The candlelight in the study flickered unsteadily.
As Antoine listened to Philippe's plan, a chill ran down his spine.
"Are you mad, Philippe?"
Antoine looked at his nephew before him as if looking at a stranger.
"You actually want Bella to bribe Argyle' subordinates? Do you have any idea what will happen to Bella if Argyle finds out? That man can manipulate Washington politicians in the palm of his hand; crushing Bella would be like crushing an ant!"
"As long as it's done cleverly enough, it won't be discovered."
Philippe's tone did not waver in the slightest.
"This is our only chance, Uncle."
Philippe stood up, walked to Antoine's side, and suddenly dropped to one knee, grasping Antoine's hands which were resting on his lap.
For a proud heir to the Bourbon throne, this posture was already a great condescension.
"Uncle, I beg of you. Don't let Bella's sacrifice be in vain."
Philippe's eyes were filled with fanaticism and pleading.
"Think of the Palace of Versailles, think of the Tuileries Palace in Paris. Those were once our homes, but now they are occupied by those uncouth Republicans. They urinate in our gardens and smoke on the throne."
Philippe began to paint a grand vision for his exhausted uncle.
"As long as Bella can secure financial support from the Argyle Family. As long as the first five million dollars are deposited into our account in Vienna. I guarantee that within half a year, the three legions stationed in Lyon and Marseille will declare their loyalty to Henry V."
"Once the restoration is successful, I swear to you as the future King of France."
Philippe raised his right hand.
"Isabella will never suffer the slightest grievance; I will immediately issue a royal pardon."
No matter what Argyle' background is.
As long as he provides money and effort, I will title him a hereditary Count of the French Empire."
"I will also have the Cardinal personally officiate the grandest royal wedding for them at Notre-Dame de Paris."
Isabella will become a legitimate Countess and continue to enjoy all the glory of the House of Bourbon."
"And you, Uncle. You will once again become the most powerful Duke in Paris."
Antoine looked at Philippe kneeling before him.
This grand vision he painted was indeed tempting enough.
For nobles who had been in exile for too long, the temptation of returning to Paris was enough to overwhelm all reason.
But...
To pin all hope on an eighteen-year-old girl, sending her to pull teeth from the mouth of a beast of Wall Street.
The risk involved simply could not be measured by a future title of Count.
Antoine closed his eyes.
Images of Isabella running through the estate as a child flashed through his mind.
That innocent daughter had now become the most dangerous chip on the political gambling table.
"Stand up first, Philippe."
Antoine's voice had lost all its strength.
He withdrew his hands from Philippe's grasp.
"I will send a telegram to Gaston and convey your words to her."
Antoine leaned back in his chair, seemingly aging ten years in an instant.
"But remember your oath, Philippe. If anything happens to Bella in New York, if she is ruined by that American, I will never forgive you, even if you become the King of France."
Philippe stood up and straightened the hem of his clothes.
He knew he had won his gamble.
As long as Antoine was willing to cooperate with the telegram, Isabella would carry out his infiltration plan with total devotion.
"Please rest assured, Uncle. God will protect the bloodline of the House of Bourbon."
Philippe bowed slightly, regaining his elegant and composed demeanor.
"It's late, so I won't disturb your rest. I still need to attend to the salons in Vienna. I must keep those Austrian bankers steady; we still need their funds until the money from America arrives."
Philippe turned and walked toward the study door.
Just as his hand touched the brass doorknob,
Antoine spoke from behind him.
His voice was exceptionally clear in the empty study, devoid of anger or accusation.
There was only the extreme exhaustion and deep sorrow of someone who had seen through all vanity.
"Philippe."
Antoine looked at his nephew's back.
Philippe stopped in his tracks but did not look back.
"For that ethereal throne... sending your own cousin to another man's bed to plot for his money."
Antoine's tone carried an unmistakable heartache.
"Is it truly worth it?"
Philippe's hand lingered on the doorknob for two seconds.
He did not answer the question.
In this game of power, it was never about whether it was worth it, only about winning and losing.
If they lost, they would forever be exiles on the streets of Vienna.
If they won, the history books would not record a single woman's tears.
Philippe pushed open the door and walked into the shadows of the corridor without looking back.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean,
In a hidden villa next to New York's Central Park,
Isabella sat alone before her dressing table.
She looked at her still-flawless reflection in the mirror.
She had just received the latest encrypted telegram from Vienna, translated by Gaston.
Philippe's instructions were written clearly on the paper: Don't seek money, seek his heart. Find an agent.
Isabella held the telegram over a candle, watching as the flames consumed it bit by bit.
She knew how difficult this path would be.
Felix Argyle was not like those French nobles who could be swept off their feet by a few sweet words.
Instead, he was a wolf who remained constantly vigilant.
"Does he intend for me to bribe his subordinates?" Isabella smiled bitterly to herself.
She couldn't even get into that man's inner circle.
Back at the steel mill, that secretary named Frost had looked at her as if she were a package that could be discarded at any time.
The security team members were even more like emotionless machines.
But she had no way back.
Since the family had placed all their chips on her, she had to play this role to the end.
"Whether you are a beast or a tyrant, Felix."
Isabella looked at the eyes in the mirror, which were now burning with determination.
"I will surely make you surrender your scepter to me of your own free will."
In the telegraph room of the Metropolitan Trading Company headquarters, the sound of tapping was continuous.
A long coded telegram had just been received from San Francisco.
The decoder pasted the translated message onto a dedicated loose-leaf sheet, placed it in a kraft paper envelope, and stamped it with a confidential seal.
A confidential clerk took the envelope, walked quickly to the third floor, and pushed open the door to the President's office.
"Mr. Bill, a top-level encrypted telegram from Manager O'Neill at the Western subsidiary."
The clerk placed the envelope on the large mahogany desk.
Bill stopped checking the shipping ledger in his hand and picked up a letter opener to cut open the envelope.
The telegram was very long, listing various types of industrial equipment.
From steel furnaces to lathes, from repeating rifles to breech-loading cannons, and even a budget for infrastructure materials to lay hundreds of miles of railway and telegraph lines.
At the bottom of the list, the total amount was noted: an initial three million dollars, with a subsequent four and a half million dollars.
Bill's gaze lingered on the figure of seven and a half million for two seconds.
"It seems O'Neill is doing quite well over there."
Bill tossed the telegram onto the desk and took a sip of cold coffee.
Seven and a half million dollars.
For other foreign firms, this would definitely be a massive deal that would have the board of directors popping champagne to celebrate.
But for the President of the Metropolitan Trading Company, who now controlled half of America's logistics lifeline, it was merely the amount of a single quarterly turnover in the ledger.
What truly made Bill frown was the identity of the buyer noted at the beginning of the telegram.
Special Commissioner of the Zongli Yamen of the Qing Chong Empire.
Bill stood up from his chair and walked to the wall map in the office.
His gaze crossed the map of America and landed on that vast and ancient land on the other side of the Pacific.
"State-to-state military and infrastructure procurement."
Bill muttered to himself in a low voice.
There was a knock on the office door, and Vice President Matthew walked in.
"Bill, I heard a big order came in from San Francisco?"
Matthew rubbed his hands together, looking somewhat excited.
"Over seven million? Did that kid O'Neill sell off California's entire railway network?"
"It's not California; it's the Qing Empire on the other side."
Bill pointed to the telegram on the desk.
"An official diplomatic mission from the Qing Empire arrived in San Francisco, wanting to buy our machinery and guns. Oh... and power grid and railway materials."
