November 10th.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
The sky took on a gray hue due to the smoke.
Hundreds of chimneys spewed black smoke into the sky day and night. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and coal cinders; this was one of America's blacksmith shops—welcome to the entrance of hell.
Braddock, by the banks of the Monongahela River.
Andrew Carnegie stood on the muddy open ground, wearing high boots caked in sludge.
His woolen overcoat was covered in gray spots, and the cold wind, mixed with a fine drizzle, lashed against his face.
He had just purchased this land.
Right here in this mire, he vowed in his heart to build the largest steel mill in all of America: the Thomson-Carnegie Steel Works (named after his former Boss and mentor, the former chairman of the Pennsylvania Railroad, to curry favor and gain connections).
"Andrew!"
His brother, Tom Carnegie, came running over, stumbling through the mud while waving a piece of paper.
"Something's happened."
Carnegie turned around. His gaze remained sharp, even in such a disheveled state.
"Stay calm. What is it? Have the bricks not arrived yet?"
"No, it's not the bricks," Tom panted. "It's the coal and limestone."
"Hmm? What's going on? Didn't we already contact the sellers? What could go wrong?"
Carnegie asked quickly, his brow furrowed with unease.
"It's a notice from the Pennsylvania Railroad Company's dispatch office." Tom handed the paper to his brother.
"They say that due to 'tight rolling stock scheduling' and 'winter roadbed maintenance,' the freight rate for all bulk goods shipped to the Braddock site will increase by two dollars per ton."
Carnegie froze for a moment, then snatched the notice.
Two dollars didn't seem like much, but steelmaking required a massive amount of coal. Based on current technology, every ton of steel required four tons of coal, which meant the cost per ton of steel would increase by eight dollars.
And currently, the market price for iron rails was around seventy dollars a ton.
That eight dollars represented almost his entire profit.
"Impossible." Carnegie's hand was trembling.
"We have an agreement with Scott! I have a long-standing relationship with the Pennsylvania Railroad!"
"Scott's connections don't work anymore; many of his old subordinates have been purged," Tom said despairingly.
"The man in charge now is that Matthew Becker. He's one of Argyle' men."
Carnegie snapped his head up, looking toward the eastern sky.
"Argyle..."
He gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles bulging.
"He knows what I'm doing. He intends to strangle me."
"What should we do then?" Tom asked nervously.
"If we pay this freight rate, the company's funds will only last three months. Moreover, Mr. Morgan in London demanded that we must produce iron by next year."
Carnegie paced in the mud, seemingly oblivious to the sludge splashing onto his trouser legs.
"Calm down... don't panic."
He stopped walking.
"If the Pennsylvania Railroad won't ship it, we'll find another way."
"Oh, my dear brother, what other way is there?" Tom spread his hands helplessly.
"The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad? Their station is five miles from here. Are we supposed to haul coal by wagon? The cost would be even higher!"
"The river." Carnegie pointed to the nearby Monongahela River.
"Boats can navigate this water."
"But it's the dry season now," Tom reminded him. "And we don't have any boats."
"Then buy them!" Carnegie roared, agitated by the contradiction.
"Go buy flat-bottomed barges! Go to Cincinnati and Louisville to buy them! I refuse to believe Argyle can buy the river water too!"
...Two days later, Philadelphia.
Headquarters of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company.
Matthew Becker sat in his office, peeling an apple. Sitting opposite him was the president of Lex Steel Company, William Coleman.
"That Carnegie bought boats." Becker stuffed a piece of apple into his mouth.
"Six old barges are being towed upstream from the Ohio River."
Coleman gave a cold sneer.
"Heh... river transport is too slow. And if it freezes over, he's finished."
"The Boss's intention is not just to slow him down, but to cut him off entirely."
Becker wiped the fruit juice from his hands.
"How?"
"There are several locks on that river."
Becker pointed to a map on the wall.
"Control of two of those locks is in the hands of a company called the 'Monongahela Navigation Company'."
"The owner of that company owes a debt."
Coleman understood instantly.
"So, you mean the locks are 'broken'?"
"Of course, long-neglected and in disrepair. It's perfectly normal for them to need maintenance for a month or two." Becker shrugged. "What a shame, the boats won't be able to get through."
"Then what about his coal?"
"Don't worry, he won't be able to buy coal locally," Coleman interjected.
"Furthermore, Saineng Minerals has already signed up all the surrounding small coal mines. They're either our people or they don't dare sell to him."
"He'll have to go to West Virginia to buy it, which is even further away."
The two looked at each other and grinned silently.
But at the same time, both felt a sense of dread at their Boss's methods.
Because this wasn't competition at all; it was toying with prey.
