The scene opens inside the office building of the Sterling Chemical Brotherhood in Boston.
Arthur Sterling slamd the capital injection agreent, which had been revised several tis, onto his desk.
He glared at the investnt agent, Davis, sitting opposite him, and let out a disdainful snort.
"Hmph. Mr. Davis. You've traveled all the way from Philadelphia several tis just to take this two million dollars and seize fifty-one percent control of our company?"
"Co on, man, what do you take the Sterling Brotherhood for? A failing bakery on the street corner? The price is only a hundred thousand dollars more than last ti."
Davis wasn't angered by the other man's arrogance; he had grown accustod to it after coming here several tis.
"Mr. Sterling, this two million dollars isn't just cash. It also covers all the patent litigation fees that the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company will file against you over the next few years. You should know very well that once you're in the Boston High Court, every word those lawyers speak burns through stacks of cash."
"Umbrella's lawsuits?"
Arthur laughed, his laughter filled with unbridled arrogance.
"Oh, Davis, haven't you read the newspapers these past few days? Umbrella has dropped the lawsuit; that woman has admitted defeat! They know they can't possibly beat us on the definition of chemical synthesis."
Arthur stood up and walked over to the blackboard in the office.
It was densely packed with purchase orders from military hospitals in the Midwest and Southern states.
"Take a look at these. Our new anti-inflammatory drugs and painkillers are twenty-five percent cheaper than Umbrella's. The pharmacists in the West are sending us purchase requests like they're crazy; my orders are already booked until next spring. The profit is enough to build ten new factories!"
Davis looked at those orders and frowned slightly.
He had also heard about Umbrella dropping the lawsuit, but he always felt that things were not that simple.
How could soone like Argyle give up such a fat piece of at so easily?
"Mr. Sterling. In business, who can say anything with such certainty?" Davis tried to continue the negotiation.
"You know, this money from the European fund could allow you to triple your production capacity. You only have these orders now; if you take the money, I believe the entire Arican pharmaceutical market will be yours."
"The price is to take your orders and cut prices by another fifteen percent? Keep dreaming, man. I run a factory to make money."
Arthur walked back to his desk, his tone filled with speechlessness.
"Please leave. I still need to go to the workshop to check on the progress; the first batch of fifty crates of carbolic acid disinfectant will soon be loaded and shipped to Chicago."
Just as Arthur was about to show him the door.
The office door was slamd open.
The procurent manager of the Sterling Brotherhood rushed in, covered in sweat.
He didn't even bother to close the door, clutching a stack of telegrams tightly in his hand.
"Arthur, sothing's happened! Sothing big!"
The procurent manager shouted, panting for breath.
Arthur frowned.
"Oh shit, shut up! Don't you see I have a guest here? What are you panicking about?"
"I can't help but panic!"
The procurent manager slapped the stack of telegrams directly onto Arthur's chest.
"The raw materials are cut off! All of them!"
Arthur froze, and he grabbed the telegrams.
"What do you an the raw materials are cut off?"
"Coal tar! Cinchona bark! And the raw paste used to refine painkillers!"
"I took people to the Boston port this morning to pick up the goods. The cargo ship carrying cinchona bark from South Arica didn't even dock! The port dispatcher from the tropolitan Trading Company blocked the ship out at sea!"
Arthur's expression began to change.
"tropolitan Trading Company? By what right are they blocking our goods?"
"It's not just the goods from South Arica; the coal tar supplier in Chicago just sent an urgent telegram. They have unilaterally torn up our supply contract!"
The procurent manager pointed to the words on the telegram.
"They'd rather pay us the penalty fees than ship a single barrel of coal tar, saying that soone has bought out all the coal tar for the next eight months on the futures market!"
"Fuck you—who did this?" Arthur roared.
"Who else could it be? Umbrella."
"They've put the word out in the market. Any raw material supplier in all of Arica who dares to sell us a single ounce of material will be blacklisted by Umbrella forever! The rchant ships of the tropolitan Trading Company refuse to carry any cargo with our company's na on it."
Arthur felt the world spinning and slumped into his chair.
"No, what about the black market? Go buy it on the black market! No matter how expensive it is, get next month's goods finished first!"
"We can't buy it, Arthur." The procurent manager swallowed hard.
"The current black market price for coal tar has quintupled, and cinchona bark has increased tenfold. Even if we go bankrupt buying it, we can't get enough. Umbrella is determined to finish us off!"
Davis sat blankly in his chair, listening to all of this.
He finally understood why that woman had dropped the lawsuit.
This wasn't admitting defeat; it was drawing a knife to slit their throats.
Arthur looked at the densely packed orders on the blackboard.
A mont ago, these were his capital for showing off, but now they had turned into a fatal noose.
"Arthur." The procurent manager reminded him, trembling.
"The military hospitals in Chicago, the pharmacy chains in Texas. We signed ironclad contracts. If we can't deliver next month, according to the penalty clauses for delays in the contracts, we won't just have to refund all the deposits we've received; we'll also have to pay them double the damages. Added together... it adds up to at least over three hundred thousand dollars."