Matthew walked over and glanced at the list.
"Excellent, several of our contract factories happen to have excess capacity. Those old steel rails in the Lex Steel warehouse can also be cleared out of stock. I'll go arrange the freight scheduling right now and have them prepare for loading at the Philadelphia port."
Matthew prepared to get to work with his usual efficiency.
"Wait," Bill called out to him.
"What is it?" Matthew turned his head.
Bill turned around, his expression very serious.
"Matthew, you're thinking too simply. What's written on here isn't flour and cotton. It's gatling guns, Bessemer steel furnaces, and General Electric generators."
Bill walked to the desk and picked up the telegram.
"The Metropolitan Trading Company can sell grain to Europe and clothes to South America. But when it involves the export of core military and heavy industrial equipment, especially when the buyer is an Eastern empire controlled neither by Washington nor London..."
Bill shook his head.
"This is no longer just business; this is geopolitics. If we privately sell a complete set of industrial machine tools to the Qing Empire, those diplomats in London and Paris will go crazy. The politicians in Washington will also use it as an excuse to cause trouble, saying we are exporting America's industrial lifeblood."
Matthew was stunned for a moment, then immediately understood Bill's concerns.
"Then we're not taking this order?"
"Whether to take it and how to take it is not for us to decide." Bill put the telegram back into the envelope and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit.
"Prepare the carriage; I'm going to the Empire Bank Building."
Bill grabbed his coat from the rack.
"This matter must be decided by the Boss himself."
Fifteen minutes later, the elevator in the Empire State Building stopped at the top floor.
Bill pushed open the office door.
Frost was standing by the desk organizing documents.
Felix was sitting in a leather chair, holding a progress report on a newspaper acquisition.
"Boss," Bill stepped forward.
"Bill, sit," Felix said without looking up.
"Did the Philadelphia Shipyard take the order for the new ships?"
"They did, but I'm not here about the ships today."
Bill pulled out a chair and sat down, taking the kraft paper envelope from his inner pocket and pushing it in front of Felix.
"An urgent telegram from O'Neill in San Francisco, an inquiry for a seven and a half million dollar procurement," Bill went straight to the point.
Felix put down the report in his hand, picked up the envelope, and pulled out the telegram.
He scanned the text.
When he saw the words "Zongli Yamen of the Qing Chong Empire," Felix's eyes paused slightly.
Leaning back in his chair, he read the long procurement list line by line.
Bill added from the side:
"Boss, seven and a half million is no small sum. But the Bessemer steelmaking technology, Direct Current grid equipment, and repeating firearms involved in the list are our core barriers. Moreover, the other party is the Qing government. If we just sell these things over like this, I'm worried it will cause unnecessary trouble."
Felix did not reply immediately.
Although his gaze was on the paper, extremely complex emotions were surging in his mind.
As a person of this era, Bill only saw commercial risks and diplomatic trouble.
But as a soul with memories transcending this era, Felix saw a history of humiliation and bloodshed.
The Qing Chong Empire, the Self-Strengthening Movement.
Li Hongzhang, Zeng Guofan, and the Beiyang Fleet.
He knew all too well what this bunch of feudal bureaucrats was doing.
They were trying to use purchased Western machinery to patch up that utterly rotten and massive empire.
Thinking that with ironclads and steel mills, they could resist the powerful ships and cannons of the Great Powers.
But what was the result?
The fire of the First Sino-Japanese War, the shame of the Treaty of Shimonoseki.
Even the looting by the allied forces.
Those machines and guns bought with tens of millions of taels of silver eventually either turned into scrap metal due to corruption or, along with the arsenals, became the spoils of war for the Great Powers and the Japanese.
Felix's brow furrowed tightly.
He had an inseparable emotional bond with that land, but he did not have even the slightest bit of goodwill for the court sitting in the Forbidden City.
If he were to reveal all of Lex Steel's most advanced Bessemer converter technology and General Electric's latest blueprints and sell them intact to the Qing Chong now...
Would the outcome change?
Not at all.
Advanced machinery cannot save a country with a corrupt system.
In fact, if this overly advanced equipment were shipped over, the Qing Chong Empire wouldn't even be able to find qualified maintenance workers.
Ultimately, it would only become a decoration in a warehouse or be used by those Self-Strengthening officials to falsify accounts and line their own pockets.
"Handing the sharpest knife to a terminally ill blind man will not only fail to kill the enemy but will instead hurt himself."
Felix reached a conclusion in his heart and tossed the telegram onto the desk.
"The goods can be sold."
Before Felix's words could make Bill breathe a sigh of relief, he spoke again.
"But..."
"But there must be a discount—a downgrade."
Felix made a decision.
After all, even if he didn't sell, they would still look to Europe.
"They want steel furnaces? Fine. But don't give them the latest Bessemer converter technology. Bundle up our obsolete open-hearth furnace technology, or the kind of wrought iron smelting equipment the British used ten years ago, and sell it to them. Tell them it's already the best."
Felix's finger tapped on the power grid projects on the list.
"As for the telegraph lines and generators... Give them the bulky first-generation generator models—the ones that overheat easily and have low efficiency. For the wires, don't use our newly developed high-purity rubber insulation; use the old-fashioned asphalt coating. They're only using them in a few coastal cities anyway. If they break, they'll just have to come back to us for spare parts."
"And regarding munitions, the gatling guns and rifles can be the active-service models. But do not sell the production lines or the blueprints—not even the bullet molds."
Bill listened to his boss's arrangements, inwardly admiring him.
Now... this is what you call professional!
Using outdated technology to exchange for the highest profits.
"But boss, if the equipment is downgraded, should we give them a discount on the price?" Bill asked.
"A discount?"
Felix sneered, his eyes cold.
"No, no, no~ Not only can we not give a discount, but we also need to add a thirty percent risk premium to the total price of seven and a half million."
Bill was stunned.
"A thirty percent markup? That's outrageous. That Mr. Li will surely compare prices with other foreign firms."
"He won't find any," Felix said with extreme confidence.
"The entire West Coast is blockaded by us. Even if he comes to the East Coast, we're the ones in control. Besides, crossing the Pacific is much harder than the Atlantic, and the transportation risk is extremely high. Our Metropolitan merchant ships have to pass through storm zones. Adding thirty percent for shipping and insurance seems very reasonable to me."
Felix stared at Bill, his expression serious.
"After all, you must understand, Bill. The Qing Chong Empire doesn't lack money; it lacks connections. These officials aren't spending their own money; they're spending their government's tax revenue. As long as the books look good and they can report back easily, they'll sign just as readily if we add fifty percent, let alone thirty."
"Tell O'Neill. The bottom line for this deal remains: no silver, only gold cash or customs concessions. Squeeze every last drop of marrow out of these bureaucrats."
Bill immediately stood up.
"Understood, boss. I'll head back to headquarters right away to draft the new downgraded supply list and quote, then send a telegram to O'Neill."
Bill took the telegram and quickly left the office.
Felix sat in his chair, looking out at the Manhattan skyline, his gaze deep and complex.
"Don't blame me for swindling you," Felix whispered to himself.
"Since that silver is destined to be snatched away by the Great Powers anyway, it might as well be in my vault. At least... I can help take care of the Chinese in America."
...
Evening, the east side of New York's Central Park.
A three-story red-brick townhouse was hidden behind dense trees.
The environment here was extremely quiet, as if it were a world apart from the bustle just a few blocks away.
A black carriage stopped in front of the villa.
Felix stepped out of the carriage, and the security guard at the entrance opened the wrought-iron gate for him.
