Henderson's death was like a giant rock crashing into New York's seemingly calm pond.
The day after the news broke, the atmosphere at the United Alliance Club was oppressive and tense. The usually arrogant directors and board members now had a hint of unconcealed fear on their faces.
"An assassination," Charles Barton, the representative of the Eastern Railroad Alliance, spoke, his voice a little hoarse, "Right at the entrance of the Trade Association's headquarters, in broad daylight."
"What do the police say?" another director from the Meat Trade Association asked.
"They can't say anything," Barton replied, "They found the room where the shooter fired, but it was empty. This was a professional operation."
"Was it Argyle?" someone raised the question on everyone's mind.
Barton shook his head. "No, it doesn't seem like him," he analyzed, "He has already won. Henderson's death brings him no benefit, it only complicates things. He has no motive."
"Then who was it?"
"Davis," Barton spoke the name, "Ever since he was expelled from the board, he completely disappeared. His family said he took a large sum of cash. I suspect that mad fool did this stupid thing."
"He not only wanted to kill Henderson," Barton's gaze swept over everyone present, "He also wanted to kill Argyle; the bullet hit the stone pillar Argyle was hiding behind. If that young man hadn't reacted quickly, two people would have died yesterday."
This deduction sent a chill through everyone in the room.
Davis was the scapegoat they had jointly pushed out. And now, this lamb had turned into a rabid dog that bites.
"We must distance ourselves from him," a director immediately said, "Davis's actions are his personal madness and have nothing to do with the Trade Association, or any of us here."
"Of course," Barton nodded, "Mr. Sloan also means the same; we have no connection with Davis."
They feared not only the police investigation but also how Felix Argyle, who had narrowly survived, would respond to this assassination... In the mansion on Fifth Avenue.
Felix sat by the fireplace in the study, and Catherine draped a blanket over him.
"Felix, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart," Felix replied faintly, his brows lowered.
The office door opened, and Miller and Flynn walked in. Catherine nodded to them, then quietly withdrew and closed the door. She knew the upcoming conversation was not for her to hear.
"Boss," Flynn spoke first, handing over a report. "Timmy and his men have news."
"Speak."
"Two days before the shooting, Davis met with a gunman named 'Ghost' Silas in Five Points. Silas is a well-known killer in the city, willing to do anything for money. Someone saw Davis give him a heavy money bag."
"What about Davis himself?"
"His last appearance was at a small hotel in the dock district. He seemed to want to leave New York by boat."
"He won't get away," Miller said in a deep voice, "I've already sent people to notify our friends in Philadelphia and Boston. All our informants at the ports have his portrait. As soon as he shows his face, we'll know."
Felix nodded and looked at Flynn.
"Find that Silas."
"Use all your connections and put out a bounty on the Five Points black market."
"A thousand dollars for his location."
"Don't alert the police," Felix's tone turned cold, "I want him alive."
"Yes, Boss," Flynn replied.
Felix then looked at Miller.
"Miller, find Davis."
"He thinks he can escape; he's wrong. Find everyone connected to him, find him."
"Understood."
After Flynn and Miller left, silence returned to the study.
Felix stood up, walked to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
Looking at the amber liquid in the glass, he felt the approach of death for the first time in this era.
He had always thought this was a game that could be played with wisdom and capital.
But now, the opponent had overturned the chessboard... In Five Points, at one of the dirtiest underground taverns.
Timmy, wearing his most inconspicuous shoeshine boy's clothes, sat in a corner. He 'accidentally' spilled a glass of cheap beer on a boasting dockworker.
"Hey! You damn kid!" the dockworker roared angrily.
Timmy apologized frantically while wiping him with a rag. The moment their bodies touched, he quickly spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"A thousand dollars for 'Ghost' Silas's location."
He slipped a small piece of paper with contact information into the worker's pocket.
The dockworker paused, looking at the scrawny shoeshine boy before him, a glint of greed flashing in his eyes.
Even all the Irish gangs in New York received news of the bounty.
Felix's intelligence machine began to operate in the city's underworld in a way far more efficient than the police.
Two days later, late at night.
The top floor of an abandoned apartment building in the dock district.
Silas was counting the payment he had received from Davis. Although he didn't get the final payment for not killing one person, he was still very satisfied with the deal.
As for Argyle, who didn't die, he couldn't go after him now. Silas just wanted to hide in the West for a while.
Two days had passed without incident, and he thought he was safe.
But who knew that just as he was imagining how he would gallop across the West, Miller, taking advantage of the deserted night, had already begun to surround the place with his men.
