Three days earlier… At the headquarters of the New York Meat Trade Association, an old brick building in the Lower East Side.
The room was covered with thick carpets, and portraits of past association presidents hung on the walls. The air was a mix of cigar, leather, and old wood. Everything here symbolized tradition and order.
Arthur Henderson, the association's president, over sixty years old, sat at the head of the table and looked around.
To his left sat Charles Barton, the representative of the Eastern Railroad Alliance. To his right was Director Davis, who was in charge of the New Jersey canning factory, and a dozen other members.
"Gentlemen, we underestimated that young Canning King before, and we cannot make the same mistake again."
Henderson continued, "Although he has factories, railways, and even a bank, we have history and networks. We are the fifty-year-old Meat Merchant Alliance of this city. Every grocer in New York knows our people and has sold our goods."
"Davis, how is the factory doing?"
"Everything is ready, Mr. President," Davis's tone was full of confidence. "The factory has imitated Argyle's old iron can design and can produce five thousand cans of 'United Delights' beef canned goods daily. Our production cost is controlled at twenty cents per can."
"Very good." Henderson nodded, "Then our battle plan can officially begin. Please tell everyone about the plan in detail."
Davis stood up and, imitating Felix, walked to a small blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk.
"Gentlemen, the core of my strategic plan is not a simple price war, but to use our association's existing network to conduct a comprehensive market squeeze on Argyle."
"First is pricing." He wrote numbers on the blackboard, "Our production cost is twenty cents. The association will offer it to retailers at a wholesale price of twenty-five cents. They can sell it for thirty cents. We earn five cents, and they also earn five cents."
He saw a director wanting to interject and immediately added.
"I know, a five-cent profit is far less than Argyle's canned goods." Davis looked at the crowd, "So we don't 'ask' them to sell, but 'demand' them to sell."
"I call this strategy 'Bundling and Penetration'."
"More than ninety percent of grocery stores in New York, their sausages, bacon, and ham are supplied by our association members. Starting tomorrow, our salespeople will tell all store owners that any customer who wants to continue ordering our high-quality sausages and ham must provide a prominent shelf position for our 'United Delights' canned goods."
"To dispel their concerns," Davis added, "for the first month, all canned goods will be provided on consignment. They pay when they sell, and they can return unsold goods. The risk is borne by us."
Charles Barton also spoke.
"Logistically, Reeves's railway is a problem, but his railway only reaches New York's freight terminal. Goods still need horse-drawn carriage transportation to enter the city, and we have a very good relationship with the city's teamsters' union. Argyle's transport fleet may also encounter some… efficiency issues."
"Price, channels, logistics." Henderson concluded, "This is a war of attrition. Felix Argyle is one person, and we are an alliance. We can slowly bleed him until he is willing to sit down and abide by the rules we set."
A low murmur of agreement began to sound in the conference room.
This was an insidious but effective plan, using the association's decades of accumulated commercial power to attack Felix's weakest link—his newly established civilian sales network.
Two days later, at Mr. Gable's grocery store.
A Trade Association salesperson walked in, his face wreathed in smiles.
"Mr. Gable, good morning. Here are the fifty pounds of bacon you ordered. In addition, I also brought you two cases of our new product, 'United Delights' canned goods."
Mr. Gable frowned, "I didn't order this; I only sell Argyle's canned goods."
The salesperson's smile remained unchanged, "Mr. Gable, this is a small token of President Henderson's regard; he said he couldn't let an old friend miss out on a money-making opportunity. These canned goods are on consignment; you sell them first, no need to pay."
"I said, no."
The salesperson's face darkened.
"Mr. Gable, you are a smart man. You know, the supply of bacon in the city has been very tight recently. President Henderson wouldn't want to see a loyal old customer like you unable to order goods next week."
The blatant threat made Mr. Gable's face very ugly.
He knew that if he refused, some of the most important goods in his store might really run out. But his customers needed sausages and bacon.
"…Alright." He finally nodded with difficulty, "Leave the goods."
The salesperson smiled with satisfaction.