"How much cash do we have left in our accounts?" Arthur asked through gritted teeth, unwilling to accept it.
"Less than one hundred thousand dollars."
That was it, a dead end.
A total dead end.
Arthur Sterling's eyes slowly turned to Davis, who was sitting opposite him.
The Philadelphia agent he had just mocked remained calm, picking up the capital injection agreent and lightly flicking the dust off it.
"Mr. Sterling, it seems you've encountered a bit of a problem."
Arthur gasped for air like a dying fish.
He knew that this money was his only lifeline now. With these two million, he could go to the black market, force a purchase of raw materials at ten tis the price, and fill those life-threatening orders.
"Mr. Davis."
Arthur's voice was terrifyingly hoarse.
"Two million for fifty-one percent of the shares, right? I'll sign."
"Very good, Mr. Sterling. I knew you were a smart businessman."
Although the process was tortuous, Davis still handed over the fountain pen.
Arthur grabbed the pen, signed his na, and stamped it with the company seal.
That sa afternoon.
In the Apotek United Pharmaceutical Company in New Jersey, almost the exact sa scene played out.
The boss, Richard Thorne, under the dual pressure of cut-off raw materials and penalty fees, despairingly signed the agreent handed over by the person sent by Cavendish.
Just like that, through a twist of fate, Catherine had indirectly helped Cavendish complete a task that hadn't been finished in nearly half a month.
It's just hard to say whether it's good or bad.
As night fell, Cavendish sat at his desk, listening to the report from Davis and another agent.
Two signed stock transfer agreents lay before him.
"Sir, we have succeeded. The two generic drug factories in Boston and New Jersey are now under our absolute control."
Davis finished his report, but Cavendish did not show any joy of victory.
Looking at the two docunts, his face was dark enough to drip water.
"Succeeded?" Cavendish's voice carried a hint of bitterness and helplessness.
What does this count as?
He stood up and walked to the window.
"Davis, have you calculated this account?"
Cavendish turned around and looked at his subordinate.
"Umbrella has inflated the price of raw materials tenfold. To fulfill previously signed orders, these two pharmaceutical factories must now buy raw materials at many tis the cost. And then? Then we still have to sell them at fifteen to twenty-five percent below market price, as required by our agreent!"
As he spoke, Cavendish slamd his fist onto the windowsill.
"Right now, for every bottle of dicine we produce, we are losing several dollars! These two factories are not weapons that can strike at Umbrella; they are two money-shredding machines frantically devouring dollars."
Davis certainly knew, but that didn't have much to do with him, did it?
However, he still chid in thoughtfully.
"Sir, should we stop injecting capital? Let these two factories simply declare bankruptcy and breach the contract?"
"Bankruptcy? Do you think I don't want to?" Cavendish gritted his teeth.
"But in the eyes of Old Morgan in London, this is our bridgehead to suppress the Argyle Family pharmaceutical industry! If I declare bankruptcy right after signing, Old Morgan would likely cut off all my funding authorizations imdiately!"
Cavendish closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Go notify the bank in Philadelphia. Imdiately deposit five hundred thousand dollars into each of the Boston and New Jersey accounts, and tell them to buy raw materials on the black market."
Cavendish gave the order.
"Investing this money will buy us so ti."
He looked at the rain curtain outside the window.
In this confrontation of capital, his side had already lost the initiative.
Now, he could only be like a charioteer tied to a war chariot; even knowing there was a cliff ahead, he had to bite the bullet and keep pouring the funds authorized by Old Morgan down into it, cartload by cartload.
...
Ohio.
Ohio Valley, Federal Steel Company branch factory.
The morning mist shrouded the massive factory area, and the dedicated railway tracks from the train station extended all the way to the front gate of the factory.
A heavy steam train loaded with cargo let out a screeching braking sound and slowly stopped at the platform.
The factory manager, Horace, and the senior acquisition agent sent by Cavendish, Silas, had long been waiting there with dozens of foren and administrative staff.
Silas looked at the flatbed cars covered with huge tarpaulins, his face finally revealing a long-lost ecstasy.
"Horace, do you see? This is the power of capital." Silas pointed at the carriages.
"This is the latest generation of Besser Converter ordered from Sheffield, along with a full set of hydraulic air supply equipnt. With these things, those old open-hearth furnaces will only be good for lting scrap iron."
Horace rubbed his hands, also appearing very excited.
For the past half month, they had been suppressed by Lex in the market and couldn't lift their heads.
Now, the weapon for a turnaround had finally arrived.
"Mr. Silas, as long as these converters are installed, our steel output rate can double. Costs will also drop significantly. By then, we can take a vicious bite back at Argyle on the railway orders." Horace said excitedly.
"Organize the n to unload the cargo imdiately; bring the crane over." Silas issued the order.
The sound of huge gears turning rang out on the platform.
Heavy converter parts were hoisted up bit by bit and slowly transported into the newly built blast furnace workshop.
The entire morning, the factory area was a hive of activity.