With a mighty kick, the room door was violently forced open.
Miller, with his six most elite security guards, rushed in like phantoms.
Silas, upon hearing the noise, instinctively reached for the pistol under his pillow.
But Miller was faster.
The butt of his gun, whistling through the air, smashed heavily into Silas's head.
Mr. Gunman didn't even let out a grunt before he slumped to the ground unconscious.
Miller looked at the man on the ground, who had almost ended his Boss's life, his eyes filled with cold killing intent. If the Boss hadn't said he wanted him alive, he would have made this man taste his methods.
He whispered to a subordinate behind him.
"Get a sack."
---
The basement of Umbrella Corporation.
The walls here were reinforced with concrete, and a heavy iron door was installed.
The room was empty, with only a kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling, a table, and a sturdy wooden chair chained to the floor.
There were no windows here, so no sound could escape.
Silas woke up.
His head ached, his vision was dim, and he found himself firmly bound to the chair.
"Awake?" a calm voice came from the shadows.
Felix emerged from the darkness, the light of the kerosene lamp illuminating his expressionless face. Miller stood behind him, like a silent stone statue.
"Who are you?" Silas asked, his voice hoarse from thirst.
"Ha... What a ridiculous question, Mr. Gunman. You tried to end me with a bullet just two days ago, and now you ask who I am," Felix said. "I think you might not know me deeply enough."
Silas's pupils instantly contracted, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Miller took two steps forward, saying nothing, but simply picked up a pair of iron pliers from the nearby table.
Felix sat in the chair opposite Silas, took a puff of his cigar, and said, "I'm not a policeman, Silas. There's no trial here, only questions and answers. I ask, you answer. It's very simple."
"I need a name, Davis. Where is he?"
Silas spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, "Fuck, go find him in hell."
Seeing this, Miller grabbed Silas's left pinky finger, clamped the iron pliers onto the first joint of the fingertip, and began to apply pressure.
"Crack!"
The sound of bone breaking was exceptionally clear in the silent basement.
"Ah—!"
Silas let out a scream that was not human.
Felix, however, acted as if he heard nothing, resting his left hand on his chin.
"My friend used to be a soldier. On the battlefield, he learned many techniques for interrogating prisoners of war."
"I'll ask again, where is Davis?"
Seeing Miller pick up a rusty nail and place it on the back of his hand, about to hammer it down.
"Stop... Damn it, I'll talk! I'll talk! Stop it!" Silas completely broke down. "In Baltimore! He has a cousin there, and he wants to take a ship from there to Liverpool!"
"Address," Miller asked coldly.
Silas immediately gave an address.
"Very good." Felix stood up. "Thank you for your cooperation."
He turned to Miller, "You heard him, Baltimore."
"Rest assured, Boss, I will personally lead the team," Miller said. "Tonight's train, I'll bring him back in three days at most."
"Very good." Felix nodded. "He still needs to be alive. I really want to talk to him personally."
He glanced again at the gunman, who was slumped in the chair like a pile of mud.
"What about him?" Miller asked.
Felix turned and walked towards the door.
"Lock him up for a few days first."
"When Davis arrives, I want to see a good show." His voice, full of killing intent, came from the doorway... The next morning, in Felix's office.
Catherine, Miller, Flynn, Jones, Hayes, and Bank President Templeton were all present.
"Unfortunately, everyone," Felix began, "the previous assassination changed some of my ideas. I originally wanted to engage in healthy business competition, but things often don't go as one expects, so to protect myself, and to protect all of you, I've decided to make a change!"
Then he looked at Miller, "Miller, Sparta and the Security Department are not enough to deal with future threats. I've decided to reorganize them into a brand new company."
"I will name it Militech."
"Catherine," he turned to Catherine, "immediately transfer three hundred thousand dollars from Patriot Investment Company's account as the start-up capital for Militech."
Everyone present was shocked. Three hundred thousand dollars, this sum was enough to buy a small railway company.
"Militech will be managed by Miller," Felix continued to announce, "and will only be accountable to me."
"The company will have four departments." He walked to the blackboard and drew the new organizational chart.
"First, the Security Department, personally managed by Miller. It will be responsible for the daily security of all my companies, factories, and residences. Personnel will be doubled, and everyone must be experienced veterans."
"Second, the Manufacturing Department." Felix looked at Jones. "Jones, how is Frank Cole, the management trainee you recommended?"
"Reporting, Boss," Jones replied, "He is excellent, has a talent for machinery, and is very disciplined."
