New York, Brooklyn.
Argyle Consolidated Industrial Zone.
Towering chimneys spewed thick black smoke into the sky, and barges on the canal, laden with coal and iron, slowly passed by, pulled by steam tugboats.
The air was filled with the unique scent of high-temperature metal, chemical reagents, and machine lubricant mixed together.
Felix personally accompanied a man through Umbrella Corporation's orderly packaging workshop.
This man was Christopher Latham Sholes.
Sholes tightly clutched his writing keyboard, wrapped in a blanket.
His eyes, at this moment, surveyed the vast industrial landscape before him with an almost reverent gaze.
He saw hundreds of workers in uniform, under bright gas lamps, systematically packaging and labeling along conveyor belts.
Everything was as precise and efficient as the gears inside a clock.
"Mr. Argyle…" Sholes' voice was a little dry, "This… this is even bigger than I imagined."
"This is just Umbrella's packaging workshop, Mr. Sholes."
Felix smiled as he pushed open a heavy iron door leading to the adjacent factory building.
"Boom—"
A wave of heat and a tremendous roar mixed together assailed them.
"Welcome to the Central Laboratory," Felix said.
If the workshop outside was order, then this place was the chaos of creation.
A huge steam engine in the corner of the factory provided power to the entire workshop through a complex system of belts and drive shafts.
More than a dozen advanced lathes, milling machines, and drilling machines were emitting piercing screams.
On the other side of the room was the chemical zone, where Dr. Aris Thorne, wearing thick goggles, and his assistants were operating the Hermes One reactor, composed of glass and brass pipes.
"Carl."
Felix called out to a German engineer who was leaning over a drafting table, measuring a brass valve with a vernier caliper.
Carl Becker looked up, a hint of a smile appearing on his rigorous face.
"Boss, you're here."
"Let me introduce you to a new colleague."
Felix pushed Sholes, who was still in a state of shock, forward.
"This is Mr. Christopher Latham Sholes, an inventor."
Baker politely removed his gloves, wiped his hands, and shook hands with Sholes.
"Baker. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sholes."
"This is his invention."
Felix gestured to Frost to place the writing keyboard on Baker's drafting table.
Baker's gaze fell upon the peculiar machine.
He did not show ridicule or confusion like a passerby, but was immediately attracted by the complex linkage and hammer structure.
"Interesting."
He squatted down, observing carefully.
"A mechanized way of writing."
He extended a finger and pressed a key.
"Click." The metal hammer sprang up, striking the air.
"The design of the linkage… is very clever."
He pressed another key.
"But this rebound device relies entirely on gravity. If the speed is too fast, it will definitely get stuck."
"Yes."
Sholes didn't expect the other party to spot the core problem at a glance, and he explained excitedly.
"I tried using springs, but… I couldn't find suitable materials. They were either too hard, or… they lost their elasticity after a few days."
"prometheus alloy."
Baker shouted towards another corner without turning his head.
"In Griffith's laboratory, there are spring steel sheets we have left over. Get one."
Then, his finger pointed to the simple ribbon feeding device.
"And here, this manual dial is too foolish. A small ratchet mechanism could completely link it with the hammer's action. With each strike, the ribbon automatically advances one millimeter."
"Ratchet mechanism…"
Sholes murmured to himself, his eyes bursting with color.
"Right, how did I not think of that. This… this is genius."
"No, this is just basic mechanical principles."
Baker replied calmly, standing up and looking at Sholes.
"The idea is genius. Mr. Argyle, you've found us another interesting thing."
Felix smiled.
"This is not a toy, Carl. It's our next profit growth point, and your new neighbor in the future."
He led Sholes to the other end of the laboratory, a separate space covering nearly two hundred square feet.
It was well-lit and also equipped with steam power interfaces and a brand new set of workbenches.
"Here," Felix said to Sholes, "is the first R&D department of the Typewriter Company. It now belongs to you."
He turned to Frost.
"Edward, notify the finance department. As I said yesterday, an initial allocation of ten thousand dollars will be directly transferred to this project team. All materials, tools, and assistants Mr. Sholes needs will be recruited by him personally, and Mr. Baker and Mr. Griffith will fully cooperate."
"Yes, Boss."
Felix finally looked at Sholes, the inventor was caressing the smooth drafting table with a nearly trembling hand.
"Mr. Sholes, your salary is five hundred dollars per month, plus five percent of the net profit once this machine goes into production. I have only one request."
"Boss, please say it."
Sholes' voice was extremely excited.
"I want you to completely unleash that brain that has been suppressed in Milwaukee for five years."
Felix pointed at the prototype machine.
"Six months from now, I want to see a typewriter here that can truly keep up with thought."
...Meanwhile, Manhattan, the Archbishop's Residence at St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Catherine O'Brien sat on an intricately carved hardwood chair, opposite her was one of the most powerful men in New York, Archbishop John Hughes.
Catherine had just fully relayed Felix's proposal to the church leader.
"A hospital."