He personally moved the two cases of canned goods to a prominent position in the store.
The same scene was constantly playing out in grocery stores large and small across New York. Faced with the Trade Association's strong-arm tactics, which leveraged its supply chain advantage, most small and medium-sized store owners could only choose to yield.
That afternoon, Mr. Gable came to Felix's factory, bringing not only the canned goods but also the Trade Association's threat.
"Felix, things are not good." Mr. Gable's tone was full of anger and helplessness, "This is not a simple price war. They are using decades of business relationships to force us to take sides."
Flynn's subsequent intelligence also confirmed this.
"Boss, our people report that 'United Delights' canned goods have appeared in most grocery stores in the city. They are said to be forced; the Trade Association controls most of their supply."
Felix's expression was calm after hearing the report, as this was somewhat expected.
He walked to the blackboard in his office and erased all the production plans on it.
"Interesting, they've changed their strategy." Felix said, "No longer talking about products, but wanting to talk about channels with me."
"Do they think whoever controls the source of goods controls the shelves?"
"Very good." A cold glint flashed in Felix's eyes, "Then let me tell them who the real owner of the shelves is."
He turned to Catherine.
"Catherine, draft a 'Argyle Food Commercial Alliance' cooperation agreement."
"The core of the agreement is very simple." Felix explained, "Starting today, we will invite retailers across New York to join our alliance. Any retailer willing to sign an exclusive sales agreement with us, promising to only sell similar products under Argyle's brand, will become our 'Alliance Partner'."
"In return, we will not only provide advertising support."
"More importantly," he looked at Bill and Bank President Templeton, "we will solve all their worries."
"Bill, I need the Metropolitan Trading Company to immediately establish a new department, an independent 'Non-Meat Goods Procurement Department'. Go contact sausage workshops and ham merchants not controlled by the Trade Association, as well as other retail product factories, invest in them, and then expand production. We need to establish our own full-product supply chain."
"As for Bank President Templeton," he looked at him again, "have Argyle Bank immediately launch a 'Commercial Emergency Loan' for small and medium-sized retailers. Any partner who joins our alliance and experiences financial difficulties due to the Trade Association's suppression will be provided with a low-interest loan at an annual interest rate of only five percent by Argyle Bank."
"The Trade Association is threatening them with the supply chain." Felix's voice carried disdain, "Then we will rebuild a new supply chain for them."
"The Trade Association is intimidating them with supply cuts."
"Then we will use Argyle Bank's cash to provide them with the strongest backing."
"They want to bind retailers with decades of old relationships."
"And I will use real money and future guarantees to build a new army loyal to us."
After further thought, Felix made his final deployment, "Let our salespeople act immediately and tell all retail store owners. It's up to them to decide whether to stand on the shipwreck of the old era or board our battleship that is sailing towards the future."
Retailers in New York found themselves in a dilemma.
Salesmen from the Trade Association visited them daily, bringing cheap canned goods along with undisguised threats.
Cutting off the supply of sausages and bacon was a fatal blow for a grocery store. Under pressure, many store owners had no choice but to clear their shelves for "United Delicacies" products.
For a time, the Trade Association's strategy seemed to work.
With forced market penetration and low prices, their canned goods secured a foothold in New York's lower-tier market.
At the Trade Association headquarters, Davis, a director, excitedly reported to Chairman Henderson.
"Mr. Chairman, our penetration plan has been very successful. According to statistics, more than half of New York's grocery stores have started selling our products.
Argyle & Co. Foods's sales in the Bowery District and the dock areas have been significantly impacted."
Henderson nodded, but there wasn't much joy on his face.
"What about the store owners' reactions?"
"They're a bit unhappy," Davis shrugged, admitting nonchalantly, "but they have no choice; they need our supply, so they can only accept it.
Besides, adding low-priced canned goods doesn't have any obvious downsides for them; they'll forget about it over time."
"This isn't a solid victory, Davis." Henderson's voice carried a hint of worry, "An order built on fear can collapse at any time. What's Argyle doing?"
