Mid-October.
Inside the west wing study of Argyle Manor, the air was thick with the scent of high-grade stationery and ink.
The massive oak desk was piled high with gold-trimmed cards.
Handcrafted by the finest artisans at Harper Publishing House, the cost of each card was equivalent to a week's wages for an ordinary worker.
Catherine OBrien sat at the desk, a quill in hand, writing by herself.
Though her belly was already slightly rounded, it didn't affect her efficiency as the lady of the house in the slightest.
"I have to say, this list is far too long, Felix."
Catherine frowned, pointing at the long scroll covered in names.
"Five hundred people? Are you planning to empty out the entire high society of New York and Washington?"
Felix was standing before a map, a glass of whiskey in hand. He turned around and smiled.
"This isn't just an ordinary gathering, Catherine. It can be considered a military review. Except we aren't displaying soldiers; we're displaying influence."
He walked to the desk and picked up the list.
"Look at these names."
"President Ulysses S. Grant goes without saying; as a staunch ally, he must be invited. He is our political cornerstone in this country. Moreover, I've had Anna's people in Washington confirm it—the President has already agreed to attend with the First Lady."
Hearing Anna's name, Catherine's quill paused for a moment, but she quickly resumed her fluid writing.
As the mistress of this vast commercial empire, she knew very well that some things didn't need to be spoken aloud.
Anna's role in Washington was irreplaceable; that was another front entirely.
"And this one." Felix pointed to another name.
"William Tweed, the underground mayor of New York."
"Letting that embezzler into our home?" Catherine said with a hint of disdain.
"He may be dirty, but he's useful. After all, we've cooperated several times before, haven't we?" Felix said calmly.
"Besides, now that the presidential election is over, we can continue to work together to place more Irish people into positions in the city and state governments, which will better expand Irish influence."
"Fine, I'm convinced. But what about these Europeans?" Catherine pointed to another column.
"The Prussian Minister to the United States, the representative from Barings Bank in England, and even a Russian Grand Duke traveling through America—is it necessary? I recall our products rarely enter Russia."
"That's for Wall Street to see," Felix explained with a shrug.
"I need all the investors to know that the credit of the Argyle Family is global. The Prussians want to buy our cannons, and the British want to buy our railway bonds. They must see our strength."
"Alright." Catherine sighed and set down her pen.
"Hundreds of people then. But what about the kitchen? You're going to have to feed nearly a thousand picky stomachs."
"I've left that problem to Jones (President of Argyle & Co. Foods)." Felix smiled somewhat craftily.
"This will also be an excellent product showcase."
"You mean..." Catherine's eyes widened, "you're going to feed the President canned food?"
"Of course not directly from the can." Felix waved his hand. "Jones has hired twenty French chefs. They will use raw materials provided by Argyle & Co. Foods—the best beef, top-tier flour, and fresh fruits and vegetables shipped from the South—to create a French feast."
"We want to prove that industrially produced food can also grace the tables of high society. Bill from Metropolitan Trading Company will be responsible for shipping the best meat from Chicago."
Just then, the butler knocked softly and entered.
"Sir, Madam. Regarding the security for the ball, Mr. Frost is waiting outside."
"Let him in."
Frost walked in, holding a security deployment map.
"Boss, all security measures are in place."
"To handle such a large crowd, we've transferred two hundred fully armed guards from the Action Department. They will change into ceremonial uniforms and blend into the crowd."
"Additionally, to prevent any assassins from slipping in, Flynn's intelligence department will conduct background checks on everyone holding an invitation in advance."
"You've arranged it well," Felix nodded.
"But remember to be discreet; I don't want the guests feeling like they're dancing in a prison."
"Rest assured, sir."
Having dealt with security, Felix turned the conversation back to the most difficult part.
"There's another category of people on the list."
Felix's finger traced over several prominent surnames—Astor, Vanderbilt, Lowell, Adams.
"These so-called 'Old Money'."