Near noon, the equipnt was basically in place.
They were just waiting for the base to be fixed and the final refractory bricks to be laid.
"Go call Tom Harris over." Silas instructed the foreman beside him.
"He is the chief furnace foreman here. Have him bring a few experienced hands over to study the air intake structure of the new converter. We must strive to complete the ignition ceremony within three days. I have already notified Philadelphia; Mr. Cavendish will co personally to cut the ribbon the day after tomorrow."
The foreman acknowledged the order and left.
Silas and Horace walked into the factory manager's office, poured two cups of coffee, and prepared to celebrate the coming counterattack.
A few minutes later.
The office door was pushed open.
Tom Harris walked in.
Behind him followed his deputy, David Miller, and four other core foren from the workshop.
They were not wearing their heat-resistant canvas work clothes but had changed into their usual tweed jackets, and each was holding their own personal belongings bag.
Silas, holding his coffee cup, did not notice anything unusual.
"Harris, have you seen the new converter?" Silas asked with a condescending tone.
"That European equipnt is much better than the junk you used before, right? Organize your people to work overti tonight to lay the refractory bricks; I'll pay you double wages."
Harris walked to the desk, took a thick stack of papers out of his pocket, and threw them next to Silas's coffee cup.
"What is this?" Silas frowned.
"Resignation letters." Harris said with a mocking tone.
"Oh, that's right, there are one hundred and twenty people in total. Including and these foren, as well as all the skilled tallurgical workers and foundry workers in the blast furnace workshop."
The office instantly fell into dead silence.
The coffee cup in Horace's hand dropped directly to the floor, shattering into pieces.
Dark brown liquid splashed all over his leather shoes.
"You... what did you say?" Horace asked, stamring, "Resign? Today?"
Silas stood up abruptly, staring fixedly at Harris.
"Harris, what kind of joke are you playing? You say you want to resign just as the new machine has arrived? Do you think you can take this opportunity to blackmail the factory for a raise?" Silas suppressed his anger.
"Speak, how much do you want? Is three dollars a day enough?"
Harris let out a short, scoffing laugh.
"Pfft—Mr. Silas, this isn't a question of money. This is about freedom."
Harris looked directly at this British agent.
"Arica is a free country; we don't want to work in your factory anymore. The air here is too foul, and the British boss's temper is too rotten. We want to find sowhere else to breathe."
"Sowhere else? Which other steel mill in the entire state of Ohio can offer you such high wages?"
Silas roared anxiously.
"That's no concern of yours."
Harris turned and walked out.
"We just ca to notify you. Our employnt contracts state clearly that workers have the right to leave at any ti. I wish your new converter burns brightly."
"Fuck, stop!"
Silas panicked.
He drew the revolver from his waist and aid it at Harris's back.
"Whoever dares to walk out that door! You shaless bastards! You took the company's money, and now you want to quit?"
Harris stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.
Several foren behind him also reached for the knife handles and iron wrenches at their waists.
In Arica during this era, the steelworkers at the bottom were not exactly gentle souls; they risked their lives in high heat and danger every single day and didn't care about a re gun at all.
"Mr. Silas, I advise you to put that thing away," Harris said, looking at him coldly.
"This isn't England, you know. If you dare to fire that, the hundreds of workers in this factory will tear you and Horace to pieces. Then they'll set your new machines on fire and lt them into molten iron."
Silas's hand was trembling.
Looking into Harris's eyes, which held not a shred of fear, he slowly realized that he was not facing a group of cowards.
He then powerlessly lowered the muzzle of his gun.
"Who exactly put you up to this?"
Silas's voice was filled with despair.
"Who offered you a higher price?"
Harris had no interest in answering him and pushed open the office door directly.
"Let's go, brothers. Our new boss is still waiting for us to start work."
Led by Harris, over a hundred skilled workers marched out of the gates of the Federal Steel Company in a grand procession.
Not a single person looked back.
Silas and Horace rushed out of the office and ran to the blast furnace workshop.
The workshop, which should have been bustling with activity, was completely empty at this mont.
Only that European converter, which had just arrived and was gleaming with a cold tallic luster, stood lonely in the center.
Without this group of experienced veterans, no matter how advanced this machine was, it was just a pile of scrap tal that couldn't produce any value.
If they forced the newly hired apprentices to ignite it, the only outco would be a blast furnace explosion.
"Where did they go..."
Horace collapsed weakly onto the floor.
Silas ran to the high tower in the factory area and raised his binoculars.
Following the direction in which the workers had left.
On the edge of a small town thirty miles away, a man was standing in front of a dilapidated workshop with a sign that read "Ohio Valley United Ironworks."
That was Vince, the representative from the Patriot Investnt Company who had maliciously bid 1.5 million in Horace's office that day.
Vince was shaking hands with Harris and directing the workers into the workshop.
Silas lowered his binoculars, his hands and feet turning cold.
He understood.
"It's over, it's all over."
Silas stumbled down the high tower and rushed toward the telegraph office at the train station.
He had to report this news to Philadelphia.
...