"Very good." Felix nodded. "Frank Cole will serve as the first head of the Manufacturing Department, with a salary of fifteen dollars per week."
"As for what the Manufacturing Department will specifically manufacture..." Felix looked at Flynn.
Flynn, who had been instructed by Felix in advance, immediately stepped forward and reported: "Boss, the Intelligence Department has discovered a small factory in Connecticut called 'Whitneyville Armory.' Its owner passed away last month, and the heir wants to sell it. The factory has mature equipment and skilled workers, but it lacks capital and orders."
"Miller," Felix ordered, "After you complete your mission, take the bank's lawyer and cash, and go buy this armory. I need the ability to produce weapons."
This decision made Bank President Templeton's heart palpitate; the Boss not only wanted to establish a private armed force, but he also wanted to establish his own armory.
"The last two departments." Felix's voice lowered. "The Action Department and the Intelligence Department."
"These two departments will be affiliated with Militech but will not appear in any public documents."
He looked at Miller. "The Action Department will be secretly commanded by you. Its mission is to handle the 'dirty work' that the Security Department cannot handle. The capture of Silas was its first operation."
He then looked at Flynn.
"The Intelligence Department will be entirely your responsibility, still reporting only to me, with an unlimited budget just like the Action Department. I need your intelligence network to cover the entire East Coast. I need to know where every enemy eats every day, who they meet, and what they say."
A beast that would integrate security, intelligence, armed action, and arms manufacturing was beginning to be born from Felix's words.
This would be a sharp sword, hidden in the shadows of Felix's business empire.
"Mr. Templeton," Felix finally looked at the old banker, "All financial transactions of Militech will be conducted through a separate account at Argyle Bank. I need you to guarantee its absolute privacy."
"I understand, Boss," Templeton replied with some hesitation, but by now he had already boarded this warship from which there was no turning back.
Besides, the Boss is just protecting himself, so it should be fine, right?
"Alright," Felix concluded, "Miller, you go to Baltimore to apprehend the person first. Flynn, expand your intelligence network. Catherine and Jones, you must ensure the normal operation of the food and pharmaceutical companies."
Davis, trembling all over, was roughly thrown onto the cold concrete floor by two members of the Action Department, his face filled with terror.
When he looked up and saw Argyle sitting in the chair, and Miller standing behind him, he completely broke down.
"Mr. Argyle…" Davis's weeping voice was barely a whisper, "Please… let me go. I was wrong… I was momentarily confused, possessed by the devil… I'm willing to compensate, I'll give you everything my family has left!"
Argyle didn't speak, watching this once high-spirited board member, who now looked like a dog begging for scraps.
Davis continued to plead, "It was Henderson! That old man made me a scapegoat! I hate him! He's the one who made me lose everything! I just… I just wanted revenge!"
Argyle listened until Davis's wails turned into intermittent sobs.
"You lost everything?" Argyle finally spoke, his voice so cold it lacked any warmth, "When I first came to New York, I lived in an attic in Five Points, with only seventy-five dollars to my name. That's closer to losing everything."
"And you," Argyle stood up and walked over to him, "You were born into a wealthy New York family, received the best education, and had the best resources. You haven't lost everything, Davis. You just lost a hand you thought you'd easily win."
"Also, you talk to me about your family," Argyle continued, "But when you pulled the trigger, did you think about Henderson's family? Did you think about Miss Catherine, who stands by my side? If that shot had hit me, what would have happened to her?"
"You broke the rules of this circle," Argyle's voice was like a judge's verdict, "You shouldn't have brought bullets into a business competition, and most importantly, you wanted to send those bullets to me."
"Now, the game is over."
Argyle pointed two fingers into the air towards Miller, who was behind him.
Miller immediately understood, stepped forward, dragged in another person whose head was covered with a sack, and threw him next to Davis.
He pulled off the sack, revealing the equally terrified face of "Ghost" Silas.
"Boss, everyone's here," Miller said.
Argyle looked at the two men, one who paid and one who acted, with an expression of someone watching a good show.
"I heard that in the Roman Colosseum, sometimes two death row prisoners are given a chance to survive."
He pulled a dagger from Miller's waist.
With a clang, he threw it on the ground between the two men.
"Now you two," Argyle said, "Only one person can walk out of this basement alive."
"And the one who survives," he added, "will receive a sum of money and a ticket to California, to start a new life."
Davis and Silas were stunned by these words; they had thought they were surely dead and hadn't expected the other party to choose to release one of them.