The interior decoration of the villa was typically Victorian.
Dark oak wainscoting, thick Persian rugs. The crystal chandelier in the living room emitted a soft gaslight.
Felix took off his coat and handed it to the approaching maid.
"Where is she?" Felix asked.
"Miss Martin is in the second-floor sitting room, sir. Dinner is ready and served in the dining room."
The maid answered respectfully.
Felix unbuttoned his collar and headed upstairs.
The door to the second-floor sitting room was slightly ajar.
Inside the room.
Isabella was sitting in a high-backed velvet chair, having changed into a burgundy silk house dress.
Her long hair was casually pinned up, with a few stray strands falling against her fair neck. Without heavy makeup, and having shed the aggressiveness of the stage, she now displayed a breathtaking frailty and gentleness.
This was clearly a carefully designed look.
Seeing Felix walk in.
Isabella stood up, a perfectly timed gentle smile appearing on her face.
"You're back, Felix."
Her tone was very natural, as if they had been living under the same roof for a long time.
Neither overly enthusiastic nor distant.
She was executing the "heart-winning" plan devised by her cousin, the Count of Paris, aiming to become a sanctuary in this man's weary life.
Felix walked up to her.
He didn't pounce on her like some lustful john; he simply observed her with a deep gaze.
"Are you settling in well?" Felix asked.
"It's very quiet, much better than a hotel."
Isabella walked to a low table nearby, picked up a glass of amber liquid, and handed it to Felix.
"I looked through the liquor cabinet; this is a very well-aged Bourbon. Have a drink. You look tired; work must be exhausting."
She acted like an understanding wife.
Felix took the glass, inwardly chuckling.
"Bourbon? What a coincidental name."
He looked at the liquor in the glass, drained it in one gulp, and placed the empty glass on the table.
"Let's go. Time to eat."
The first-floor dining room.
A snow-white tablecloth was spread over the long dining table.
The chef had prepared roasted steak, thick soup, and some French desserts.
Felix sat at the head of the table, with Isabella on his right.
The servants retreated after serving the food, leaving just the two of them in the dining room.
"Try this sauce."
Isabella used a small silver spoon to scoop a bit of sauce onto Felix's plate.
"I went to the kitchen this afternoon and taught them a bit of the Lyonnaise style. It makes the beef taste much richer."
She didn't ask Felix what business he had been doing outside, nor did she mention the unpleasantness at the steel mill yesterday.
She played the role of the perfect woman who only cared about her man's palate and well-being.
Felix cut a piece of beef and put it in his mouth.
"It is indeed good," Felix commented.
He put down his cutlery and picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth.
"Isabella," he said, looking at her.
"Yes?"
Isabella put down her cutlery and looked at him intently, like a perfect listener.
"Do you find it boring in the villa?" Felix broached the topic.
Isabella's heart skipped a beat.
"As long as I can stay in a safe place and no longer wander around..." Isabella lowered her eyes.
"Actually, boredom is a luxury. I don't want to deal with those complicated social engagements anymore."
"Is that so."
Felix picked up his red wine glass, his gaze playful.
"I thought someone like you, accustomed to being at the center of the stage, would want more control."
Isabella looked up, her eyes sincere, even tinged with a hint of grievance.
"Felix, yesterday at the steel mill, you already saw my most embarrassing side. I said I didn't want your money or the theater. I'm just a woman."
She reached out and lightly covered the back of Felix's hand on the table.
It was soft and cool.
"All I need is a strong shoulder. You face the wind and rain outside; I only hope to be here, preparing a meal that suits your palate. Is that really too much to ask?"
Felix looked at the hand covering his own.
He had to admit.
This woman's level was extremely high.
If he were an ordinary Wall Street nouveau riche, he would definitely be completely melted by this unguarded aristocratic tenderness.
No greed for money, no struggle for power.
Only wanting your love and companionship.
For a capitalist who spent every day in intrigue and deception, this was simply the most lethal poison.
But unfortunately, Felix was not one of those people.
He knew very well that behind this cold hand lay the vast ambitions and bills of the entire House of Bourbon's restoration of France.
"This makes things easier," Felix thought to himself.
Since she wanted to play a drama of pure, selfless love.
Then he would just go with the flow and lock her firmly to this bed.
As long as he didn't relent, she would spend the rest of her life in this villa as a mere decorative vase for him.
Felix—
"I understand."
Felix reached back and took Isabella's hand.
His voice became deep and raspy, and his eyes cooperatively revealed a hint of "moved" fatigue and tenderness.
"There's no need to wander anymore; this place is yours."
He stood up.
Without letting go of her hand, Felix pulled Isabella up from the chair with a slight exertion of force.
The distance between them instantly shortened until they could hear each other's breathing.
"It seems dinner is over."
Felix looked at that stunningly beautiful face so close at hand.
Isabella's breathing became slightly hurried.
She knew what would happen next.
But this was a step she had to take, and it was also the first hurdle in her quest to control this man.
She didn't shrink back; instead, she tilted her head up slightly and closed her eyes.
Felix didn't hesitate for a second.
He lowered his head and kissed those two soft, red lips in a domineering and wild manner.
No lights were lit in the villa's corridor; only moonlight spilled onto the carpet through the windows.
Felix wrapped his arm around Isabella's waist and half-carried her up to the master bedroom on the second floor.
The oak door was kicked open by Felix, then slammed shut behind him.
"Thud."
A dull sound isolated all reason and pretense outside the door.
No electric lights were turned on in the bedroom; only the dying embers in the fireplace emitted a dull red glow.
Felix offered no gentle prelude.
His movements were filled with the aggression and possessiveness unique to a Wall Street tycoon as he pressed Isabella onto the large velvet bed.
Isabella felt a moment of panic.
In the court education of Vienna, love between men and women was filled with a sense of ritual and slow build-up.
She had even prepared a whole set of coy, push-and-pull rhetoric, intending to further establish her image as a "goddess" in Felix's heart within the bed curtains.
But unfortunately, Felix didn't buy into that at all.
In this enclosed space, Felix stripped away all his daytime gentlemanly disguises.
He was like a beast that had captured its prey, crudely and directly tearing through those intricate silks.
"Felix..."
Isabella let out a startled cry, her hands trying to push against his chest.
But that strength was completely unable to budge him in the slightest.
Felix grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head, and held them firmly against the pillow.
In the darkness, Felix's eyes were startlingly bright.
He stared at the perfect body beneath him, which could be called a masterpiece of God.
"Didn't you say you needed a strong shoulder?"
Felix's voice became extremely raspy due to desire.
He lowered his head, his hot breath spraying onto Isabella's sensitive neck.
"By my rules, since you belong to me, you must submit completely."
There was no nonsense or romantic sonnets.
In the most primitive and violent way, Felix directly declared his absolute possession of this body of the Bourbon royalty.
"Be gentler..."
Physiological tears seeped from the corners of Isabella's eyes.
Pain and extreme discomfort instantly overwhelmed her.
She bit her lower lip hard, her fingernails clawing deep wrinkles into the bedsheets.
She had thought she could control this affair just as she controlled those young noble lords.
But now she realized she was dead wrong.
On this bed, she wasn't a temptress at all.
She had completely become a recipient who was being unilaterally crushed, only able to passively endure the storm.
Felix's stamina was staggering.
He completely ignored Isabella's weak resistance.
Or rather, this resistance with its contrast in status only further stimulated the pleasure in his heart.
An exiled princess.
A noble woman burdened with the ambition of a dynastic restoration.