Rain was still falling, tapping against the glass windows of the second-floor office.
Clive Cavendish sat in a large sofa.
He held a glass of single malt whiskey in his hand; it was his only comfort these past few days.
The two pharmaceutical factories in Boston and New Jersey still weighed heavily on his mind.
"Bang!"
The office door was pushed open violently.
His assistant, Bates, didn't even bother to knock; he rushed in with a panicked expression, clutching several telegrams in his hand.
"Mr. Cavendish, sothing else has happened! There's a problem with the steel company."
Cavendish's hand shook, and the whiskey spilled onto his trouser leg.
"Hey... hey, calm down, man. Bates, explain clearly." Cavendish put down his glass and stood up.
Bates swallowed hard and unfolded the telegram in his hand.
"Silas from the Ohio Valley branch sent an urgent telegram. This morning, just after the new converter from Sheffield arrived, the chief foreman, Tom Harris, led 120 skilled tallurgical workers from the factory to resign en masse. The entire blast furnace workshop is now empty, and the new machines are completely paralyzed."
Cavendish's pupils contracted sharply.
"Resign en masse? On the very day the machines arrived?"
"Yes, and it's not just Ohio."
Bates's voice trembled as he read the next telegram.
"Garrick from the Susquehanna branch in Pennsylvania also sent an urgent telegram. It's the sa situation; their furnace tenders and foundry workers also resigned en masse this morning. The two branches in Illinois have also lost more than half of their core technical workers."
The corner of Cavendish's mouth twitched.
So ruthless...
This kind of synchronized attack was definitely not a spontaneous protest by the workers.
"Where did they go?" Cavendish stared intently at Bates.
"Silas says in the telegram," Bates looked at the last line of the telegram.
"All those workers went to so dilapidated tin workshops dozens of miles away. Those workshops have all sorts of nas, but the people paying to hire them behind the scenes..."
Bates paused for a mont.
"It should be the people from Lex Steel. They offered those workers an astronomical daily wage of four or five dollars, and they also provided a relocation allowance."
Cavendish slumped back onto the sofa, his mind quickly reviewing the situation.
He looked at the map of North Arican industry hanging on the wall.
Those red dots representing the branches of the Federal Steel Company now looked like wounds that were bleeding profusely.
"A good plan, Lex really has a good plan." Cavendish suddenly gave a wry smile.
Facing such absolute crushing of intelligence and tactics, he instead felt a sorrow as if he were a bystander.
This is just like the pharmaceutical front, a continuous bleeding.
Cavendish picked up his glass and finished the remaining whiskey.
"Just by using the most primitive ans of capital, it has co to this."
Cavendish stood up and walked to the map.
"Look at what we are holding in our hands now, Bates."
Cavendish's finger traced across the map.
"On the pharmaceutical front, we control two pharmaceutical factories, but Umbrella cut off the raw materials. Now we have to buy raw materials on the black market at ten tis the price and then sell the dicine at a reduced price. We are suffering a net loss of tens of thousands of dollars every day."
"On the steel front, we paid two or three tis the premium to buy several dilapidated factories. We also spent a huge amount of money ordering the most advanced equipnt from Europe. The machines arrived, but what's the result?"
Cavendish spread his hands.
"There isn't even a foreman to shovel coal in front of the blast furnace; those expensive machines are now just a pile of scrap tal. But we still have to pay the remaining installnts for the European machines. If we stop work, the liquidated damages from those railway companies could sue us into bankruptcy."
"As for the military industry front, the Colt family surrendered directly and beca a subsidiary of the Argyle Family."
Cavendish turned around and looked at his assistant.
"The millions of pounds Old Morgan transferred over, over a million pounds of which have been spent, have now all turned into dead money locked in a swamp, unable to move, and we are still continuing to bleed every day."
Bates felt dizzy listening to the analysis.
"Then... then what should we do now, sir?" Bates asked with a crying tone.
"If there is no follow-up capital injection, the Federal Steel Company won't even be able to pay next month's rent. And this is Mr. Morgan's money!"
Cavendish looked at his panicked assistant.
If this money were his own, or the Cavendish family's, he would probably already be standing on a bridge over the Delaware River, preparing to jump.
But this was Old Morgan's money.
It was the money of that Old Morgan, who was high and mighty in London, threatening him with the revocation of dividends and cutting off funds.
Cavendish walked to the desk, picked up the billiard cue on the table, and played with it casually.
His eyes revealed an extrely absurd sense of relaxation, even with a hint of schadenfreude and a feeling of giving up.
It seems it's very difficult for him to beat Felix Argyle.
After all, this is Arica, it's their ho turf.
And Old Morgan wanting to fight a total war here by remote control is simply arrogance to the point of stupidity.
Now, this broken ship built with pounds is sinking rapidly.
Cavendish put down the billiard cue and shrugged helplessly at Bates.
"Damn it, what else can be done? Of course, report it to Mr. Morgan~"
The early morning in London was like thick fog, like a grey, damp rag, suffocating the capital of the empire.