Driving the prey into a trap and then slowly bleeding it dry... A week later, Pittsburgh.
Work at Carnegie's construction site had temporarily ground to a halt.
Those barges were blocked outside the downstream locks, the reason given being 'mechanical failure of the lock gates'.
Carnegie stood on the empty construction site. Hundreds of workers, with no work to do, were gathered together complaining.
The rain was still falling.
Tom sat on a pile of soaked timber, clutching his head.
"It's over, Andrew. We're finished. Mr. Morgan will kill us. If we don't pay back the money, we're going to prison."
Carnegie said nothing.
He looked at the unfinished foundations; they were his dream. They were also his ladder to the upper class.
He refused to accept this.
"Ready the horse," Carnegie said suddenly.
"Where to?"
"To the train station."
"Are you going to New York to beg Argyle for mercy?" Tom stood up. "Stop dreaming, he won't see you."
"No."
Carnegie turned around, a frantic fire burning in his eyes.
"I'm not going to see him."
"I'm going to see Tom Scott. He's the former chairman of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Even though he's retired, he still has connections."
"If Scott can't help me..."
Carnegie paused, looking at the black earth.
"Then I'll go find that German."
"Which German?"
"Krupp's agent in America." Carnegie lowered his voice.
"Mr. Morgan mentioned in a letter that the Prussians and Argyle seem to be trading technical patents lately. In truth, they also want to curb Argyle technologically."
"But wouldn't that be consorting with the enemy?" Tom was startled.
"Of course not. This is survival."
Carnegie stepped across a puddle.
"In business, there is no fatherland, only winners and corpses."
"Argyle wants to hunt me? Then I'll turn into a man-eating wolf."
He leaped onto the carriage and lashed the horse's haunches hard with his whip.
The carriage plunged into the curtain of rain, racing toward the station.
Meanwhile, in distant New York, on the top floor of the Empire State Building.
Felix stood before a massive floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking bustling Manhattan.
Frost stood behind him.
"Boss, the locks have been closed. Carnegie has stopped work."
"No rush, he'll fight back." Felix watched the reflection on the window glass. "Carnegie is a smart man, and smart men don't just sit and wait for death."
"Should we send someone to..." Frost asked cryptically.
"No need. This is a normal business operation."
Felix raised his right hand to interrupt.
"Besides, that would be too boring, and it would allow that Old Lion in London to remain hidden."
"There's no hurry. I truly want to play this game with them and, in passing... see just how many people in this land will choose to stand against me."
"Let the bullets fly for a while longer."
The cold wind of early winter blew across the Potomac River, and the dome of the Capitol Building looked somewhat gloomy beneath the gray sky.
The office of the Argyle Charitable Foundation.
Anna stood in front of the dressing mirror.
Her belly was quite noticeable; she was seven months pregnant.
She couldn't stand staying in the South for two months anymore, especially since the Argyle Family's reputation had recently soared again.
So, after consulting with Felix, she returned to Washington.
She picked up a large woolen shawl and carefully wrapped it around herself.
"Miss," the maid looked at her with some concern.
"Doctor Emma said your feet are very swollen, and you need more rest."
"I cannot rest." Anna gritted her teeth and squeezed her feet into a pair of slightly oversized leather shoes.
"The House of Representatives is voting on the Amendment to the Tariff Act today, and I must be there to watch personally."
"But those Senators..."
"It doesn't matter. My father is the vice president, and the child's godfather is one of the most powerful men in this land. No one dares to say anything."
Anna tidied her hair and put on a dark, wide-brimmed hat.
She also applied a thin layer of powder to her face to cover the pregnancy spots... Capitol Building hallway.
The air was thick with the foul smell of cigar smoke and sweat.
Anna walked very slowly, every step feeling like she was treading on cotton, yet also like she was stepping on needlepoints.
"Miss Clark!"
A fat man stopped her. It was Representative Buckley from Ohio.
"That... about that clause."
Buckley rubbed his hands, his eyes flickering nervously.
"If we don't lower the tariffs on imported steel, my constituents will be unhappy. You know, those farm implement factories..."
Anna stopped, expressionless.
"Mr. Buckley. I recall that the largest farm implement factory in your district is a branch of 'Vanguard Agricultural Machinery.' That is also property of the Argyle Family."
"If you vote to lower tariffs and allow cheap British steel to enter, that factory will lay off workers. Five hundred workers will lose their jobs. They all have votes."
Sweat broke out on Buckley's forehead.
"This... but..."
Anna slightly raised her eyebrows, her eyes filled with contempt.
"I hear your son has recently run into some trouble at West Point Military Academy? Regarding cheating?"