"Nothing," Davis replied, "His factory is operating normally and doesn't seem to be affected.
I guess he's racking his brain trying to figure out how to deal with our price war."
Henderson didn't speak, feeling a sense of unease.
He always felt that the young man wouldn't be so passive.
Before a storm, the sea is always unusually calm.
Facts proved his feeling was correct.
The next morning, Catherine arrived at Mr. Gable's grocery store.
"Good morning, Mr. Gable," Catherine said.
"Oh, Catherine." Mr. Gable's expression was complex, "I'm very sorry, the Association people were pushing too hard, and I also…"
"I understand, sir." Catherine smiled with understanding, "I'm here today on behalf of Argyle to bring a brand new option to you and all loyal friends like you."
She placed a document on Mr. Gable's counter.
The cover of the document bore a new name: "Argyle Commercial Alliance."
"Alliance? What is this?" Mr. Gable asked, puzzled.
"This is an invitation, Mr. Gable," Catherine explained softly, "Mr. Argyle has decided to upgrade the company's relationship with retailers from a simple buy-sell to a true alliance."
"Any retailer willing to sign an exclusive sales agreement with us, promising to only sell Argyle' products in the same category, will become our 'Alliance Partner.'"
"In return," Catherine continued, "the company will not only provide advertising support to Alliance Partners."
"More importantly, we will solve all their worries."
She pushed the second part of the document in front of Mr. Gable.
"For example, supply chain assurance.
Mr. Argyle has authorized Bill to form an independent non-meat commodity procurement department.
The company will bypass the Trade Association and directly procure high-quality sausages, hams, and other goods for everyone from independent farms and workshops in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.
We will establish a brand new supply chain, exclusively for the Argyle Alliance."
"Second is financial support. Argyle Empire Bank will prepare a 'Business Emergency Loan' for all Alliance Partners.
Any partner facing financial difficulties due to the Trade Association's suppression can obtain a low-interest loan from Argyle Bank with an annual interest rate of only five percent."
Mr. Gable looked at the agreement, and his hands began to tremble slightly.
This was no longer a simple business contract; it was a complete war mobilization order and logistical support plan.
It seemed that Argyle not only wanted to counterattack but also wanted to lead all those willing to follow him to rebuild a new business order.
"Catherine…" Mr. Gable's voice was a bit agitated, "Please tell Argyle that I'm the first to join."
In the following days, members of the Argyle & Co. Foods sales department quickly took action.
They walked into every grocery store in New York with the "Alliance Agreement."
The choices made by the retail store owners were much faster than Argyle had imagined.
The Trade Association's success was built on fear.
Argyle Company's invitation, however, was built on tangible benefits and future security.
One demanded your submission.
The other wanted to achieve mutual success with you.
This choice was not difficult to make.
A week later, the atmosphere in the Trade Association's headquarters meeting room was extremely heavy.
"You useless!"
Chairman Henderson slammed a sales report onto Davis's face.
"Is this your plan? More than half of the retailers have signed exclusive agreements with Argyle!
Our canned goods are now piled up in the warehouse, completely unsellable!"
"I… I didn't expect him to do this…" Davis's voice was filled with panic, "He actually went and built a new supply chain himself!
And he's using his own bank to provide loans! Is he crazy? How much money will that burn through!"
"He's not crazy, he's after our lives." Charles Barton's face was also grim, "Bill, that traitor, has already teamed up with over a dozen independent slaughterhouses in the city to form a 'Free Trade Guild.' They're undermining us."
The directors of the Trade Association felt genuine fear for the first time.
They found that their proud sales channels, easily established over decades, were so vulnerable in the face of Argyle's cost-no-object capital and planning.
"We can't wait any longer." Henderson's eyes revealed a final madness, "He wants to completely crush the Association; we can't let him succeed."
He looked at Barton, "Charles, it's time to use our last resort."
"Tell the coachmen's union people." Henderson's voice was like a serpent's hiss, "Starting tomorrow, cause some trouble for all the transport carriages coming out of Argyle's factory.