Now she could only weep softly beneath him.
This sense of conquest that tore through class and status was even more intoxicating than earning ten million dollars on Wall Street.
The night grew deeper.
In Central Park outside the villa, the occasional cry of a night bird could be heard.
The temperature in the bedroom was startlingly high.
Isabella felt like a small boat tossing in a vast sea of stormy waves.
That prideful reason, along with all those complex calculations about Felix in her head, were all crushed to powder at this moment by this primitive physiological instinct.
She could only rely on instinct, her hands clutching Felix's broad and solid back tightly, letting out intermittent sobs.
Which then turned into unrestrained cries.
It was unknown how much time had passed.
When the storm finally subsided.
The fire in the fireplace had completely gone out, and the bedroom was filled with a strong scent of hormones.
Isabella lay limp on the messy bed.
Her hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to her pale cheeks. She didn't even have the strength to lift a finger.
This was completely different from the "trading body for loyalty" script she had imagined.
She hadn't taken any initiative in this sexual encounter at all; instead, she had been thoroughly drained.
Nor did Felix, like those men who fall into a gentle trap, hold the woman tightly afterward and say sweet words.
He just sat up from the bed with his upper body bare.
He walked to the window and pulled open a small gap in the curtains.
The faint light of early morning had already begun to turn the edge of the New York skyline pale.
Felix took a cigar from the side table and struck a match.
The light illuminated his slightly tired face, which still showed a hint of post-satisfaction.
He took a puff of the cigar and exhaled thick smoke.
On the bed, Isabella struggled to open her eyes.
She looked at that tall silhouette smoking by the window, her gaze hazy.
She should have used her gentlest voice at this time to care about his fatigue, and then taken the opportunity to make a small, painless material request to test her weight in his heart.
But she was truly too tired.
Every bone in her body ached as if it had fallen apart.
She swallowed a mouthful of saliva, her voice so raspy it was almost inaudible.
"Felix..."
Felix turned his head and looked at the porcelain doll on the bed who looked like she might break at any moment.
"Rest well, Isabella."
"You performed very well last night; you can continue to live in this villa."
Felix turned back around and continued to watch the morning light outside the window.
"As long as you do what you should do and don't touch what you shouldn't touch, I will ensure you live a more respectable life in this city than any noble in Europe."
Lying on the bed, Isabella's heart suddenly sank.
Her mind, which had been clouded by lust, instantly cleared.
Because there was no love in Felix's words at all, only the implication of warning and captivity.
It seemed she had not only lost disastrously in body last night.
In the psychological game, she hadn't shaken this man's defenses in the slightest.
He had slept with her.
Yet he was still guarding against her.
"I understand..."
The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the villa's first-floor dining room, casting long patches of light on the floor.
Felix sat at the end of the long dining table, elegantly slicing the last piece of slightly charred bacon with his knife and fork before taking a sip of black coffee.
The sound of cutlery clinking against the porcelain plate was exceptionally clear in the empty dining room.
"Martha," Felix called for the housekeeper as he set down his coffee cup.
Martha, the housekeeper in her sixties, immediately stepped forward from the corner of the dining room, her hands folded over her apron.
"Sir, what are your orders?"
"The young lady in the second-floor bedroom is still sleeping. Do not wake her."
Felix took a napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth.
"When she wakes up, have the kitchen prepare some easily digestible liquid food. Simmer some hot soup; she was exhausted last night. Also,
Call a tailor to the villa to take her measurements and make her a few sets of decent everyday clothes."
Martha bowed her head slightly, her expression devoid of any unnecessary emotion.
"Understood, sir. I will arrange for a maid to wait outside her door to ensure Miss Isabella receives the best care. Should I send for a doctor to check on her?"
"No need." Felix stood up.
"She isn't sick; she just needs rest. Keep a close eye on the front gate. No one is allowed to visit her without my notice, and she is not allowed to leave. This is her place of recuperation, not a social club."
"As you command, sir."
Felix picked up his coat from the back of the chair and walked toward the door.
A black four-wheeled carriage was already waiting in the driveway.
Frost pulled open the carriage door, and Felix bent down to step inside.
The coachman shook the reins, and the horses snorted as they drove toward Lower Manhattan.
There was a slight jolting in the carriage.
Felix leaned back against the leather seat and closed his eyes.
In his mind, the near-frenzied scenes from last night involuntarily surfaced.
Having spent too long scheming against those old foxes on Wall Street, it had been a long time since he had experienced such pure, physical, and ultimate pleasure.
"It really was an unexpected surprise."
Felix marveled to himself.
Originally, he had only considered this a game of conquest to relieve his boredom.
After all, an exiled princess bearing the title of the House of Bourbon—that status alone was enough to satisfy any man's vanity.
But he never expected that Isabella's body would give him such a massive shock.
It was an extremely rare difference, as if she were born naturally to strangle a man's reason.
What he found even more interesting was that extreme contrast.
During the day at the steel mill or at the galas on Fifth Avenue, she maintained that impeccable aristocratic poise, like a noble and inviolable white swan.
Proud, reserved, and even possessing a Puritanical sanctity.
But in bed last night...
When that layer of disguise was completely shredded by him, and primal instincts took over, the wildness in her bones and her unreserved compliance completely exceeded Felix's expectations.
From her initial resistance and gasps to her final, irrational, and melodious weeping beneath him, she was a total temptress.
"I'm actually a bit reluctant to let go now..."
A satisfied curve appeared at the corner of Felix's mouth.
A woman like this was not only valuable politically but was also a top-tier specimen physically.
He decided to change his original plan of giving her the cold shoulder.
For the time being, he needed to return to this villa in Central Park more often to properly enjoy the "services" of Her Highness the Princess.
The carriage stopped before the portico of the Empire State Building.
Felix opened his eyes, putting away the sensual images in his mind, his gaze instantly returning to the rationality of a business tycoon.
The elevator went straight to the top floor.
Frost pushed open the door to the CEO's office.
The manager of Federal Realty, Arthur Hamilton, was already waiting on the sofa in the reception area.
A bulging leather bag sat by his feet.
"Good morning, boss," Arthur stood up.
"Sit down and let's talk."
Felix walked straight to the desk and sat down.
"How is the land acquisition in Manhattan going?"
Arthur pulled out his chair and took a large stack of embossed land deeds from the leather bag, placing them on the desk.
"It's done, boss."
His tone was tinged with pride.
"In the past three days, our people have signed contracts with all seventeen owners in the red-boxed area. As for that old Van der Beek... at first, he sat on his second-floor balcony with a shotgun, shouting at our agents that he'd never move out of the brick building his grandfather left him."
Arthur gave a cold laugh.
"I didn't waste words with him. I directly hired a hundred Irish laborers, brought in fifty carts of construction waste, and blocked all the streets surrounding his red brick building overnight. I also had the foreman start driving steel sheet piles just three feet outside his window."
"The vibration from the first steel pile shattered all the ancestral porcelain in his house. By the next morning, the old man broke down. With bloodshot eyes, he signed the transfer agreement and took the check for twice the market price we gave him and scurried off to Brooklyn."
Felix felt no moral discomfort regarding such barbaric methods; he only valued results.
"Well done. The foundation issue is solved." He flipped through the top land deeds.
"How are the talks with General Electric and Lex Steel going?"
Arthur pulled out a blueprint and spread it on the desk.