"Vanderbilt will certainly come," Catherine said. "He's in the same boat as you now. Though he lost to you, he's a businessman who knows how to adapt to the times."
"But this one..." Catherine's finger stopped on the name of Mrs. Caroline Astor.
"She used to be the queen of New York's social circles. I heard she has a 'List of Four Hundred'. Only those on that list are considered true high society by her. And we... weren't on it before."
"I know, she thinks we're parvenus," Felix sneered.
"Because our money smells of coal ash and gunpowder. While her money... humph, that was earned by exploiting tenants and from her ancestors' fur trade."
"If she refuses to attend, the prestige of this ball might be slightly diminished," Catherine said with some concern.
"In New York, without Mrs. Astor's recognition, it's very difficult to be truly accepted by that circle."
"That was before; from now on, we have the final say. Besides, she'll come."
Felix picked up the gold-embossed invitation, his gaze turning sharp.
"Because she has no choice."
"I had Hayes look into it before; the Astor Family's primary assets are Manhattan real estate. Most of their land mortgages are currently held by banks, and we've already bought up those mortgage notes."
"And..."
Felix walked to the window, watching the workers arranging the garden.
"I've already sent a private message to President Grant. The President explicitly stated that he looks forward to meeting Mrs. Astor at the ball to discuss New York's municipal planning."
"This is the game of thrones, Catherine."
Felix turned around to look at his wife.
"In this free capitalist nation, there is no so-called royalty. If there must be one, then it will definitely be our Argyle Family."
"So this invitation isn't a request; it's a summons."
"Send it out. Tomorrow morning, all of New York will tremble because of this piece of paper."
Catherine looked at Felix with deep affection.
In this moment, she reaffirmed that this man was no longer just a simple businessman.
He was building a dynasty of his own.
She picked up the invitation and pressed the Argyle Family's wax seal onto it.
It was the pattern of an eagle.
At this moment, the social map of New York was about to be rewritten.
350 Fifth Avenue, New York.
This was a brownstone building, its exterior steady and low-key, yet exuding an arrogance that kept people at a distance.
This was the residence of the Astor Family, the sanctuary of New York's so-called 'High Society'.
In the living room, Mrs. Caroline Astor was dressed in a long black silk gown, the famous diamond necklace hanging around her neck.
Sitting upright on a velvet sofa, her expression was somewhat unsightly.
Because before her lay that gold-embossed invitation delivered by a messenger.
The eagle crest seemed particularly glaring under the candlelight.
Standing opposite her was Ward McAllister, Mrs. Astor's advisor and the creator of the famous 'Four Hundred' list.
"This is a provocation."
Mrs. Astor tapped the table with her exquisite folding fan.
"That Argyle... an upstart who sells arms and canned food. He actually dared to send an invitation here."
She picked up the invitation as if she were holding a dirty rag.
"Ha... look at the names on this. President Grant? Tweed? And those vulgar railroad tycoons. Does he want to turn Long Island into a marketplace?"
"But Madam."
McAllister spoke cautiously, his face somewhat pale.
"This is more than just an invitation."
"Of course I know it's not," Mrs. Astor snorted coldly.
"This must be Argyle asking us for an entry ticket. But does he think that with money, he can buy taste? Can buy bloodline? As long as I don't go, none of the old families in New York will go. That ball of his will eventually turn into nothing but a carnival for a bunch of speculators."
"Throw it away," Mrs. Astor commanded.
"But..." McAllister did not move.
"What?" Mrs. Astor raised an eyebrow.
"Madam, I think you should see this."
McAllister took a newspaper from his pocket. It was today's The Daily Truth.
The front-page headline was a massive photograph (engraving): a panoramic view of Argyle Manor.
And on the newspaper's secondary page, there was an inconspicuous announcement.
Argyle Empire Bank Acquires Numerous Family Land Mortgage Loan Notes, and Notice Regarding Adjustment of Land Mortgage Interest Rates in the Manhattan Area"
Although Mrs. Astor did not understand business, she was very sensitive to the words 'land' and 'mortgage'.