I don't want to see his goods delivered intact to any retail store."
That night, Flynn delivered this intelligence to Argyle's home.
"Boss, they're preparing to use violence."
"I expected it." Argyle's expression didn't change much, "It's such an old trick.
When weapons fail, they start flailing their fists like thugs."
He looked at Catherine, "Catherine, how did that acquisition of the transport company I asked you to do go?"
Catherine nodded. "It's done. The city's third-largest carriage transport company was on the verge of bankruptcy due to poor management.
Patriot Investment Company has completed a full acquisition of it.
Their horses and vehicles are now parked in our new warehouse."
"Very good." Argyle stood up.
"Send out the notice: starting tomorrow, the company will establish a new transport department.
All intra-city transportation will be handled by our own fleet."
He then looked at Miller, who had rushed over from a nearby security room.
"Miller, select the most elite personnel from your security team.
Starting tomorrow, every transport carriage of the company will be equipped with two armed guards carrying guns.
All vehicles must depart and return in a unified convoy."
Argyle's lips curved into a cold smile.
"They want to cause trouble? Excellent."
"Then I'll turn the transport fleet into an armed caravan.
I'd like to see if they dare to instigate an armed conflict then."
----
It was still dim.
In an alley in the Bowery District, a dozen thugs from the Teamsters Union were warming themselves around a bonfire. Their task was to teach Argyle Company's ignorant transport fleet a lesson.
"They're here," a lookout whispered.
In the distance, a convoy of ten heavy carriages slowly emerged from the factory area along the East River. The transport team did not operate independently like usual freight wagons but maintained a strict formation, like a small army.
What made the thugs even more uneasy was the twenty men in uniform at the front, back, and sides of the convoy. They all wore Colt revolvers at their waists and carried loaded Winchester rifles. Their eyes were vigilant, constantly scanning the rooftops and alley entrances on both sides of the street.
A young thug's voice was a bit dry, "They actually brought guns."
The leader spat, "I see them."
"So, are we still going to make a move?"
The leader looked at the disciplined and imposing armed transport team, then thought about the few laughable knives and clubs in his own hands.
"Make a move?" He gave his subordinate a speechless look. "Fight a group of armed men for Chairman Henderson's paltry pay? I'm not that stupid."
He stood up, threw the wooden stick in his hand into the bonfire, and told his men, "Let's go. Go back and tell the union we can't take this job. Let Chairman Henderson send his own men to die."
The Trade Association's last weapon, before Felix's overwhelming armed force, was rendered ineffective without a single shot fired.
That afternoon, in the Trade Association headquarters' meeting room.
"It failed," Charles Barton's voice was filled with weariness. "The Teamsters Union refused to act. They said Argyle's convoy was even more heavily guarded than an army escort."
Another director brought even worse news: "More than ninety percent of our canned goods have been returned by retailers. The warehouse is full of unsold inventory. The factory in New Jersey completely ceased production this morning."
"Bill, that traitor," another person added, "His 'Free Butchers' Guild' has already signed agreements with most of the independent slaughterhouses in the city. Argyle Bank is providing them with loans. Our members are leaving."
The price war failed, the channels were locked down, the supply chain was poached, and the final threat of violence became a joke.
All means were exhausted, the path blocked.
Association Chairman Arthur Henderson, an old man who had lorded over the New York meat market for half his life, now sat slumped in his chair like a stone sculpture that had lost all its strength.
He needed a scapegoat.
Someone to bear all responsibility for this disastrous failure.
His gaze slowly fell upon the young man who had spearheaded this plan from beginning to end.
"Davis," Henderson's voice rang out, cold and emotionless.
Director Davis's body trembled violently. "Yes... yes, Mr. Chairman."
"This was your plan," Henderson said. "You promised all of us victory."
"And now," he pointed to the stack of reports on the table, representing failure and losses, "you have brought us shame."
"No... Mr. Chairman, I..." Davis tried to argue, "I didn't anticipate he would..."