Inside the Morgan mansion at 22 Broad Street, it was so quiet that one could only hear the ticking of the grandfather clock's second hand.
The master bedroom on the second floor.
Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the faint morning light. Junius Morgan lay on the large, carved wooden bed, his brows furrowed and his breathing sowhat heavy.
His sleep had been poor lately; that young man on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean nad Felix Argyle existed in his mind like an inescapable nightmare.
"Knock, knock."
The walnut door of the bedroom was knocked on twice with extre restraint.
Old Morgan opened his eyes; there was no confusion from just waking up in his gaze, only alertness.
"Co in."
Old Morgan sat up and leaned against the headboard.
The butler, Oliver Sterling, pushed open the door carrying a silver tray, on which sat a steaming cup of black tea and several telegraph papers with perforated edges.
"Sir, I apologize for disturbing your rest. However... an urgent encrypted telegram just arrived from Philadelphia."
Sterling placed the tray on the nightstand, picked up the telegraph papers, and handed them over.
Morgan did not touch the cup of black tea.
He took the telegram, fished his reading glasses out from under the pillow, and put them on.
The telegram was sent by Cavendish.
The content of the first sheet was about the pharmaceutical front in Boston and New Jersey.
Umbrella had completely blockaded the supply chain of coal tar and cinchona bark in Arica.
The two generic pharmaceutical factories that had just received capital injections were now facing exorbitant black-market raw material prices and massive liquidated damages, consuming funds every day.
The content on the second sheet was about the Federal Steel Company.
The new converters from Europe had just arrived, but Harris and 120 other core skilled workers had collectively resigned and jumped ship to a shell company of Lex Steel.
Now the blast furnaces were completely paralyzed.
After reading the two sheets, Morgan's chest began to heave violently.
"Fool!"
Morgan growled as he crumpled the telegraph papers in his hand into a ball and smashed it onto the floor.
"I handed millions of pounds to him so he could build a defensive line in Arica. And the result? He was played like an idiot! Does he not even understand the most basic common sense of supply chains? Having his raw materials cut off and his workers poached, and he still has the nerve to ask in a telegram what he should do?"
Morgan suddenly threw off the quilt and stepped barefoot onto the carpet.
"Did he feed all those investnt skills he used in London to the dogs? Cavendish, that arrogant piece of trash!"
Sterling bent down to pick up the paper ball, keeping his head lowered, not daring to speak.
Morgan paced back and forth by the bed, forcing himself to calm down.
He knew that getting angry now would be of no use.
What really troubled him was the source of this money.
"Oliver."
After calming down, Morgan spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Have you calculated how much money we have already thrown into that damned bottomless pit in Arica?"
"Yes, sir." Sterling swallowed.
"In total, including the funds recently used by Cavendish, it is two million pounds, with about two million pounds remaining."
Morgan sneered, his laughter tinged with a chill.
"Yes, four million in total. You must know that one million of this is money from the depositors of Morgan Bank, and one million is the family's own capital. But that is not the worst part."
Morgan walked to the window and pulled back the curtains, the grey fog reflecting his sowhat aged face.
"The remaining two million pounds. That is money from the Lord Richard Grosvenor family, the French Valois family, and the Netherlands Vanderbilt Family."
Morgan's hands pressed against the windowsill.
"Previously, when the Philadelphia Union Credit Bank was bankrupted by a run caused by Argyle, those three families were already very dissatisfied. It was I who promised them that we would earn back the profits in the real industry. But now? Pharmaceutical and steel have been hit just as they started. That two million pounds has turned into waste paper without even making a sound."
Sterling hesitated for a mont and said in a low voice.
"However, sir, Cavendish also ntioned in the telegram that the progress on the military industry side is currently proceeding smoothly, and perhaps we can recover so losses in the arms business."
"Do you really believe that?"
Morgan turned his head, his eyes sharp.
"Argyle was able to corner him in steel and pharmaceuticals; would he let the military industry slide? Everything that donkey Cavendish sees right now might just be an illusion deliberately created for him by Argyle."
Just then, a sowhat noisy doorbell rang from downstairs.
Sterling walked to the window and took a look outside; his expression changed instantly.
"Sir, it is Lord Richard Grosvenor's carriage. Following behind are Mr. Van der Burgh and Mr. Lyons Valois."
Morgan closed his eyes upon hearing these three nas.
What must co will always co.
In the circle of capital, the scent of blood always travels the fastest.
"Go prepare coffee, Oliver. Let them wait for in the circular drawing room." Morgan turned and walked toward the washroom.
"Tell them I will be down imdiately."
Half an hour later.
The circular drawing room on the first floor.
The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly.
Lord Richard Grosvenor sat on a single sofa.
He was a typical old-school British aristocrat, holding a cane with a silver head in his hand, his deanor elegant.
Van der Burgh sat opposite him.
This rchant from the Netherlands was slightly chubby, constantly turning the gold ring on his finger, his eyes revealing a calculating gleam.
Lyons Valois, on the other hand, appeared sowhat impatient.
This Frenchman stood in front of the fireplace, looking impatiently at the wall clock.
