Felix stared at the words "Westernization Construction Bonds" on the telegram and remained silent for a long time.
Frost and Timmy stood before the desk, neither making a sound to disturb him.
"Quite a clever plan... borrowing my money to buy my machines, then using the nation's tax revenue to pay back the interest."
Felix set down the telegram, a mocking sneer curling his lips.
"These Qing bureaucrats are certainly quick to learn financial tactics. It's just a pity their brains haven't caught up."
Felix looked toward Timmy.
"Tell O'Neill that this deal can be done. With the tax-exempt privileges at the four ports plus silver on hand, the first batch of three million in goods can be loaded onto ships immediately."
Felix stood up and walked over to the map.
"As for the underwriting of those 4.5 million dollars in bonds, have O'Neill inform that Intendant Li. The Imperial Bank will not underwrite bonds issued in the name of their court. Those scraps of paper with Han characters on them are worthless on Wall Street. Tell them that United States investors simply don't believe an emperor with a queue can pay back money on time."
Timmy frowned.
"Boss, if we don't underwrite the bonds, they won't be able to pay the 4.5 million balance. Are we not going to sell the subsequent steel furnaces and generators?"
"We'll sell them, of course we will. But I don't want their bonds. I want their nation's financial lifeline." Felix turned around.
"Tell that man named Li that the Imperial Bank can provide them with a low-interest loan for that 4.5 million. But the condition is that the Qing Chong court must grant the Imperial Bank a special license to establish branches in Shanghai and Guangzhou."
Felix's eyes glinted with calculation.
"Furthermore, this loan will not be settled in silver. We require that the customs revenue from the Jianghai Customs in Shanghai and the Yuehai Customs in Guangzhou for the next ten years must be designated for deposit into the Imperial Bank's Shanghai branch account. It will serve as the absolute collateral for this loan."
Frost's eyes lit up.
"But Boss, controlling a nation's customs revenue accounts? That's equivalent to sticking your hand directly into their national treasury. Would that Intendant Li dare to agree to such a condition?"
"Who knows? Perhaps he wouldn't dare, but the masters behind him will likely force him to agree."
Felix walked back to his desk, feeling that it might not be a big problem.
After all, although the Two Empresses are currently ruling from behind the curtain over there, that old woman is the one in charge.
"They want ironclads and guns. Other than me, no one on the entire West Coast can supply them. If they go to Europe to buy, the British will not only want the customs but also their inland navigation rights. By comparison, I only want account escrow rights; that's practically an act of mercy."
"That's it then, go send the telegram. Tell O'Neill to hold firm to this bottom line. As long as they agree to the Shanghai branch and the customs collateral, we'll give them as many of those outdated machines as they want."
...
In Manhattan, inside a hidden villa next to Central Park.
The afternoon sun felt somewhat lazy.
The second-floor living room was decorated with extreme elegance.
A silver teapot steamed, and a three-tiered snack stand was laden with exquisite macarons and finger sandwiches.
Isabella sat on the sofa.
She wore a light gray house dress today, her hair tied up simply.
The madness of the past two days had left a trace of hard-to-hide fatigue in her eyes, but this instead made her look even more pitiable and lovely.
Sitting opposite her was a slightly plump middle-aged woman, dressed appropriately but appearing somewhat constrained.
This was Mary Fowler, the wife of the News Media Company manager, Victor Fowler.
Of course, this visit had been requested through the butler and approved by Felix.
Isabella was executing the Count of Paris's plan to penetrate and win over the agents under Felix's command.
She didn't start by going after the core executives; that would be too conspicuous.
She chose to start with the families of the junior executives.
"Mrs. Fowler, try this black tea. This is Ceylon black tea that Gaston specifically brought from Europe. It's very hard to find such an authentic flavor on the New York market."
Isabella smiled, picking up the teapot to personally pour tea for Mary.
Mary was somewhat overwhelmed by the favor.
She knew this villa was Mr. Argyle's private property.
Although Felix had not publicly revealed Isabella's identity, a woman who could live here was certainly no ordinary socialite.
"Thank you, Miss Martin. Your taste is truly wonderful. This villa is decorated just like the French courts I've seen in magazines."
Mary picked up her teacup and took a cautious sip.
"You flatter me."
Isabella set down the teapot and began to naturally guide the conversation.
"Felix is always so busy; he doesn't even have time to have afternoon tea with me. I heard that your husband, Mr. Fowler, manages the News Media Company under Felix's name. He must be working very hard as well."
Mary sighed and opened up.
"Don't even get me started; Victor has been incredibly busy lately. Mr. Argyle issued a strict order requiring him to buy up all the paper mills in the South and West within six months. He's been running around outside for months and hasn't even come home. He says he needs to spread the entire web of public opinion before the midterm elections."
Isabella's eyes flickered slightly.
Midterm elections, a public opinion network.