"I met with George and Robert, and they held three overnight meetings. Robert promised that Lex Steel will use a new batch of high-manganese ore from Seattle, combined with Bessemer converter technology, to customize a batch of high-strength 'H' and 'I' beam structural steel for the building. The tensile strength of this steel will be a grade higher than current railroad tracks."
"Regarding the connections, Robert designed a prototype for a pneumatic rivet gun. On the construction site, they will heat the rivets to over a thousand degrees and use high-pressure gas to drive them into pre-drilled holes in the steel beams. As they cool, the rivets will shrink, biting the two beams together so tightly that it will be sturdier than a single casting."
Felix nodded with satisfaction; this was the era-transcending construction technology he wanted.
"What about the electricity and the elevators?"
"George White ran into some minor trouble, but it's been resolved."
Arthur pointed to the core shaft area on the blueprint.
"Six electric elevators. George said that to ensure torque, an independent DC power station must be built on the second basement level. He borrowed a batch of high-purity asbestos, which was waste from Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company's raw material refining process, and combined it with South American rubber to create a fireproof insulation layer."
Arthur looked at Felix with a fanatical gaze.
"Boss, George guarantees that these six cabs can smoothly carry ten grown men from the first floor to the twentieth floor in forty-five seconds. He also said this will make the business of climbing stairs in all of New York a thing of the past."
"It seems you all have done very well. Tell them we officially break ground on the foundation next week. We'll hold a groundbreaking ceremony," Felix decided.
"By the way, remember to have Fowler's newspapers coordinate. Put out the word on all the front pages. The tallest steel-skeleton building in America, and indeed the world, is about to rise in Manhattan. I want those bankers on Wall Street who are still hesitating about leasing our offices to get their deposits ready in advance."
"Understood, boss. Once this building stands, the only name on the Manhattan skyline will be Argyle."
Arthur gathered the blueprints and left the office with great enthusiasm.
At dusk.
The Atlantic sea breeze blew across the Long Island coastline.
A black carriage drove along the wide gravel driveway into the sprawling Argyle Manor on Long Island.
Felix stepped out of the carriage, and the butler immediately took his coat and cane.
In the oversized banquet hall on the first floor of the castle, the fire in the oak fireplace was burning brightly, making a crackling sound.
"Daddy!"
A crisp child's voice rang out.
Five-year-old Callen, holding a small wooden short sword, rushed over from the other end of the corridor.
He inherited Felix's black hair, but his facial features were softer.
Felix crouched down and caught his rushing son with one hand.
"Hey... little knight. Your posture with the sword is wrong; your wrist is too stiff."
Instead of hugging him, Felix directly held Callen's wrist, correcting the angle at which he held the wooden sword.
"If you try to strike someone with this posture, the sword will be knocked away instantly. Stand firm and use the power of your waist."
Callen nodded as if he half-understood and repositioned himself according to Felix's instructions.
On the wool carpet in the living room.
A chubby little girl in a white cotton dress was sitting among several brightly colored wooden puzzle blocks, blowing bubbles and giggling.
This was Elizabeth, who was over a year old.
Felix walked over and crouched in front of his daughter, extending a rough index finger.
Elizabeth immediately grabbed the finger tightly with her two small hands, trying to shove it into her mouth.
"This isn't food, little sweetheart."
Felix pulled his finger out and gently scraped it against the tip of her nose.
Just then, the crisp sound of high heels came from the castle's entrance hall.
"Are you teaching him to swing a sword to show him how to cut people down in future board meetings, Felix?"
A confident voice with the charm of a mature woman drifted over.
Katherine walked in.
She had just finished work, and she still carried the faint scent of disinfectant from the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company.
She wasn't wearing those cumbersome floor-length dresses, but rather a very sharp dark suit, which made her appear even more formidable in this male-dominated business world.
"The swords in the business world don't draw blood, but they are much sharper than wooden ones. He needs to get used to it early, dear."
Felix stood up, shrugged, and looked at his partner, who was also the president of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals.
Katherine came over, leaned down, and kissed Callen and Elizabeth on their foreheads. Then she instructed the nanny to take the children to the dining room on the second floor.
"Let's eat first. I've been looking at ledgers at the office all day, and my head feels like it's splitting."
Katherine rubbed her temples.
At the long dining table, the family ate their meal quietly.
Felix didn't have the habit of discussing business at the dinner table; he just listened to Callen excitedly recount the geography lesson his tutor had taught today.
After dinner.
The nanny took the children to the nursery, and Felix and Katherine went to the private study on the second floor.
Felix went to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of sherry, and handed one to Katherine.
"Is something wrong with Umbrella? Your face doesn't look very well."
Felix sat down on the sofa opposite her.
Katherine took a sip of wine, her brows furrowed deeply.
"There are some issues. You know that although Umbrella is indeed the leader in the pharmaceutical industry in America—high-concentration Laudanum, improved Carbolic acid disinfectant, and Iodine Glycerin—these big hit products have brought us incredible cash flow."
Katherine set the wine glass down on the coffee table.
"But Felix, this position is very unstable. We're being nipped at the heels by two mad dogs."
"Mad dogs?" Felix looked at her with interest.
"Mm-hmm... the 'Sterling Chemical Brotherhood' in Boston and the local 'Apothecary United Pharmaceuticals' in New Jersey."
Katherine frowned as she named the two.
"Those damn copycats don't research new drugs at all. They just spend a lot of money to bribe the junior assistants in our labs to get the purification ratios for Carbolic acid. They've even started imitating our glass medicine bottles and labels."
Katherine's voice held suppressed anger.
"The idiots at the patent office in Washington are practically useless. I sent lawyers to sue them for infringing on our formula patents, and they actually argued in court that they added a tiny bit of ineffective peppermint essential oil, making it a 'completely new synthetic drug.' The judge was bribed by them, and the case has been dragging on."
"Now, Sterling and Apothecary are aggressively dumping products into clinics in the West and military field hospitals at prices twenty percent lower than ours. Last month, Umbrella's pharmaceutical orders in Illinois dropped by fifteen percent."
Felix listened quietly, his expression normal.
This was the business environment of 1871, without a well-developed intellectual property protection law.
If you invented something good, as long as the profit was high enough, countless people would immediately pounce like hyenas, tearing you apart with poorly made imitations and price wars.
In the fields of oil, steel, and electricity, Felix could rely on massive heavy asset barriers and upstream/downstream monopolies to lock out opponents.
But pharmaceuticals were asset-light and formula-driven; currently, the barrier to entry was too low.
"So you want to lower prices to fight them?" Felix asked.
"Of course not!" Katherine immediately refused.
"Umbrella takes the high-end and absolutely reliable route. Once we follow with price cuts, profit margins will drop, and it will seriously damage our brand reputation among doctors. Those people aren't afraid of killing someone with low-quality drugs; they'll just change the brand and keep selling. We can't do that."
Felix nodded; it seemed Katherine's business intuition was very sharp.
"Since the domestic market is stagnating and being eroded by generic drugs..."
Felix leaned back in his chair, a sharp light flashing in his eyes.
"Then we can make two sets of preparations. First, let the officials we know say a few words, and have the newspapers at the news company report on it. Then we can expand our business territory—go to a place where those imitation drug factories have no ability to go and wouldn't even think of going?"
Katherine was stunned for a moment.
"That's what I was thinking. But you say expand the business territory? Where? Europe? But Europe's chemical industry is better than ours. Bayer and those German pharmaceutical companies are the local powers in Europe; it would be hard to break in."
"Of course not Europe."
Felix stood up and walked to the world map hanging in the study.
His finger crossed America and the Pacific, pointing heavily at that vast Far Eastern continent.