Although they didn't know if it was true, with a hard-won chance to live, neither of them would give up.
Then they looked at the gleaming dagger on the ground, and then at each other. In their eyes, a beast-like madness began to emerge.
"Of course," a cruel smile appeared on Argyle's lips, "You can also choose not to act. In that case, my men will help both of you with your affairs."
"Miller," Argyle turned around and walked towards the door, "Give them ten minutes."
"Yes, Boss."
Argyle and Miller walked out of the heavy iron door.
The door slowly closed behind them, isolating all light and humanity outside.
A few minutes later, a muffled struggle and a short, piercing scream came from the basement.
Then, everything returned to silence.
After a few more minutes, the iron door was knocked from the inside.
Miller opened the door.
Davis stood at the doorway, covered in blood, tightly clutching the dagger in his hand. His face was a mixture of fear, madness, and a hint of relief at having survived a catastrophe.
Clearly, Silas, who hadn't eaten or drunk well for several days and had been tortured, was no match for the relatively healthy Davis.
"I… I won…" he said, trembling.
"Very good." Miller's face was expressionless as he stepped aside, "Congratulations, Mr. Davis, you are free."
Upon hearing this, Davis tremblingly threw away the dagger and scrambled out of the basement, rushing towards the night outside, which symbolized freedom.
As he got closer, a smile appeared on his face.
But he quickly realized something was wrong.
Flynn, standing at the end of the corridor, and two members of his Intelligence Department were already waiting there.
Seeing that the person had arrived, Flynn raised the revolver in his hand.
"Bang."
Davis's body stiffened abruptly, and a bloody hole appeared in his chest. He turned his head in disbelief, looking at the man who had promised him "a new life."
Then, his body softly collapsed.
Letting him go?
That was out of the question; Argyle would absolutely not allow anyone who had participated in his assassination to remain alive in this world.
Flynn walked forward, emptied his ammunition into the corpse, then squatted down to examine it before standing up.
"Boss," he walked up to Argyle and reported respectfully, "He has been taken by Satan."
Argyle nodded, not even glancing at the corpse on the ground, but simply put his arms around the shoulders of his two capable subordinates, patting them, and a gentle voice sounded.
"Well done. Make sure to clean up everything afterwards. Oh, by the way, now that things have settled down, bring your families to New York to enjoy life. It's not right to only have yourselves living well in the big city, is it?"
Both Miller understood what this meant, but they did not object, after all, what the Boss said was true, and as long as they had no other intentions, then this was a perfect choice.
Miller rarely showed a smile, "Boss is right, honestly, it's been a long time since I've seen my family, I can finally meet them."
Flynn also agreed, after all, they really hadn't seen their parents and family for several years.
Seeing that neither of them resisted, Argyle breathed a sigh of relief, then instructed again.
"Miller, remember to make a trip to Whitneyville, Connecticut. The acquisition of the Whitneyville Armory can officially begin."
"Militech needs to start producing our own 'rules' as soon as possible."
Argyle walked out of the blood-stained building and re-entered the New York night.
From tonight onwards, his bottom line, which was called civilization in this era, had significantly lowered.
The death of Henderson and the disappearance of Davis caused a small stir in New York's business circles.
Newspapers published various speculations, and the police investigation yielded no results. At the center of the storm, the Argyle & Co. Foods factory continued to operate.
In Felix's office, Catherine placed a financial document on the table.
"Felix, these are the Militech's registration documents and the authorization letter for the bank account. Three hundred thousand dollars has already been transferred from the Patriot Investment Company's account."
Felix picked up a pen and signed his name on the document.
Catherine looked at him and asked, "Felix, three hundred thousand dollars entirely invested in a… company that doesn't generate profit. President Templeton thinks the risk is too high."
"Safety isn't a commodity, Catherine. It has no price." Felix put down his pen and looked at her, "This is an insurance. I'm buying all our lives, and the guarantee of all our future profits."
Catherine didn't say anything more. She walked behind Felix and placed her hand on his shoulder.
The office door was knocked, and Miller walked in. He was wearing a dark, travel-friendly jacket and carrying a leather travel bag.
"Boss, I'm ready to leave."
Felix stood up and walked over to him. "Catherine gave you the train ticket to Connecticut and the contact information for the Argyle Bank's lawyer, right?"
"Yes, Boss, it's all here." Miller patted his inner pocket.
"Remember your mission is to buy that armory. I want the Militech to be able to produce our first rifle before the end of winter."