And a monopoly on paper mills.
These seemingly casual complaints were all highly valuable intelligence in Isabella's politically trained ears.
It seemed Felix was not only controlling heavy industry but also manipulating the mouthpieces of political votes.
"That is indeed very hard work. Mr. Victor is truly a rare talent. Felix is lucky to have a helper like him for the Argyle Family."
Isabella praised him smoothly, unobtrusively closing the distance between them.
"I have some European herbal recipes for treating migraines. You can have Mr. Victor try them next time he returns. If there is anything you need help with, please don't hesitate to tell me. Although I can't help Felix with his business, I can still help out with some small matters in daily life."
Mary's eyes lit up upon hearing this.
She felt that this "Miss Martin" was not only beautiful but also very approachable.
If she could establish a good relationship with the mistress by the boss's side, Victor's position in the Executive Committee would surely be more secure.
"You are truly too kind, Miss Martin."
Mary said gratefully.
The afternoon tea ended in a pleasant atmosphere.
After seeing Mary off, Isabella returned to the living room.
Gaston stepped out from the hallway and stood behind her.
"Miss, your social skills remain perfect. It seems that Mrs. Fowler has completely lowered her guard against you," Gaston said in a low voice.
Isabella did not smile, however.
She walked to the window and looked out at the scenery of Central Park.
"This is only the first step, Gaston. These family members only know the surface level."
Isabella took a deep breath.
"But from her words, I can feel that Felix Argyle is building an incredibly terrifying empire. He doesn't just want money; he wants to control the thoughts of this nation."
Isabella turned around.
"Go to the liaison station, Gaston. Send a telegram to Vienna. Tell Philippe that progress is being made. But I need time; this man is too unfathomable. Before..."
Isabella bit her lip, not mentioning the sense of humiliation of being completely conquered that night.
"In short... tell them not to rush me."
Gaston nodded and pulled a crumpled scrap of paper from his pocket.
"By the way, Miss."
"This morning, the maid responsible for cleaning the first-floor study found a fragment of a discarded telegram in the wastebasket. I saw the words on it were a bit strange, so I spent a few dollars to buy it from her."
Isabella frowned.
"Felix's wastebasket? Let me see it."
She took the scrap of paper. Half of it had been torn away, leaving only a few scattered English words.
"Bismarck... European Headquarters... 30 million gold... exclusive..."
Isabella's pupils contracted sharply.
Bismarck.
30 million gold and European Headquarters.
These words pierced directly into her eyes.
Although she didn't know the full content of the telegram, she could roughly guess the truth behind it.
Felix hadn't been idle in Europe.
Besides the deal with the French government, he was also conducting a massive transaction involving 30 million gold with the German Empire's Iron Chancellor, Bismarck!
If Argyle's capital and technology leaned toward Berlin,
then France would be completely finished.
The restoration of the House of Bourbon, even if successful, would continue to be suppressed by Germany.
"Gaston."
Isabella's voice trembled slightly.
She gripped the scrap of paper tightly.
"Tell Philippe that Argyle is making a deal with Berlin."
"We must analyze as soon as possible whether this will affect the family's restoration."
San Francisco, second-floor office of the Western Subsidiary of the Metropolitan Trading Company.
The salty, fishy smell of the bay drifted into the room through a half-open window.
Wit O'Neill sat behind his desk, holding a telegram just sent from the New York headquarters, his expression somewhat complex.
Intendant Li and two subordinates sat on the leather sofa opposite him, while Interpreter Wang rubbed his hands nervously.
"Mr. O'Neill. Several days have passed; has there been a response from your New York masters?"
Intendant Li noticed the odd look on O'Neill's face and asked in a deep voice.
O'Neill set down the telegram and interlaced his fingers on the desk.
"There is, Mr. Li."
O'Neill looked at Interpreter Wang.
"Please convey this accurately to this gentleman: our President has agreed to this seven-and-a-half-million-dollar transaction. As soon as the initial three million dollars' worth of goods are finalized, they can be loaded onto ships at the docks in Philadelphia and New York tomorrow."
Interpreter Wang hurried to translate, and the tension on Intendant Li's face softened slightly.
"However..."
O'Neill's tone shifted, becoming blunt.
"Regarding the remaining balance of four and a half million dollars—specifically the 'Westernization Construction Bonds' proposed by your Qing Chong Empire—our President's response is a refusal to underwrite them."
"What?"
Intendant Li's brow furrowed, and he suddenly sat upright.
"Is the credit of the Qing Chong Imperial Court not even worth a mere few million dollars? If you cannot underwrite the bonds, we simply cannot produce the silver for the remaining balance. How is this business to proceed?"
O'Neill stood up and walked to the front of his desk.
"Business can certainly be done, Mr. Li. Our President said that those bonds printed with Chinese characters are worthless on Wall Street. American investors do not believe in such distant promises."
