With Felix's order, a counterattack against Morgan began.
Flynn and Frost, each with their respective missions, left the room swiftly like two drawn blades, leaving Felix alone with the flickering flames in the fireplace.
Felix sat there quietly, closing his eyes, replaying Morgan's entire scheme and his own countermeasures in his mind.
Morgan's plan was insidious and precise, almost perfectly calculating all the greed, fear, and anger in human nature.
But in all his calculations, he missed two things.
First, he didn't account for two low-level Irish policemen, out of the most sincere gratitude, destroying that crucial 'will' evidence.
Second, he certainly didn't expect that in such a short time, he would dig out the fatal clue connecting him to the assassination, the coachman, from an inconspicuous customs clerk.
Now, the initiative had quietly changed hands.
Morgan thought he was still the hunter hidden behind the scenes, but he didn't know that he had become the prey in Felix's sights...
That afternoon, in the basement of an inconspicuous building on Wall Street.
John Crane's chief secretary, Benson, was huddled in a corner, terrified.
His usually immaculately groomed suit was now stained, and there was even a bruise on his face.
Flynn's intelligence department's ghost sat on a worn wooden chair opposite him, slowly wiping a strangely shaped crowbar with a white cloth.
He didn't speak, but the cold air and pungent smell of blood in the room were enough to break anyone's will.
"I... I really don't know anything."
Benson's voice was tearful, and his body trembled like a leaf in the autumn wind.
"Mr. Crane... he just asked me to deliver a letter to the Argyle Bank... I really don't know what he was going to discuss..."
"Is that so?"
"Then why did you secretly send a letter to another bank, Duncan Sherman Bank, before Mr. Crane left?"
Benson's pupils suddenly contracted, and the color drained from his face instantly.
"How... how did you know..."
"Our people have been watching Crane's office," the ghost said calmly, as if stating the weather.
"From the moment those newspapers appeared. We saw all your movements, Mr. Benson. Including you going to that small pub near Gramercy Park last night to meet someone you shouldn't have met."
"No... no... that was just..."
"You betrayed him."
The ghost interrupted him, stating a fact.
"Mr. Crane trusted you, treated you as a confidant. And you, you sold the news that he was going to tell Mr. Argyle everything to John Pierpont Morgan. Is that right?"
Benson completely broke down. He knew that these people knew everything.
"It was Morgan. His people found me first," he cried, tears streaming down his face.
"He asked me to monitor Mr. Crane's every move. He said... he said it was just to evaluate the investment risk of Union Pacific. I didn't know... I really didn't know they would kill Mr. Crane. I just... for the money..."
"Money." The ghost nodded. "How much did Morgan give you?"
"Five... five hundred dollars."
"Five hundred dollars, for the life of a Boss you worked for for ten years."
The ghost stood up, his face devoid of any expression.
"You really are... cheap."
He turned to the two Action Department members at the door.
"Guard him well. The Boss needs him as a witness. Make sure he... doesn't have any 'accidents' out of 'guilt' before testifying."
...Meanwhile, in a small pub near the New York Customs House.
Timothy Finn, the customs clerk who had mustered his courage because of a ten-thousand-dollar reward, was nervously looking around, holding a glass of beer.
Now, he just hoped to get the money that would allow him to leave this cursed place as soon as possible.
Just as he was about to finish his drink and leave, two burly men in dockworker uniforms sat down beside him, one on each side.
"Timothy Finn?"
One of them spoke, his voice carrying a sense of oppression.
"Who... who are you?" Finn's heart skipped a beat.
"Don't be nervous, Mr. Finn."
The other man said, his hand always in his pocket. "We are Mr. Flynn's men. The Boss sent us to... protect you."
"Protect me?"
"You just provided a very valuable clue," the first man said. "A clue... that might make some important people very unhappy. Do you think it's safe for you to walk back to your small apartment alone now?"
Finn's face instantly turned pale.
The man slipped a note into his hand.
"From now on, forget your apartment and your job. Go to this address. Someone there will protect you twenty-four hours a day. Until... the Boss believes you can safely come out to testify."
"As for the reward money," the man stood up, dropping a few coins on the bar, "someone will deliver it to your family when they need it most."
...New York, Gramercy Park. Outside Morgan's mansion.
Flynn himself sat in an inconspicuous rented carriage, calmly observing the heavily guarded building with a telescope. He had been staking it out for three hours.
"Boss."
In the shadow of the carriage, another scout reported in a low voice. "The target is out. Saul, Morgan's personal butler, and also his most mysterious black hand. Our people found that before the assassination, it was he who was frequently active near Five Points."
Flynn raised his telescope.
A man in a gray suit with an ordinary face was seen walking out of the side door of the mansion and boarding another waiting carriage.
"Follow him." Flynn's order was concise and crisp.
"Keep your distance and don't alarm him. I want to know who he went to meet."
"Also, notify the brothers in Five Points. Immediately investigate Seamus O'Malley's family. I want to know the whereabouts of his wife and child. Since Morgan's coachman was involved in sending people, the 'Artemis' steamer sailing to Liverpool is the biggest clue."
"Check the passenger list of that ship, and check everyone who handled the boarding procedures for that mother and son."
Flynn put down his telescope, a hunter-like smile appearing on his face.
Although Morgan's chess game was brilliant, to ensure the plan was foolproof, he had to personally mobilize his private butler and coachman.
And these were the indelible traces he left behind.