"Understood." Miller nodded, "Boss, during my time away from New York, I've entrusted security to James. He's my most trusted subordinate. Also, the alert level for the mansion and the factory will be raised to maximum."
"You go do your work, Miller. I'll handle things here." Felix said.
Miller said no more. He gave Felix a military salute, then turned and left the office. An hour later, he would board the northbound train to forge the sharpest weapons for Felix's empire.
After Miller left, Felix looked at Catherine. "Tell Flynn and Timmy to come see me."
Half an hour later, Flynn brought Timmy to the office. Timmy had changed into clean, well-fitting clothes, no longer the street shoeboy.
He stood behind Flynn, his eyes filled with both curiosity and nervousness.
This was the Intelligence Department's first official meeting.
"Boss." Flynn began.
Felix pointed to the city map on the table, "Flynn, I need you and Timmy to build a network for me. A network covering the entire New York underworld."
"We don't have enough manpower, Boss." Flynn directly stated the difficulty.
"That's why I gave you money, and I gave you people. Timmy is your best helper."
He looked at Timmy. "Timmy, you grew up on the streets, you know those newsboys, shoeblacks, and dock laborers. They are the most inconspicuous eyes and ears of this city. Now, I want you to organize them all."
Timmy's heart began to pound.
"Go tell them." Felix continued, "You need information, any valuable information can be exchanged for money. The whereabouts of a gang leader are worth ten dollars, the secret lover of a Chamber of Commerce director is worth twenty dollars. A police patrol schedule is worth five dollars."
"Flynn." Felix's gaze turned to the head of intelligence, "Your task is to teach Timmy how to distinguish the authenticity of information, how to protect his informants, and how to piece together those scattered intelligence reports into a complete map. I need you to have intelligence department eyes spread throughout New York within three months."
"Yes, Boss."
"Now then, your first mission." Felix's finger tapped a region on the map, "The Davis Family. Although Davis is gone, their family remains, and I hear they are selling off assets and preparing to leave New York."
"I want to know what they have left." Felix's tone was calm, "Stocks, real estate, shops. Get me a complete list. I want to know who they are in contact with, and to whom they plan to sell these things."
"Boss, are you trying to…" Timmy couldn't help but speak, but he quickly remembered Flynn's teaching and swallowed the rest of his sentence.
Felix smiled, "Your job is to provide information, Timmy. As for what I'll do with that information, you'll know when the time comes."
"Go." Felix waved his hand, "Remember, you are my eyes, and I need to see more clearly."
Flynn led Timmy out of the office. Walking along the factory area, Timmy's mood still couldn't calm down.
"Mr. Flynn." Timmy asked, "Boss… does he really believe I can do it?"
Flynn glanced at him, "Boss doesn't believe in you, he believes in your value. Prove your value and you can stay. If you can't prove it, Boss will give you an easy job to muddle through, it's up to you."
Timmy nodded heavily; he certainly didn't want to muddle through.
That evening, President Templeton arrived at Felix's mansion. He brought news.
"Boss." President Templeton sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, "The Trade Association held an emergency meeting this afternoon. They have officially terminated all business collaborations with the Davis Family. Furthermore, they have begun formally liquidating all of Davis's losses on the New Jersey factory project."
"As expected." Felix poured him a brandy.
"To repay their debts, the Davis Family has started selling off shares they hold in several companies on the market. This includes an eight percent stake in the New York City Gas Company." Templeton continued.
"Oh?" Felix became interested, "City Gas Company?"
"Yes." Templeton said, "This is a very high-quality company. It holds the exclusive franchise for gas lighting throughout Manhattan, and its profits are very stable. Although the Davis Family's stake isn't large, it's enough to secure a seat on the board for the holder."
"Mr. Hayes believes this is an excellent investment opportunity." Templeton said, "He suggested that Patriot Investment Company step forward and acquire this stake."
Felix looked at the flickering flames in the fireplace and began to think.
After a long time, he finally spoke, "We can buy it, but don't use the name of Patriot Investment Company. Have Argyle Empire Bank buy it. I want everyone to know that Argyle Empire Bank is optimistic about New York's future."
Templeton understood Felix's meaning. This was not just an investment; it was a statement. A statement to the entire New York business community, announcing the Argyle Bank's formal entry into mainstream capital circles.
"I understand."
Late at night, Catherine walked into the study. Felix was still standing by the window, watching the falling snow outside.
"What are you thinking about?" She gently hugged him from behind.
"I'm thinking that reality always differs from ideals. Is real business warfare always this simple and direct?"
After Felix finished speaking, he picked up Catherine and entered the room.