"Go here." He turned his head and looked at Katherine.
"Go to East Asia, to the Qing Chong Empire."
"The Qing Chong Empire?"
Katherine followed him to the map, wine glass in hand, looking in the direction Felix was pointing.
Then, her brow began to furrow slightly.
"Oh, Felix, are you joking? That ancient Eastern country—I've heard that when they're sick, they only boil bitter roots and tree bark. They still believe in things like Qi, blood, Yin, and Yang. How could they possibly accept our chemicals and scalpels?"
"I'm not joking with you, Katherine. Because guns and cannons will force them to accept."
Felix's voice carried the vastness of someone who had seen through history.
"Alright, alright, I'll tell you directly, dear. O'Neill from the Metropolitan Trading Company sent a top-priority private telegram from San Francisco."
Felix revealed the details to his wife.
"That is to say, officials from the Qing Chong's Zongli Yamen are currently in San Francisco. They've brought a budget of 7.5 million dollars to buy our converters, machine guns, and telegraph lines. It seems they're engaged in some 'Self-Strengthening Movement,' forming a new-style army and navy. At least, that's what they say."
"So... do you understand the meaning behind this?"
Felix looked at Katherine and raised an eyebrow.
"After all, where there is an army, there will be casualties. Where there is war and training, there is a need for surgery. When their new-style army uses muskets and artillery, they will soon discover that those boiled herbs cannot stop the massive hemorrhaging from bullets, nor can they prevent battlefield infections from rotting away an entire leg."
Felix's words brought realization to the beauty before him.
"Iodine Glycerin, Carbolic Acid disinfectant, Laudanum for pain, and Quinine."
Katherine murmured to herself, her eyes beginning to shine.
"Yeah, exactly." Felix snapped his fingers.
"That Sterling Brotherhood and Apotheke can fight you for small orders domestically, but they certainly don't have a transoceanic transport fleet like our family, nor do they have the diplomatic channels to receive Qing Chong officials in San Francisco."
Along with that, Felix provided clear strategic guidance.
"So... after you go to the company tomorrow, immediately have the sales department print a batch of medical catalogs specifically targeting military field hospitals. Package our Iodine Glycerin, anti-inflammatories, anesthetics, and anti-malarial drugs as the'Secret Weapons of the American Federal Army for total victory in the Civil War'."
"You can also have Bill send this catalog to O'Neill in San Francisco, so that while he's negotiating steel and machine guns with the Qing Chong officials, he can bundle Umbrella's medicine into the procurement list."
Felix gave a strange chuckle.
"Those feudal bureaucrats don't understand modern medicine at all. Just tell them that by using these drugs, their soldiers' survival rate after being shot will increase by a few percent, saving the government money on pensions. I think they'll pay up without hesitation. It's called bundle selling."
Katherine nodded in understanding; that would indeed make it more enticing.
"There's more. Once we enter East Asia on the Metropolitan's merchant ships, we can intervene in other countries as well. By then, Umbrella will no longer be just a pharmaceutical factory fighting for territory in America."
"We will become the exclusive medical supplier for the new-style armies of the Far East. There are four hundred million people there; that cake is big enough for Umbrella to feast on for ten years!"
Katherine excitedly walked back to the sofa and picked up a fountain pen.
"I'll draft an expansion plan for the Far East medical market tonight. We need to increase our stocks of Iodine Glycerin and Quinine. I've heard malaria is rampant there, just like in the South. We'll need more Cinchona Bark."
Felix looked at Katherine as she quickly entered work mode and nodded with satisfaction.
This was what he admired about Katherine; she could always seize the throat of profit at the first opportunity, never wasting any time.
The atmosphere in the study grew heated.
The two spent another hour finalizing the details of how to use the Metropolitan's shipping network to lower transoceanic logistics costs for Umbrella.
When the clock struck ten...
"Phew..."
Katherine put down her pen, organized the papers filled with draft plans, and placed them in a folder.
"Finally, one trouble resolved. Tomorrow, I'll have the news company start a war of words domestically against those two generic drug factories. As for the East, we'll keep quiet and make a fortune."
She stood up and stretched, revealing the exceptionally graceful figure of a mature woman.
She picked up the wine bottle and added a bit more Sherry to her glass.
"Are you going back to your Manhattan apartment tonight?"
Katherine asked casually, her back to Felix.
"No, I'll sleep here at the manor. I have to go back to the building tomorrow morning to sign some contracts."
Felix leaned back in his chair, resting with his eyes closed.
Katherine turned around with her wine glass and walked to Felix's large desk.
She leaned halfway against the edge of the desk, looking down at her husband sitting in the chair.
She gently swirled the wine glass, the amber liquid rotating against the glass walls. Her expression was still that of relaxation after finishing business.
But her next words caused a slight shift in the study's atmosphere.
"While I was reading the newspaper at the company this afternoon, I heard some chatter about an interesting thing that happened over at Broadway."
Katherine looked into Felix's eyes, her tone perfectly natural, as if she were truly just discussing some trivial gossip.
"I heard... a very beautiful young woman has arrived at the Starlight Opera House?"
Felix's breathing hitched for a tiny fraction of a second.
He didn't answer immediately.
Katherine didn't get angry, didn't interrogate him; she even had a faint smile on her face.
But this seemingly casual chatter was clearly pointed.
As the president of Umbrella and the mistress of the Argyle Family...
She had her own sources of information, perhaps not as professional as Timmy's.
But in this New York City built on money, if she wanted to know something, how many things could escape her eyes?
Besides, Felix hadn't exactly hidden his actions.
Meeting Katherine's gaze...
Felix knew Katherine wasn't truly angry; after all, it wasn't the first time.
"She is indeed very beautiful."
Felix answered in an equally casual tone, not denying it.
"Moreover, her bloodline hides a Bill for the restoration of the French Bourbon Dynasty. She's a bit of a troublesome, but also very interesting, toy."
Felix threw out Isabella's identity with a mix of truth and lies.
He packaged a romantic affair as a game of politics and money.
Katherine's hand holding the wine glass paused slightly.
Clearly, she hadn't expected the woman to have such a background.
However, she still gave Felix a deep look.
"A toy?"
Tilting her head back, Katherine drained the wine in her glass.
"Don't let things get out of hand, dear. Those old accounts in Europe are very messy. Don't let those moldy crowns stain the manor's carpets."
She put down the glass and turned to walk toward the study door.
"Go to bed early. I have to go to the company tomorrow to deal with those rogues from the generic drug factories."
The door closed.
Felix sat alone in the study, watching the empty wine glass on the desk and sighing softly.
He naturally knew what was more important.
Katherine was far more important than that Bourbon canary.
The train sped along the tracks in Pennsylvania, the smell of coal smoke seeping through the gaps in the windows.
Carnegie sat on a hardwood bench, hands folded across his chest, staring intently at the man opposite him who was flipping through legal documents.
Tom Hayes, the president of Patriot Investment Company.
At this moment, a briefcase rested on his lap, containing a two-million-dollar cashier's check and a stack of share subscription agreements enough to change the fate of the Braddock Steel Works.
"Mr. Hayes."
Carnegie couldn't help but speak up.
"We're holding an emergency shareholders' meeting at two this afternoon. That bastard Cavendish will definitely send a proxy. If they directly produce gold at the meeting and demand to follow up on the new issuance proportionally, how will we end this?"
Hayes didn't even look up, marking the documents with a pencil.
"He can't produce the gold, Andrew."
Hayes's voice was steady.