"Excuses," Henderson interrupted him. "You are just a fool blinded by victory, underestimating your opponent. Your arrogance has cost the entire association dearly."
He looked around, at all the directors present.
"I propose," he said word by word, "that Mr. Davis be relieved of all his duties on the board of directors. Furthermore, his family business shall bear the full losses of the New Jersey factory project."
The meeting room was silent.
No one spoke a word for Davis.
Those directors who had once supported him now avoided his gaze as if he were a plague.
They needed someone to quell this storm, and someone to bear their losses.
"I... I object!" Davis stood up excitedly.
"Objection overruled," Henderson's voice fell heavily. "The vote passes."
Davis, pale as death, was "escorted" out of the meeting room by two security guards. A former business star was thus ruthlessly abandoned by the old order he belonged to, in the most humiliating way.
The next day, in Felix's office at Argyle Bank, Catherine placed an invitation on his desk.
"Felix, Arthur Henderson requests a meeting with you."
"He finally came," Felix smiled.
In a private reception room at Argyle Bank, Felix met the association chairman, who looked ten years older than he had a week ago.
"Mr. Argyle," Henderson's tone was filled with bitterness, "You won."
"I was just defending my business, Mr. Henderson," Felix replied.
"We hope to end this... meaningless conflict," Henderson said. "The association is willing to accept any of your terms."
"My terms are simple," Felix looked at him and stated the conditions he had long prepared.
"First, the Trade Association must publish a public apology in The New York Times. It must apologize to all citizens and retailers for the 'malicious competition' and 'destabilizing factors' it has caused in the market recently."
"Second, I want that factory of yours in New Jersey. The price will be calculated based on the value of the land and building materials. As for the machinery inside, consider it compensation for the incident."
"Third," Felix continued, "the Trade Association must sign a long-term, fair supply agreement with Mr. Bill's 'Free Butchers' Guild.' I want to see a healthy market where all butchers can earn a living based on their abilities."
Henderson's body trembled slightly, but he knew he had no room for negotiation.
"...We accept," he squeezed out these words with difficulty from his throat.
After Henderson left, looking utterly dejected, Catherine spoke.
"It's over, Felix."
"You not only won, but you completely changed the rules of this industry."
"I didn't change the rules, Catherine." Felix walked to the window, looking at the vast factory area in the distance that belonged to him.
"I merely replaced a decaying old order with a more efficient new one."
He looked at the map of New York, almost entirely covered by his business alliance.
"The dining tables of this city now belong to us."
Felix's gaze extended further, towards the vast lands not yet touched by his commercial empire.
The Davis Family mansion.
Davis's father slammed a bank's overdue notice onto the table in front of his son.
"The Trade Association's board has passed its final resolution." The old man's voice held no anger, only a profound disappointment.
"Our family must bear the full $20,000 loss from the New Jersey factory, and the bank loan is also due. Our credit is almost ruined."
"It was Henderson!" Davis's voice was hoarse, his eyes bloodshot. "That old man betrayed me! He pushed all the responsibility onto me!"
"You were too arrogant, and too foolish," his father said. "You've lost not just money, but the reputation the Davis Family has built over generations. Starting tomorrow, you are no longer my heir. I will sell off our remaining assets and take your mother, brother, and sister to Europe."
After speaking, the old man turned and left the study, unwilling to converse further with his eldest son.
Davis sat alone in the empty room. He had lost his board seat, his family inheritance, everything. Only two names remained in his mind.
Arthur Henderson, the hypocrite who used him as a scapegoat and cast him aside.
And Felix Argyle, the Irish bastard who destroyed everything he had.
The rationality in his mind completely collapsed amidst the immense failure and humiliation. He didn't think about how to rise again; only one thought remained.
Revenge.
The next day, in one of the dirtiest speakeasies in Five Points.
Davis, dressed in old servant's clothes, pushed a heavy money bag across the table to a man.
The man was thin, with hollow eyes and a long scar across his cheek. He was a notorious gunman in the area, willing to take any job for money.
"I need two people to disappear." Davis pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket, on which was written: Arthur Henderson, Felix Argyle.