O'Neill held up two fingers.
"While we will not underwrite the bonds, the Imperial Bank can provide the Qing Chong Empire with a special low-interest loan of four and a half million dollars. You can use this money to purchase our machinery."
Intendant Li's expression improved slightly.
This sounded like a compromise.
"If you are willing to lend, then that is negotiable. What is the interest? Over how many years must it be repaid?" Intendant Li asked.
"The interest is very low, but there is an absolute prerequisite for this loan."
O'Neill stared into Intendant Li's eyes.
"First, the Qing Chong Imperial Court must grant a special charter to the American Imperial Bank to establish branches in Shanghai and Guangzhou, enjoying full independent minting and exchange privileges."
"Second, all customs revenue from the Qing Chong's Jianghai Customs and Yuehai Customs for the next ten years must be designated for deposit into the Imperial Bank's Shanghai branch account. This will serve as absolute collateral for the loan, and the Imperial Bank will be responsible for supervising the flow of these tax revenues."
As Interpreter Wang translated this passage, his voice trembled, and cold sweat poured down his forehead.
He had just finished translating.
Intendant Li slammed his hand onto the coffee table and stood up abruptly.
"Presumptuous! This is going too far!"
Intendant Li shook with rage, pointing at O'Neill.
"Customs revenue is the very foundation of a nation! You, a mere trading firm, actually dare to try and meddle with the Qing Chong's treasury and grain! And you want to open banks in treaty ports to manage taxes? If I were to agree to such humiliating conditions that forfeit our national sovereignty, I would lose my head upon returning to the capital!"
Secretary Zhang also stood up, glaring with fury.
"You are taking advantage of our difficulties! Do you truly think the Qing Chong cannot buy Western machinery from anyone but you? We can just as easily go to England or France to buy!"
Facing these enraged Qing officials, O'Neill showed no intention of backing down.
He gave a cold laugh.
"Go to England or France? Gentlemen, by all means, feel free to try."
O'Neill walked back behind his desk and sat down, appearing full of confidence.
"The machinery the British sell you will certainly be a generation behind ours. And do you think British conditions will be more merciful than ours? When the time comes, they might not only want customs collateral, but also demand navigation rights on your inland rivers and insist on sending British nationals to serve directly as your Inspector General of Customs. What they want is total control over your country."
O'Neill spread his hands.
"Our boss doesn't want your territory, nor your inland rivers. He only wants the custodianship of a bank account to ensure his loan can be recovered with interest. In business, this is called risk control. It is the most basic rule on Wall Street."
Intendant Li gritted his teeth.
He naturally knew of British greed; after all, the gates of the Qing Chong Empire had been blasted open by British cannons.
By comparison, the Americans truly seemed to only seek wealth, not land.
However, depositing customs revenue into a foreign bank remained an extremely sensitive political bombshell.
"Mr. O'Neill, this matter is of great importance."
Intendant Li suppressed his anger with effort.
"I have no authority to decide. I must send an urgent telegram to the Zongli Yamen to be decided by the two Empresses Dowager and the Grand Secretary."
"That is your procedure, Intendant Li. Please, go ahead."
O'Neill pointed toward the door.
"But our quote and conditions will only hold for half a month. If we haven't received an affirmative response in half a month, this order will be automatically canceled. You can go take your time browsing through Europe then."
Intendant Li flicked his sleeve and strode out of the office with his subordinates.
...
On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
Austro-Hungarian Empire, Vienna.
In the study of the Duke's manor, the air seemed to have frozen.
Louis Philippe Albert, Count of Paris, clutched the recently decrypted telegram, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.
Duke Antoine sat in the chair opposite him, his expression grim.
"Bismarck, thirty million in gold, and a European headquarters."
Philippe gritted his teeth as he read those words aloud.
"The plan has been disrupted; this nouveau riche is actually making deals with the German government at the same time he's dealing with the French government!"
Antoine gave a bitter laugh.
"I told you long ago, Philippe. Do not pin your hopes on a cold-blooded capitalist.
A merchant has no country.
He serves whoever gives him more gold.
If the German Empire gets his technology, France will never be able to stand up again.
The great cause of restoration is a joke.
Besides, Argyle doesn't know that Isabella represents our House of Bourbon, does he?"
Philippe suddenly crumpled the telegram into a ball and slammed it onto the floor.
"We cannot let this deal actually go through! If Argyle' European headquarters is established in Berlin, Germany's industrial capacity will crush France within five years. By then, even if we restore the monarchy, we will be taking over a mess that could be destroyed by Prussia at any moment!"
Philippe paced the study anxiously.
"By the way, Uncle, what did Isabella say in her telegram? Does she have any way to stop it?"
"What way could there be?"
Antoine sighed.
"She is merely a mistress living in his villa; she can't even see Argyle' core ledgers. Managing to get this half-scrap of paper this time was already taking a massive risk."