"We've checked the movements in Philadelphia. Old Morgan did indeed ship six million pounds over, hidden in a secret vault. But United Trust Bank has already posted a notice for bankruptcy liquidation in New York. Their assets have been frozen by the court."
Hayes flipped a page.
"If Old Morgan dares to bring out that gold now and subscribe to your new shares in the name of United Trust Bank, the legal team from Imperial Bank will immediately rush into Pittsburgh with New York court bailiffs and confiscate that money as bankruptcy settlement assets. Old Morgan is a banker; he won't do something as stupid as throwing cash into a fire pit."
Carnegie gritted his teeth.
"Then what if Cavendish subscribes in his own name, or uses a new shell company?"
Hayes looked up at the still-apprehensive Scotsman.
"That is exactly why I am sitting on this train with you." Hayes closed the file.
"You think a secondary offering is as simple as printing a few stock certificates? The boss calls this a 'Poison Pill' plan."
Hayes pointed to the document in his hand.
"Later at the meeting, you will directly announce that due to the company facing a bankruptcy crisis, it needs to immediately repay supplier arrears. The company has decided on a private placement of 100,000 new shares. The par value per share is set at twenty dollars."
"Old Morgan holds twenty-five percent of your preferred shares. If he wants to follow up using a shell company, you simply add a clause to the bylaws: This subscription must have the full cash amount deposited into a designated Imperial Bank settlement account within ten minutes of the resolution passing. Failure to do so will be deemed an automatic forfeiture of subscription rights."
Carnegie's eyes went wide. One could play it like this?
"Ten minutes? That's fundamentally impossible! The money in Philadelphia can't be moved in time!"
"Exactly. The point is to make it impossible for him," Hayes sneered.
"Once he forfeits, I will slap this two-million-dollar cashier's check on the table and take all 100,000 shares. After this round of dilution, Old Morgan's twenty-five percent stake will be compressed to less than five percent."
Hayes stuffed the documents back into his briefcase.
"The stocks in his hands will turn into a pile of scrap paper too stiff even to wipe one's backside with."
Two o'clock in the afternoon.
Pittsburgh, the conference room of the Braddock Steel Works.
There was no fire in the conference room, and only three people sat around the long table.
Carnegie sat at the head, with Hayes to his right.
Opposite them sat a grim-eyed British lawyer holding a pocket watch.
His name was Hawkins, the plenipotentiary representative sent by Cavendish.
"Mr. Carnegie, we've wasted enough time."
Hawkins placed his pocket watch on the table with dissatisfaction.
"The three-million-dollar full acquisition agreement Mr. Cavendish offered previously was your last chance. If you called this shareholders' meeting today just to beg, then I represent our position: we refuse to provide any subsequent loans."
Carnegie looked at the arrogant Englishman.
Previously, he had roared in despair before Cavendish, but today, his confidence had fully returned.
"Fuck... I have no intention of begging, Hawkins."
Carnegie interlaced his fingers, elbows propped on the table.
"I called this meeting specifically to save my factory."
Carnegie turned to the clerk beside him.
"Record this: In view of the Braddock Steel Works facing a severe capital fracture and the risk of debt default, and to avoid bankruptcy liquidation, I, as the majority shareholder with a fifty-five percent stake, propose the immediate initiation of an emergency financing plan."
"The company has decided on a private placement of 100,000 new shares at a subscription price of twenty dollars per share, raising two million dollars to repay arrears and liquidated damages."
Hawkins suddenly sat up straight, staring at Carnegie.
"A new issuance? You want to dilute our shares?"
Hawkins let out a scoff.
"Carnegie, United Trust Bank has twenty-five percent preemptive rights. We can fully buy these new shares proportionally. But the premise is, you have to first find a sucker willing to put up the bulk of that two million dollars!"
In Hawkins's view, no one in all of America would dare take over Carnegie's bad debts at this time.
"The'sucker' is right here."
Hayes, who had been silent, spoke up.
He opened his briefcase and took out the cashier's check stamped with the seal of the Imperial Bank.
Then he pushed it directly to the center of the table.
"Patriot Investment Company will subscribe in full to the 100,000 new shares of this Braddock Steel Works issuance. Two million dollars in cash is already prepared."
Hayes looked at Hawkins with a mocking expression.
"Now, it's your turn to exercise your preemptive rights."
Hawkins looked at the cashier's check, his pupils contracting sharply.
Patriot Investment Company.
Felix Argyle's pocketbook!
"You... how could you..."
Hawkins's voice trembled.
He finally understood why Carnegie had suddenly disappeared earlier.
This Scotsman had actually gone to New York to find Argyle!
"The rules are simple, Lawyer Hawkins."
Hayes tapped the table.
"According to the newly amended financing bylaws, if you wish to maintain that twenty-five percent stake, you need to produce three hundred thousand dollars in cash within ten minutes and deposit it into our settlement account."
Hayes raised his wrist and glanced at his watch.
"The clock starts now. You have nine minutes and fifty seconds."
Cold sweat broke out on Hawkins's forehead as he stood up from his chair in a panic.
"This is against the rules! How is it possible to mobilize three hundred thousand dollars in ten minutes? This is malicious fraud; I will apply to the court for an injunction!"
"Go ahead and apply. Turn left out the door for the Pittsburgh District Court," Carnegie said, looking at him with a cold face.
"But before the judge issues an injunction, as soon as the ten minutes are up and you haven't produced the money, your twenty-five percent stake will automatically be diluted to five percent."
"Carnegie! You ungrateful Scottish bastard! You took Mr. Morgan's money to fight a price war, and now you're teaming up with outsiders to bite back!"
Hawkins shouted, his composure completely breaking.
"Business is war. That's what you taught me before," Carnegie said, not backing down an inch.
Time ticked away, second by second.
Hawkins paced the conference room like an ant on a hot griddle.
He couldn't produce the money now.
Those six million pounds were in Philadelphia, and to avoid being tracked by the New York bankruptcy court, he didn't dare move funds in the name of United Trust at this time.
Ten minutes passed in a flash.
"Time's up."
Hayes handed the two-million-dollar check to Carnegie, then looked at the ashen-faced Hawkins.
"It seems the deal is done. From now on, Patriot Investment Company owns forty percent of the equity in Braddock Steel Works. Your United Trust Bank is left with less than five percent. According to the company bylaws, shareholders with less than five percent automatically lose their board seat and the right to audit."
"Look—the door is over there. Get back to Philadelphia. Pittsburgh's steel furnaces will bear the name Argyle from now on."
Hawkins glared at them fiercely, grabbed his pocket watch from the table, and rushed out of the conference room without looking back.
Carnegie let out a long sigh of relief as he watched Hawkins's retreating back.
That suffocating feeling of being on the brink of bankruptcy finally vanished.
He turned his head and looked at the two-million-dollar cashier's check on the table.
"Mr. Hayes, thank you."
Carnegie's tone was somewhat complicated.
"Don't thank me. Thank the boss's inspection and his checkbook from two days ago."
Hayes shrugged indifferently and pushed the share subscription agreement over.
"Sign it, Andrew. Remember to pay them the liquidated damages. Starting tomorrow, the price of steel rails from this plant will all return to market rates. If Lex Steel doesn't lower their prices, you aren't allowed to either."
Carnegie picked up the pen and, after a moment of hesitation, signed his name on the document.
He had just untied the British noose from around his neck.
But at the same time, he had personally placed a gilded collar from New York around his own neck.
The Westinghouse Electric laboratory on the outskirts of Pittsburgh.