Anna's words made Buckley's face look awkward. "This... this is a misunderstanding."
"Perhaps, I hope it is a misunderstanding too."
"However, I still have some connections with the War Department. As long as you make the right choice today, this might just be a misunderstanding."
Buckley swallowed.
"I understand. For... for national industry."
Anna nodded and continued walking forward.
As she met with one Representative after another, either smiling, threatening, or handing out envelopes.
She was the lubricant in this enormous machine, and also the sand.
Returning to the lounge, she collapsed onto the sofa.
The door opened.
Her father, vice president Thomas Clark, walked in.
"Anna, are you crazy?"
Clark looked at his daughter's slightly pale face.
"You're pregnant and still acting so recklessly. And it would be terrible if reporters caught you looking like this. Even though they won't report heavily because of Felix and me, some tabloids love to spread rumors."
"Yes, but what does it matter?" Anna did not deny it.
"What does Felix plan to arrange? What exactly are you after?" Thomas felt a bit uneasy.
"You are the vice president's daughter; you could easily find a suitable husband."
In fact, Thomas himself never intended to sacrifice Anna's feelings, as she was his only biological daughter.
But what he hadn't expected was that Anna, coming from a political family, also harbored her own ambitions.
This led to a situation that Thomas himself couldn't resolve later on, leaving him no choice but to accept it.
After all, he couldn't fall out with Felix; that wasn't the action of a qualified politician.
Furthermore, his daughter having a child with Felix would not only solidify the alliance between the two families but also ensure an heir for the Clark Family.
Anna raised her head, her eyes holding a determination that felt unfamiliar to Thomas.
"I don't want those things; I want power. Father, true power."
"If I marry someone else, I'm just a vase. But beside Felix, I can realize my own ideas."
"Moreover... this child will never bring shame upon our family."
Thomas was speechless.
He looked at his daughter, as if seeing his younger self.
"Alright." Thomas sighed.
"Don't worry, the bill will pass. Grant has already signed it; the House of Representatives just needs to go through the motions. Go back and rest early."
"That's good."
...
In the South, at the same time.
Augusta, Georgia, is a city within a city.
The massive factory buildings of the textile mill dominated half the sky.
Silas, wearing a black trench coat, rode a horse, patrolling with his signature ivory-handled revolver hanging at his waist.
This place didn't look like a factory; it resembled a crude prison.
There was barbed wire all around, and armed security personnel stood at the entrance.
Rows of low wooden cabins served as workers' dormitories.
In the center of the factory area was a two-story building with a sign reading "Company Store."
Today was payday.
Hundreds of Black laborers stood in a long queue.
The same accountant was still sitting behind the desk, handing out colorful vouchers to everyone.
"Sir, this says five dollars."
An elderly Black man asked nervously.
"Can I exchange this for greenback paper currency? I want to send it to my daughter in Alabama."
The accountant didn't look up.
"No. Company regulations state that vouchers can only be used at the Company Store."
"But this is my wag—"
"Then you can try sending this to her. Next." The accountant looked up and said coldly.
The old man took the voucher and stepped aside helplessly.
Inside the store, Jones was inspecting the shelves with a few supervisors.
The shelves were filled with luncheon meat cans and compressed biscuits produced by Argyle & Co. Foods, along with painkillers from Umbrella Corporation.
"Put the expired cans in the most prominent spot," Jones instructed. "Give them a discount; those poor devils will rush to buy them."
"President, this meat smells a bit off."
Jones glared at him in dissatisfaction.
"Holy crap, what nonsense are you spouting? That's clearly the smell of spices. Besides, once it's cooked, doesn't it all taste the same?"
Silas walked in.
"Mr. Jones, how have your observations been these past two weeks?"
"It looks pretty good," Jones said with a smile.
"The vouchers are given to them, and then they spend them in the store. They make a full circle back into our pockets. And the company only pays for a few cans and some cloth."
"Coming to the South again, this place is truly eye-opening. Silas, you've executed the Boss's orders perfectly."
It was clear that Jones, as a President at the Director Level of the Executive Committee, having toured several Southern states, highly admired Silas's management as a Committee-level General Manager in the South.
This made Silas quite happy, as Jones was essentially the Boss's special envoy.
"Of course. I might not be the best at strategizing, but I execute the Boss's orders without fail. By the way, Mr. Jones, did anyone cause trouble while I was away?"
"It seems... I heard a couple of troublemakers tried to organize a union two days ago," Jones pointed toward the back door.
"I think you know how to handle that."
"Of course." Silas patted the Truth hanging at his waist.
"They will go to the mines in the West to support construction, and they will never return."