Morgan pushed the door open and walked in.
He had changed into a dark grey suit, and no trace of the panic from the bedroom could be seen on his face.
"Richard, Van der Burgh, Lyons. I am truly surprised by such an early visit; you know the fog outside has not yet dispersed."
Morgan greeted the three with a smile and sat down in the main seat.
Sterling walked in carrying a coffee pot and poured coffee for the four n.
"Junius, good morning."
Richard picked up the coffee cup and slled the aroma.
"These Colombian coffee beans are quite good; the weather in London lately is truly terrible. I heard that in Paris, the Thiers Governnt is still in a standoff with the people of the Commune; the world is truly chaotic."
On the surface, the three maintained the cultivation of gentlen, starting to chat about so inconsequential European politics and business anecdotes.
But this hypocritical politeness did not last long.
The impatient Lyons Valois placed his coffee cup heavily on the coffee table, making a crisp sound.
"Junius. Actually, we ca here today because there are things we want to ask you." Lyons stared at Morgan, his tone stiff.
"Why don't we talk about Arica?"
Morgan's hand holding the coffee cup was as steady as a mountain as he turned his gaze toward Lyons.
"What is wrong with Arica? Lyons, our layout over there is progressing steadily."
"Progressing steadily?"
Lyons let out a mocking laugh.
"Forget it, don't treat us like fools, Junius. When we invested money, we also sent auditors and spies to follow behind Cavendish. Although your Morgan Bank's telegraph network is fast, our channels are not slow either."
Lyons stood up and pressed his hands on the coffee table in front of Morgan.
"Now the blast furnaces of the Federal Steel Company have beco decorations, and the workers have all run away. The two pharmaceutical factories in Boston and New Jersey cannot buy even an ounce of coal tar, and in a while, they will definitely bleed in the market for liquidated damages."
"You must know that two million pounds have been invested so far; that is real money, Junius. We have not seen even a single cent of profit, and we are directly facing bankruptcy losses."
As he spoke, anger flared in Lyons' eyes.
"You must give us an explanation."
The atmosphere in the circular parlor turned strangely peculiar in an instant.
Seeing this, Lord Richard Grosvenor gave a soft cough and tapped the floor with his cane.
"Hey... Lyons, sit down first. Don't get so worked up, okay? We are here to solve problems, not to argue."
Although Lord Richard Grosvenor was offering advice, his gaze remained fixed on Old Morgan.
"However, Junius. Even though Lyons' words were a bit hasty, they still hold rit. When that United Credit Bank in New York collapsed due to a bank run, we swallowed the losses for your sake and even provided new funds and channels for you. As for that Scottish steel mill owned by Carnegie being annexed by Argyle, that was primarily an investnt by your Morgan Family, so we won't say anything about that."
Lord Richard Grosvenor leaned back against the sofa.
"But this ti, there is indeed a serious problem. Cavendish took our joint funds to Arica, going around picking up trash assets that were on the verge of bankruptcy. Yet, before operations even began, he had his neck choked by soone. This makes it very difficult for us to answer to our families."
Jan Vanderbilt also stopped twisting his ring and continued, speaking up.
"That's right. Junius, we Dutch value loss mitigation in business. Moreover, we have clan mbers in New York, so we are well aware of how terrifying the influence of that young man nad Argyle is in Arica. Therefore, we feel there is no need to continue this war of attrition."
Jan looked at Morgan and stated the real purpose of their visit.
"Ahem... We ca here today to ask about your plans. Are you going to continue pumping blood into that bottomless pit, or will you sell off the steel and pharmaceutical assets as quickly as possible while those companies still have so book value? You must give us an answer. If the losses continue, we may have to consider withdrawing our funding authorization."
Morgan set down his coffee cup, sneering inwardly.
These vampires were more eager than anyone when it ca to making money, but they ran faster than rabbits the mont they encountered a setback.
"Gentlen."
"Sell off? Selling now is equivalent to waving a white flag at Argyle. If we sell those steel mills and pharmaceutical factories now, we might not even recover half of our invested costs."
Morgan scanned the heads of these three noble European families.
"Please~ comrcial wars are just like that; casualties are normal. Cavendish did make a mistake by underestimating Argyle' control over the dostic supply chain in Arica. But I assure you, we are currently very successful in the military industry. As soon as the arms business takes off, those losses will be wiped out quickly."
Morgan threw out the smoke bomb of the military industry.
He knew he could not show any sign of retreat; otherwise, if these families withdrew their capital, the Morgan Family's strategic layout in Arica would completely collapse.
"Believe , we cannot give up. We must keep our capital there. As long as we hold on, an opportunity will eventually arise."
The three n exchanged glances.
Lyons Valois sat back down on the sofa, a cunning smile curling the corners of his mouth as he looked at Morgan.
"Alright, alright~ Junius. Perhaps you are right; withdrawing capital would indeed result in huge losses. As friends, we are not unreasonable people. We can agree to keep those two million pounds in Arica, and we can even add a portion more."