Archbishop Hughes did not immediately express his opinion; he simply stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the dense rooftops of the Five Points district in the distance.
"A very generous offer, Miss O'Brien."
"Mr. Argyle' good deeds are almost making the saints jealous."
"The Boss believes this is his responsibility, Your Eminence."
Catherine's answer was flawless.
"Schools address the future hope of children, but hospitals address their immediate survival. Both are necessary."
"Well said."
The Archbishop nodded. He turned around, his blue eyes falling on Catherine.
"So, does Mr. Argyle want our Church to endorse his generosity again?"
"No, Your Eminence," Catherine smiled, "This time, the Boss hopes for an equal partnership."
"Oh?"
"The Argyle Charitable Foundation will bear all construction costs, equipment procurement, and future operating losses for the hospital." Catherine threw out the first bargaining chip.
"The location is on the empty land next to the school. We learned that the land belongs to the Church, so we hope the Church can agree to permanently donate that land to this hospital."
"One piece of land for one hospital." The Archbishop nodded, "Sounds like a good deal."
"There's also a second condition." Catherine's tone became serious, "This hospital must be a truly modern hospital."
"Modern?"
"Yes, Your Eminence." Catherine met his gaze.
"We respect the Church's faith and traditions. But the medical affairs of this hospital must be entirely managed by professionals. All doctors, pharmacists, and surgical procedures must strictly adhere to the scientific standards set by Umbrella Laboratories. Including our latest 'disinfection' and 'anesthesia' protocols."
This was the true core of the negotiation.
Felix wanted not just a hospital, but a model where his modern medical concepts could be fully implemented.
Archbishop Hughes fell silent.
The other party was challenging the Church's long-standing dominant position in the medical field.
Science was vying with faith for the right to interpret "life."
Catherine continued, her voice softening, with a hint of emotion.
"Dr. Thorne's iodoglycerol has already saved the lives of thousands of soldiers on the Western Front. Among those soldiers were Irish children. They should have died from infection, but now they are alive."
"Your Eminence." She stood up and bowed slightly.
"We are not trying to replace God's position. We are merely striving to become more competent assistants to God on earth."
These words moved the religious leader.
He looked at the young, intelligent, yet incredibly devout lady before him.
"Alright, child."
He sighed deeply, a faint smile appearing on his face. "You go back and tell Felix that the Church will provide the land. For nursing staff, I will also send our best members of the Sisters of Charity."
"But, this hospital must have an independent chapel and prayer room. I need priests to be able to provide final comfort at any time to those souls about to receive scientific treatment."
"This is a perfect combination, Your Eminence."
A triumphant smile bloomed on Catherine's face.
"So, do you have any suggestions for the hospital's name?"
The Archbishop looked out at the land where hope was rising.
"Let's call it 'St. Vincent-Argyle United Hospital.'"
Felix stood by the study's French window, quietly watching the snow pellets of winter being whipped by the cold wind against the carriages rushing by on Fifth Avenue below.
"Boss."
Edward Frost's voice broke the silence in the study.
He placed a neatly organized memo on Felix's desk.
"The land donation procedures for 'St. Vincent-Argyle United Hospital' were all completed yesterday."
"She has already commissioned Mr. Upjohn's architectural firm to begin drawing detailed architectural blueprints."
Frost continued, "According to the plan, it will be a six-story modern hospital with independent sterile operating rooms and one hundred and fifty beds. She also used her connections at Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons to form a 'Medical Advisory Committee' consisting of several senior surgeons."
Felix gently nodded, pinching his chin with his right hand, a satisfied expression on his face.
"Send word to Mr. Upjohn that money is not an issue. What I want to build is not just a hospital, but a sanctuary. A sanctuary that will set the standard for Umbrella Corporation's medical philosophy across all of America and even the entire world."
"Yes, Boss."
Frost turned to the next page of his notes.
"Over at the Central Laboratory, Mr. Sholes has also settled in. Mr. Baker has arranged for two of his most capable mechanical artisans to assist him. He submitted his first procurement list yesterday."
"What did he ask for?" Felix asked casually.
"Some very peculiar things."
Frost's tone was a bit strange.
"Besides a large number of spring steel sheets and brass parts, he also requested three household sewing machines of different models, and two old automatic player pianos. He said... he needed to study their ratchet mechanisms and connecting rod designs."
Felix laughed at the news.
"True inventors know where to find inspiration. Approved. Whatever he needs, no matter how peculiar, get it to him as quickly as possible."
"Understood."
After dealing with these two newly launched plans, Felix's gaze turned to the large map of America on the wall.
His sight passed over the war-torn East and fell upon the vast, unknown, and opportunity-filled West.
"Frost, what time is Bill's train back to Chicago this afternoon?"
"Three o'clock in the afternoon, sir. He will come to bid you farewell at two o'clock."
"Got it." Felix nodded... At two o'clock in the afternoon, Bill's burly figure appeared punctually at the study door.
He had already changed into a heavy travel coat, his face showing the excitement of returning to his territory.