Thomas Edison held a pair of insulating pliers, his gaze fixed intently on the massive iron lump in the center of the workbench.
George Westinghouse stood before the switchboard, his hand resting on a massive knife switch, his palm drenched in sweat.
"Thomas, the voltage has already been pushed to four thousand volts."
Westinghouse watched the needle on the dashboard jumping violently.
"The temperature of the iron core is rising, and the eddy current effect in the Silicon steel sheets is even more severe than we anticipated. The oil-immersion cooling system's circulation speed can hardly keep up."
"Keep pushing! Push it to five thousand volts!" Edison shouted loudly.
"Mr. Morgan's money wasn't given to us to make toys! Without high voltage, Alternating Current will never leave this laboratory!"
In a corner of the laboratory...
Several crates of South American premium rubber and high-purity Silicon steel sheets from Germany, secretly transported from a hidden warehouse in Philadelphia, were stacked there.
This was the last of the ammunition for this batch of goods.
Westinghouse gritted his teeth and slammed the knife switch all the way down.
"Hummm—!"
A scalp-tingling low-frequency buzzing sound emanated from inside the Transformer.
The floor of the entire laboratory vibrated with the terrifying current.
The copper coils, wrapped in thick rubber insulation, began to heat up. The insulating cooling oil boiled inside the cast-iron casing, making a "gurgling" sound.
Edison held the pliers, staring fixedly at the terminal posts.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Thirty seconds...
No explosion or sparks occurred.
The rubber insulation layer firmly locked in that violent five-thousand-volt high-voltage electricity.
And although the iron core made of Silicon steel sheets was red-hot, it didn't melt directly like last time.
"Yes~ It's a success!"
Edison slammed the pliers hard onto the floor.
He rushed over, looking at the needle on the dashboard stabilized at the five-thousand-volt mark.
"We did it, George! Five thousand volts! This voltage is enough to send current ten miles away. Direct Current's pathetic two hundred volts is a joke in front of it!"
Westinghouse slowly pulled the knife switch down. The buzzing of the Transformer gradually subsided.
He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, but he wasn't as fanatical as Edison.
"Even though we've raised the voltage, Thomas."
Westinghouse walked to the workbench and touched the hot cast-iron casing.
"But this brings us back to our original deadlock." Westinghouse looked at Edison.
"Even if the high-voltage electricity is delivered to the factory gates, how are we going to turn it into power?"
Westinghouse pointed to the remains of a burnt-out DC motor nearby.
"You have to realize we don't have an AC motor. As soon as high-frequency AC is fed in, the commutator will spark and burn out. The brushes simply can't withstand this Alternating Current. If we can't turn electricity into rotating mechanical power, this Transformer is just an expensive heater that can light street lamps. We won't be able to snatch away Argyle' heavy industry customers who need to run lathes."
Edison's fanaticism instantly froze.
He grabbed a rag from the table and messily wiped the oil stains from his hands.
"I know! I've tried a hundred different materials for the brushes! But the laws of physics are right there!"
Edison irritably kicked a piece of scrap iron on the floor.
"I need a motor model without brushes, and a theory that allows the magnetic field to rotate on its own. I've already asked Mr. Morgan to send letters to several universities in Europe, hoping they can provide some ideas."
Edison turned around abruptly.
"But buddy, regardless, the Transformer has been built. Send the test report to Cavendish first. Let Mr. Morgan keep the money coming. As long as the money doesn't stop, even if I have to turn the entire physics world upside down, I will get that damn AC motor built!"
...
New York.
Top floor office of the Empire State Building.
Felix sat behind the wide desk.
Ludwig Fischer sat on the sofa opposite him.
This special envoy of the German Empire had an extremely serious expression at the moment. His briefcase was placed on the coffee table, containing the final confirmation telegram that had just arrived from Berlin.
"Mr. Argyle." Fischer looked directly at Felix.
"His Excellency the Chancellor has conducted an extremely cautious evaluation of your conditions."
Fischer opened his briefcase and took out a formal contract drafted in both German and English.
"Thirty million dollars in physical gold cash. Thirty-year exclusive mining rights for two large coal mines in the Ruhr Area. And ownership of three thousand acres of industrial land."
Fischer pushed the contract toward Felix.
"His Excellency the Chancellor has agreed. The German Empire does not demand any joint venture shares. The European headquarters of General Electric and the Telephone Company will also be entirely your personal sole proprietorships."
Felix looked at the contract and leaned back in his chair.
"I remember an additional condition was mentioned later, an exception clause for the British Empire. Has Berlin agreed to it?"
The corner of Fischer's eye twitched slightly.
"Agreed. It's stated in Article 17 of the contract. You have the right to conduct the same business in territories belonging to Britain. But as a reciprocal exchange, the Empire requires that once you set up factories in Germany, all communication network and power grid equipment for Germany must be guaranteed priority supply. They must never be cut off due to any external war or sanctions."
"Quite reasonable."
Felix picked up the fountain pen on the desk and opened the contract.
He scanned the legal terms rapidly.
After confirming there were no word games, he signed his name on the last page.
Felix Argyle.
As the tip of the pen left the paper...
This meant that the feelers of the Argyle's Empire had officially crossed the Atlantic and taken root in the heartland of the strongest army in Europe.
Fischer Put away the signed contract,Carefully put it into the briefcase.Stand up,bow slightly.
"The gold will be delivered directly to New York Harbor within half a month, escorted by a cruiser of the German Navy."
"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Argyle. Berlin looks forward to your wires lighting up Unter den Linden."
"No problem. A pleasure doing business with you, Fischer."
Fischer turned and left.
The office door closed, and Frost walked in from outside.
"Boss, Bismarck actually accepted everything."
Frost found it somewhat hard to believe.
"He didn't even mention the previous conditions for open research; that's not like him."
"Because he had no choice, and he's very confident." Felix picked up his water glass.
"He thinks that as soon as the machines land in Berlin, the mechanics under him will be able to take my equipment apart and copy it. You could say that patent certificates are just scraps of paper in the face of Prussian bayonets."
Felix sneered; how could he not see through Bismarck's thoughts?
"Let him take them apart. When he discovers that the resistance ratio of the Carbon Transmitter and the insulation resin formula for the generator coils can't be understood just by looking, he'll obediently pay me the subsequent maintenance fees."
Just then, hurried footsteps came from the hallway.
Timmy, the head of the Intelligence Department, pushed the door open and walked right in.
"Boss."
Timmy walked to the desk and handed over a telegram.
"Sent by O'Neill in San Francisco. The order from the Qing Chong Empire's procurement mission has been finalized. A total of 7.5 million dollars in equipment and munitions."
Felix took the telegram and glanced at the total.
"They moved quite fast."
"But, Boss." Timmy's expression was a bit grave.
"They can't produce enough gold. The leader, Intendant Li, said they brought silver drafts issued by HSBC. O'Neill refused the silver according to your rules. Both sides are at a standstill."
Timmy pointed to the last line of the telegram.
"In the end, that Intendant Li proposed a compromise. For the initial three million dollars, they'll use some physical silver and the grant of tax-exempt privileges for cargo ships in four ports along the southeastern coast of the Qing Chong Empire. But for the remaining 4.5 million dollar balance..."
Timmy swallowed hard.
"They hope that the Metropolitan Trading Company or the Imperial Bank can directly step in to underwrite a 'Westernization Construction Bond' that the Qing Chong Empire's court is about to issue. They want to use borrowed money to buy our machines."
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Qing Empire was renamed xddd