"What does it mean?"
"I've inquired; the home mortgages of many of our families have been bought up by Argyle Empire Bank. So the meaning in the newspaper is very clear."
A middle-aged man walked in.
He was Mrs. Astor's husband, William Backhouse Astor Jr.
Although he was the nominal head of the family, in social situations, he had always deferred to his wife.
But today, his expression was very grim.
"It means that if we offend Felix Argyle, our family's interest expenses next month will increase by thirty percent."
The elder Astor sat down and let out a long sigh.
"Caroline, times have changed."
"That young man... he's not just rich. He controls everything. Our tenants use gas from companies he has shares in, burn coal from his Saineng Minerals, and eat his flour. If he wanted to, he could even cut off the heating to this house."
"So what?"
Mrs. Astor still maintained her pride.
"We are the Astor Family; we own New York."
"That was before; now Federal Realty is constantly acquiring land and building houses in New York."
As he spoke, the elder Astor placed another letter on the table.
"Also, this was sent from the White House Office. The President 'earnestly hopes' to see us at the Argyle Manor ball. He says he has some thoughts on 'Federal Property Tax' and wants to hear our opinions."
These words were like a heavy hammer, shattering Mrs. Astor's mask of pride.
Property tax.
This was the Achilles' heel of all great landowners. If President Grant, at Argyle' instigation, pushed for property tax reform, the Astor Family's wealth would shrink by half.
The room fell into a deathly silence.
The clock on the wall ticked away, sounding like a countdown.
Mrs. Astor looked at the invitation. She suddenly realized that the eagle's talons were already clutching her throat.
The bloodline, taste, and social circle she was so proud of were as fragile as paper in the face of absolute industrial capital and political power.
"That Argyle..." Mrs. Astor's voice trembled slightly. "Does he have a wife?"
"Uh... sort of, you've even met her once," McAllister answered quickly.
"It's that Catherine OBrien. President of Umbrella Corporation. A... very strong-willed woman."
"Oh, I remember now. The woman who became a company president by climbing into Argyle' bed."
Mrs. Astor showed a flash of disdain, but quickly restrained it.
She slowly reached out and picked up the invitation again.
The movement was very slow, as if the paper weighed a thousand pounds.
It signified surrender.
It signified 'Old Money' bowing to 'New Money'.
It also signified that industrial giants had replaced real estate tycoons as the nation's new aristocracy.
"Tell the messenger."
Mrs. Astor took a deep breath and straightened her back. Whether winning or losing, she had to maintain her dignity.
"The Astor Family... accepts the invitation."
She turned to look at McAllister.
"Also, go prepare a new gown, the most grand one. Since I'm going, I'll show that country manor what a true queen looks like."
The elder Astor breathed a sigh of relief, and McAllister wiped the sweat from his forehead.
After all, they both knew that if they really didn't give face to Felix Argyle this time, the Astor Family would definitely face the most violent blow afterward.
This was no joke, as the elder Astor had already received news that a force in the stock exchange had begun suppressing the Astor Family's industries.
That force was the Patriot Investment Company, and no one in New York didn't know that this company belonged to the Argyle Family.
So, hearing his wife yield, the elder Astor was also relieved; after all, they really couldn't afford to provoke Argyle right now... Meanwhile, at Argyle Manor on Long Island.
Felix was sitting in his study, looking down at documents.
"She agreed?" Felix asked casually.
"Yes, Boss," Edward Frost's voice came. "The messenger just reported back; Mrs. Astor has accepted the invitation."
Felix put down the documents in his hand, stood up, walked to the map, and drew a red circle on the small flag representing New York.
"Edward."
"Present."
"Notify Tom that the exchange can appropriately ease the pressure on the Astor Family's related bonds tomorrow. Leave them some room to breathe."
"What I want is submission, not destruction."
"After all..." Felix looked at the sunset outside the window.
"A ball needs respectable supporting characters."