"Boss, you called for me." Bill's voice was still loud.
"In Chicago, that old fellow Armour, taking advantage of my absence, has started playing tricks with live cattle prices again. I need to go back quickly and put him in his place."
"Let's put Chicago aside for a moment, Uncle Bill."
Felix gestured for him to sit down, while Frost quietly exited the room and closed the heavy door.
"I have a more important task to entrust to you."
Bill was momentarily stunned by Felix's affectionate address, then he relaxed.
"No problem, Felix."
Felix walked to the map, his gaze falling on the vast land located south of the Indiana Territory and Arkansas.
"Texas," Felix said slowly.
"Texas?" Bill's brows furrowed instantly.
"Felix, that... that's Confederate territory. Our people going there now, I'm afraid..."
"I know. That's why I need you to go in a way they won't detect."
"Bill, your main business is meat processing. Where are the best and largest cattle herds in all of America?"
"In Texas, of course." Bill answered without hesitation.
"The longhorns there are as numerous as fleas on the prairie. It's just because of the war that not a single one can be transported out now."
"War, it will always end." Felix looked at him.
"When it ends, the factories in the North will need massive amounts of meat. And we need to control the source of that meat."
"I understand, Boss." Bill's eyes lit up.
"You want us to prepare in advance, so that as soon as the war ends, we can immediately go south and acquire those cheap cattle herds."
"No."
Felix shook his head, his answer once again perplexing Bill.
"Cattle, yes, and land too!"
"Land?"
"Yes, that's right, land!"
Felix walked to the map and, with his finger, drew a circle around several remote counties in southeastern Texas, near the Gulf of Mexico coast, which were barely noticeable on the map.
"Especially these places. Near Beaumont, near those unwanted saline-alkali flats and swamps."
"Boss..." Bill was completely confused.
"Those places are all godforsaken badlands. Let alone raising cattle, they're even too poor for cotton. Why spend money buying those?"
"Uncle Bill."
Felix turned around and looked at him with an unprecedentedly serious gaze, "Do you trust me?"
Bill looked into Felix's bottomless eyes and, without any hesitation, nodded heavily.
"Of course, I trust you, Felix. Without you, I wouldn't have my current wealth, so I definitely trust you."
"That's good." Felix was very pleased with his attitude.
"Then I need you to use the resources of the Metropolitan Trading Company, especially our gray channels in New Orleans and Mexico. Establish several shell companies with names as ordinary as possible. For example, 'Texas Land Development Company' or 'Gulf of Mexico Agricultural Investment Council'."
"Use the names of these companies to buy land in these areas. The more, the better; the cheaper, the better. Publicly, claim that we are preparing for post-war live cattle trade and cotton training.
You can appropriately buy a few plots of land in some truly suitable grazing areas as a cover. But the real target is these badlands I've circled."
"I will give you one million dollars in initial capital," Felix said.
"Remember, the secrecy level of this matter is the highest. Even higher than our operations in Nebraska. Besides you, me, and Bank President Templeton, who is responsible for the allocation, I don't want a fourth person to know the true objective."
"I... I understand, Boss."
Although Bill still didn't understand, he had firmly memorized the order... After seeing off Bill, who was full of doubts but also highly motivated.
Felix's study welcomed another person about to embark on a long journey.
William Coleman, the helmsman of Lex Steel Company.
"Boss."
Coleman was still in his simple work clothes. He placed a list and itinerary on Felix's desk.
"My ship ticket is booked. I'll depart for Liverpool the day after tomorrow. This is the first list of European engineers I hope to visit. They are mainly concentrated in Sheffield and Essen in Prussia."
Felix picked up the list and glanced at it; it contained names of renowned figures in the European steel industry.
"The list is excellent, Mr. Coleman."
"Your budget has been approved. But I need you to remember again that you are not going as a procurement officer, but as a missionary."
"A missionary?" Coleman was puzzled.
"Yes."
"Go and spread the gospel of 'Lex Steel'. Tell those geniuses who are still enduring seniority systems and conservative rules in old European factories."
"Tell them that we have plenty of money. And we can offer them things that those old fellows... like Bessemer in England or Krupp in Prussia, cannot provide."
"What can Krupp give them?"
Felix stood up and walked over to Coleman.
"A by-the-book position? A workshop where they can never surpass their predecessors?"
"Tell them, come to me, and they will receive a blank city. A vast tract of land in New Jersey overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
They will personally design the most advanced blast furnaces in the world, putting into practice all their crazy ideas that they dared not try on paper.
Tell them, at Lex, the only limit is their own imagination."
"Use their ambition to buy their ambition." A look of understanding flashed in Coleman's eyes.
"Exactly." Felix patted his shoulder.
"Frost has already spoken with Bank President Templeton. Argyle Bank's offices in London and Berlin will provide you with all financial and networking conveniences. Go, Coleman. Go and..."
He looked at the wind and snow outside the window.
"...dig up the sparks that can ignite the furnaces."