A sense of wariness flashed through Morgan's mind; these guys would definitely not be this easy to talk to.
As expected, Lord Richard Grosvenor picked up the conversation.
"However, Junius. Since we are bearing such a huge risk by continuing to follow you into this quagmire in Arica to lock horns with Argyle, we must demand corresponding risk compensation."
"Hmph~ then what compensation do you want?"
Morgan frowned.
"Ahem... Westinghouse Electric."
Jan Vanderbilt said with a smile.
Morgan's pupils constricted sharply.
He finally understood that this was the true purpose of the three n's visit today.
Holding him accountable for pharmaceuticals and steel was just an excuse; what they were really eyeing was that piece of super-fat at still hidden in the laboratory.
"It seems you haven't spared any effort in Arica either," Morgan said coldly.
"Of course, Junius. Who wouldn't covet that newly developed market in North Arica? You had the foresight to establish an electrical laboratory in Pittsburgh ahead of ti. And I hear you've achieved good results; that is truly a wonderful thing..."
Lord Richard Grosvenor said with a smile.
"Well, to be honest. Since Westinghouse Electric had previously been an investnt solely by the Morgan Family, we had no intention of interfering even after learning about it. But recently, through our universities and research institutions in Europe, we have learned that if this thing called Alternating Current can truly solve transmission and power issues, it will be a revolution."
There was a glint of desire for the future market in Lord Richard Grosvenor's eyes.
"It is said that it will be like when Watt improved the steam engine, ushering in a brand-new era. This is a larger market than steel and arms; it is a ticket to the next hundred years."
Lyons nodded quickly to add.
"So our condition is that the Valois, Grosvenor, and Vanderbilt families must be allowed to buy shares in Westinghouse Electric. We want to share in the future profits of this technology."
Morgan's face turned ashen, and his hands clenched tightly into fists under the table.
This was his final trump card to turn the tables and completely destroy Argyle' Direct Current grid.
Now, these guys actually wanted to co and get a piece of the pie.
"Not only that."
Jan watched Morgan's expression and continued to apply pressure.
"Junius. You previously kept hinting to us that as long as we defeated the Argyle Family, the four of us could gain a firm foothold in Arica and carve up that massive market. But looking at the situation now, it is not that optimistic."
Jan spread his hands.
"The Argyle Family is too powerful in Arica. In just ten years, he has monopolized most of the railroads, telegraphs, finance, and heavy industry. We are at too much of a disadvantage fighting him on his ho turf."
"So, we not only want to buy shares in Westinghouse Electric, but we also suggest imdiately moving Edison, Westinghouse, and all of their experintal equipnt and blueprints to England."
Lord Richard Grosvenor nodded in agreent.
"In London or Manchester, the four of us can provide them with an absolutely safe experintal environnt and the best materials in the world. In Arica, you can't even keep an eye on a few workers. Who can guarantee that tomorrow, Argyle' agents won't storm into the Pittsburgh laboratory and burn those blueprints to the ground?"
Listening to their demands, Morgan felt a deep sense of helplessness.
He knew these three n had lost confidence in him.
They felt that winning against Felix in Arica was impossible, so they wanted to take the most valuable core technology and move it entirely to Europe to develop it.
"Gentlen, your demands are a bit too much."
Old Morgan frowned slightly, feeling sowhat annoyed.
"You must know that Edison and Westinghouse are also Arican. They will not agree to leave their own country. Moreover, the research on Alternating Current is currently at its most critical breakthrough stage. A long-distance relocation would destroy all progress."
The two sides engaged in a fierce tug-of-war in the circular reception room.
Richard and the others were extrely firm in their attitude.
If they weren't given a stake, they would imdiately withdraw capital from Arica.
Leaving the Morgan Family to fill that four-million-pound hole themselves.
Finally, after two hours of arguing and compromising.
Morgan had to make concessions, leaning back on the sofa in exhaustion.
"Fine, I can agree to let you take a stake."
"But the laboratory cannot be moved; after all, the risks of relocation are too great. As a compromise, our four parties can jointly establish a 'Westinghouse Electric Europe Headquarters' in London."
In desperation, Morgan put forward his bottom line.
"The laboratory in Pittsburgh will continue to remain in Arica for research. If a breakthrough in Alternating Current motors is made there, the full set of blueprints and patented technology will be shared with the European headquarters in London for a fee. Your three parties can manufacture and sell Alternating Current equipnt in Europe, but the patent rights in Arica will still belong to the Morgan Family."
Richard, Yang, and Lyons consulted with each other for a few minutes.
"This plan is acceptable, Junius."
Richard revealed a victorious smile.
"We will prepare the laboratory in London and look forward to the good news from Pittsburgh."
Having obtained the promise of a stake in Westinghouse Electric, the three n finally stopped ntioning the withdrawal of capital from Arica.
But before leaving, Lyons still stared at Morgan.
"The matter of the stake is settled. Then, Junius, can you tell us now how you intend to deal with the ss that Cavendish created in Arica? Our funds can't just sit there like stagnant water, can they?"