The gunman glanced at the two names and immediately knew who they were, then weighed the money bag.
"They are important figures," the gunman's voice was like rubbing sandpaper. "The price is very high."
"Here's five thousand dollars, and another five thousand after the job is done."
"Of course." The gunman took the money, then said casually, "Wait for my news."
...Friday afternoon, Trade Association headquarters.
Felix, accompanied by Catherine and Miller, arrived to sign the final documents for the acquisition of the New Jersey factory. Chairman Henderson personally received them, his face showing a forced humility.
The meeting was brief.
Felix had no interest in wasting words on losers, and all documents were signed within half an hour.
"It's been a pleasure doing business, Mr. Henderson." Felix stood up, preparing to leave.
"I'll see you out, Mr. Argyle." Henderson's reply was lifeless.
The two walked out of the association headquarters' main entrance in silence, one after the other. The afternoon sun was somewhat dazzling. Felix walked towards another car parked not far away, while Henderson was about to return after seeing him to the door.
Just then, Felix's steps suddenly stopped.
An indescribable chill rose from his spine. This was not a premonition, but an instinctive intuition.
Felix subconsciously looked up, scanning the second floor of the street opposite.
He saw an open window. Behind the curtain, there seemed to be a tiny metallic glint.
Miller also sensed something was wrong; his instinct, honed from years of survival on the battlefield, made his body instantly tense. His hand was already quietly resting on the holster at his waist.
"Watch out!" Felix roared, with no time to think, he rolled sharply to the side, taking cover behind the thick stone pillar next to the main entrance.
"Bang!"
A loud gunshot shattered the afternoon tranquility of Wall Street.
The bullet shrieked, striking heavily against the stone pillar behind him, sending chips of stone flying.
Immediately after, came a second gunshot.
"Ugh..."
A muffled groan sounded.
Felix peered out from behind the stone pillar. He saw Henderson lying on the ground, struggling to get up. On his chest, a red blood flower was rapidly blooming on his white shirt.
Henderson looked down, disbelievingly at his chest. Then his body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground, no longer moving.
Pedestrians on the street let out terrified screams, horses were startled, whinnying and bolting. The entire street instantly plunged into chaos.
Miller had already drawn his Colt revolver. Without hesitation, he fired three shots at the open window on the second floor opposite.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The window glass shattered. A dark figure flashed behind the curtain, then disappeared.
"Boss, get inside!" Miller pulled Felix up, dragging him back inside the association building's door. Several other security personnel waiting by the carriage immediately drew their guns, forming a human wall to guard the entrance.
Minutes later, the police whistles finally arrived.
That evening, Felix's mansion on Fifth Avenue was heavily guarded. All of Miller's security personnel were on duty, defending the entire villa like a military fortress.
The firelight from the indoor fireplace reflected off Felix's cold face.
Flynn stood before him, reporting the latest situation.
"Boss, Henderson died on the spot. The bullet pierced his heart."
"The police sealed off the scene. They found a Springfield rifle in the vacant office across the street. The gunman escaped through the back window, and the trail went cold."
"However," Flynn paused, "Our people have a new discovery."
"Speak."
"Davis is missing," Flynn said. "He was last seen at an underground casino in Five Points an hour before the shooting. Since then, no one has seen him."
"It's him." Felix's tone was calm, but Catherine could feel that beneath this calm was a volcanic fury about to erupt.
Business competition had turned into assassination.
The rules of the game had been changed.
"Catherine," Felix said.
"Send condolences to Henderson's family on behalf of the company, and tell them I am deeply regretful about this matter."
"Yes."
He then looked at Flynn and Miller.
"Flynn, use all your 'little rats'. I want to know where Davis is hiding."
"Miller, I want that gunman. Alive."
Felix stood up and walked to the fireplace, watching the flickering flames within.
"I originally just wanted to play a decent business game."
His voice was very soft, yet it sent a chill down the spines of everyone present.
"But he chose a wilder way to play."
"Then let him see."
"What happens when a lion is provoked."