can only watch our brothers lie there in the open, bleeding and waiting to die!"
This news, like a cold current, instantly extinguished all warmth in the trench... New York, Wall Street.
In Tom Hayes's office, his private telegraph machine suddenly started ringing like crazy.
A young trader tore off the long paper tape, glanced at the roughly translated content, and his face was filled with shock.
"Mr. Hayes! Mr. Argyle!"
His voice trembled.
"An urgent telegram from the Department of the Army in Washington just spread throughout the entire exchange!"
"General McClellan's offensive in the Peninsula Campaign has been repulsed. Our army encountered stubborn resistance outside Richmond and suffered heavy casualties!"
Hayes suddenly stood up from his chair.
He rushed to the window, looking down at the stock exchange floor below, which was in an uproar.
He saw the price in the column representing "Federal Five-Year War Bonds" on the huge blackboard in the center of the exchange, the numbers beginning to plummet like a waterfall in the trembling hand of the recorder!
That pillar representing false optimism was, at this moment, completely shattered by the real artillery fire from the front lines.
"Boss."
Hayes turned around, looking at Felix, who had just arrived after hearing the news.
"We won!"
He quickly calculated on a piece of paper.
"The price of the bonds has fallen by more than ten percent. Our exploratory short position has already brought us over five thousand dollars in profit in just one hour."
Felix did not look at the number.
His gaze was somewhat empty, as if it pierced through the clamor of Wall Street, through the gloomy rain of Virginia.
It landed on the young soldier named Johnny, who was huddled in the trench eating a can of the company's product.
"This isn't profit, Tom," he said softly.
"This is the cost of war."
"Today, we merely proved that our intelligence is more valuable than anyone else's on this street."
A moment later, the benevolence in Felix's eyes was replaced, revealing the cold glint of a shark that has smelled blood.
"The real hunt is about to begin."
Early the next morning, as Felix walked into Patriot Investment Company, Tom Hayes, like an old lion king who had won a splendid battle, was enjoying the fruits of victory.
"Good morning, Boss."
Hayes's face showed a long-unseen vibrancy.
"It was a perfect victory. The whole of Wall Street is wailing over yesterday's crash, and we made a profit of five thousand dollars."
He pointed to the newspaper reports about market panic.
"Now, market sentiment is completely controlled by the bears. Everyone is like a flock of startled sheep. Boss, this is the best time for us to launch our bear hunt. Tell me, which overvalued, pathetic company have you set your sights on?"
"We're not hunting bears, Tom."
Felix's answer surprised Hayes a little.
"Quite the opposite. We're going to join those who are buying."
"What?" Hayes was stunned.
"Did I hear you correctly, Boss? You're saying we're going to buy? Now? When market sentiment is so pessimistic?"
"Yes, but we're not buying stocks, nor are we buying bonds."
Felix walked to the window, looking at the distant building belonging to Duncan-Sherman United Bank.
Wall Street's largest gold dealer.
"We're buying gold."
This statement made Hayes, a veteran of Wall Street, for the first time deeply doubt his new Boss's judgment.
"Gold? I'm sorry, Boss, but with all due respect, now is the worst time to buy gold."
"Why?"
"Because the best time was yesterday."
Hayes's words were full of professionalism.
"The moment news of the defeat reached the exchange, the price of gold immediately surged.
It happened simultaneously with the plunge in bonds.
Everyone who could foresee the panic immediately converted their money into gold yesterday.
Now the price of gold has been pushed up by six percent. All the positive effects from this battle have already been digested by the market.
If we go in now, it's like paying for someone else's victory."
Felix listened quietly.
He knew Hayes was correct.
From the perspective of an ordinary trader, it was indeed so.
"You're right, Tom."
"The market has indeed digested all the impacts of this battle."
"However," he turned and looked at Hayes, "it hasn't yet had time to digest the more far-reaching consequences that this battle is about to bring."
"Consequences?"
"Yes."
Felix looked at him, beginning to guide this experienced old trader whose vision was still limited to the market.
"Tom, think about it. What does a disastrous defeat, unexpected by everyone, mean for President Lincoln and his government?"
Hayes answered without hesitation.
"It will certainly be immense political pressure. They will face public anger and congressional accountability. This will force them to respond more forcefully immediately."
"Absolutely correct," Felix said. "So, what is a more forceful response?"
"Expand the war," Hayes continued, following his line of thought.
"They need to recruit more new soldiers, purchase more rifles, uniforms, and more of your canned goods. They need to immediately launch a larger counterattack to regain public support and morale."
Felix nodded with a satisfied smile, then asked the final question.
"So, what does it take to do all of this?"
Hayes understood instantly.
His eyes showed a look of incredible horror.
"Money."
He squeezed the word out of his throat with difficulty.
"Ye~s, that's right, it's money."
Felix's face broke into a brilliant smile.
"But Tom, you tell me. A government that has just experienced a financial panic, where even war bonds are being frantically dumped. Where will it get this mountain of gold?"
"It… it only has one choice."
Hayes's voice had already begun to tremble slightly.
"One, the most shameless choice that all governments on the brink of bankruptcy will adopt."
"That is the printing press."
Felix put away his smile, a hint of sarcasm in his eyes.
"A perfect answer, my friend."
"They will immediately authorize the Treasury Department to issue tens of millions, even hundreds of millions of dollars, of paper currency not backed by any gold reserves. They will use these almost cost-free greenbacks to pay for this expensive war."
"And when these tsunami-like paper currencies flood the market, when every New York City resident discovers that the money in his pocket is becoming increasingly worthless, what will he do?"
"Boss, he… he will rush to buy, rush to buy things that are truly valuable."
"He will buy gold and grain."
Hayes was completely conquered by Felix's forward-looking macroeconomic analysis.
"So, Tom," Felix concluded.
"Yesterday's rise in gold was just a small ripple caused by panic. What we are about to face is a towering wave caused by inflation."
"We are not late; we have arrived at the perfect time."
Tom Hayes looked at Felix, somewhat dumbfounded.
The other party's way of thinking had already exceeded the cognitive scope of Wall Street.
They were analyzing market sentiment.
And Felix was analyzing the fate of the national government.
"Boss."
He stood up and bowed deeply to Felix.
"I retract all my foolish doubts just now. Now, please give your command."
"Very good." Felix nodded. "Our plan is the same as last time: use the fifty-five thousand dollars in the account. The target is only one: gold."
"But you need to formulate the tactics," Felix looked at him. "How to buy enough cheap gold for us without alarming the big bankers who haven't woken up yet."
Hayes's already somewhat fervent heart was completely rekindled at this moment.
A wolf-like smile appeared on his face.
"Leave it to me, Boss."
Soon after, he presented a plan.
"Boss, I plan to launch a coordinated purchase from three different directions."
"I will split the funds, keeping a portion in New York. The other two portions will be immediately transferred to Philadelphia and Boston. I have absolutely reliable old friends in both of these cities."
"By the time those big bankers in New York finally smell the inflation from the Treasury Department's announcement,"
"They will find that."
"The cheapest gold on the market has already been partly bought by us."