Morgan looked at these three greedy allies.
"Rest assured, I probably have an idea."
...
Just as Morgan and the others were deliberating, the mist off the coast of San Francisco was gradually dissipating under the morning breeze.
On the sea surface, two massive steel warships were sailing forward with an unstoppable posture.
The black smoke spewing from the towering chimneys intertwined with the high-hanging sails, looking very much like that unique violent aesthetic belonging to the era of mixed steam and wind power.
Hmm, steampunk style?
And our tropolitan Trading Company Asia General Manager, Witt ONeill, was currently wearing a crisp black coat, standing on the wide deck of the "Intrepid."
He held brass binoculars in both hands, with a freshly lit Cuban cigar in his mouth.
"Slow down, sound the whistle."
O'Neill gave instructions to the captain beside him.
"Woo—!"
The deafening whistle echoed across the sea, startling a flock of seabirds that were fishing.
Hearing the whistle.
The cabin door below the deck was pushed open.
Seven young won wearing traditional Great Qing Empire silk cotton-padded jackets, covered with thick cloaks, helped each other walk onto the deck.
They were none other than Su Ying, Hu i, Amur, Yun Yan, Yun ng, who had set off from Tianjin Port, as well as the salt rchant's daughter Liu Wanqing and her aunt Shen Yue.
Behind them, that strong man from the Western Regions, Batu, followed silently, vigilantly watching the busy foreign sailors around them.
The high-intensity sea voyage lasting more than half a month had caused these originally pampered Eastern won to suffer greatly.
Yun Yan and Yun ng were pale; they had almost vomited everything in their stomachs.
If not for the Umbrella seasickness dicine prepared in the hold, this pair of twin sisters would have found it difficult to survive the storms on the Pacific Ocean.
Su Ying leaned on her mother Hu i's shoulder, the sea breeze ssing up her hair.
"Mother, are we there? I feel like the ground is shaking." Su Ying asked weakly.
Hu i's eyes, however, were extrely bright.
The suffering she endured at the Music Registry gave her an extrely strong tolerance for this kind of physical tornt.
She endured her temper and patted her daughter's hand.
"Soon, Ying'er. Straighten your back, don't let those foreigners laugh at us. We are about to et the man who can decide our fate."
Liu Wanqing and Shen Yue stood by the ship's rail.
They also didn't complain.
In this month, they forced themselves to adapt to the Western food on the ship every day.
Liu Wanqing even used a few gold bars to bribe the interpreter on the ship, correcting her English pronunciation and understanding the general business situation in Arica through daily conversations with him.
Looking at this ironclad behemoth that could sprint against the wind without needing sails.
Recalling the broken ships of the Great Qing Empire that were still relying on wooden oars.
"Aunt, Father was right."
Liu Wanqing whispered, comforting the bewildered Shen Yue beside her.
"This is not just a fight for favor in the backyard, but a completely different world. We must find a place for the Liu family and ourselves in this world."
Amur and her brother Batu stood to the side. Batu looked at the thick steam cranes.
"Amur, rember. When we get to land, if you encounter danger, try to hide behind ." Batu whispered in the dialect of the Western Regions.
Amur nodded.
O'Neill heard the movent behind him and turned around.
He looked at these Eastern won who, despite their weary faces, still could not hide their stunning beauty, and walked over with his signature enthusiastic smile.
The interpreter on the ship hurriedly followed.
"Ladies, sir."
O'Neill took the cigar out of his mouth and bowed slightly.
"This half-month voyage has made you suffer. But believe , all the suffering is over."
O'Neill turned and raised the hand holding the cigar, pointing to the horizon directly ahead.
There, a long, narrow strait was sparkling with golden light under the sunshine.
And on both sides of the strait, continuous hills and dense building complexes were already clearly visible.
Countless rchant ships flying the Stars and Stripes were anchored in the port, and the forest of masts and chimneys looked like a forest of steel.
The Golden Gate Strait, San Francisco Bay.
In this era before the Golden Gate Bridge was built, this was the largest gateway for Arica to open up to the entire Pacific Ocean.
The sunlight spilled onto the faces of these Eastern won.
They looked at the huge, vibrant, and bustling city in the distance.
It was a scene completely different from the dull and oppressive capital of the Great Qing Empire.
There were no city walls here, only countless docks, warehouses, and trains puffing out white steam.
O'Neill couldn't help but close his eyes, taking a breath with enjoynt.
Ah~
He slled the scent of the US dollars on this continent that made blood boil.
After indulging himself for a while.
O'Neill turned his head to look at these seven won who were about to be sent to New York and into the big boss's villa.
The corners of his mouth curled up with an arc of expectation.
"Look, ladies~"
O'Neill opened his arms and said loudly in an extrely exaggerated and proud tone.
"Free Arica, we have arrived!"
A thick iron anchor crashed into the waters of San Francisco Bay, and the heavy chain grinding against the windlass emitted a teeth-gritting tallic screech.
The Fearless docked steadily alongside the private pier of the tropolitan Trading Company in San Francisco.
O'Neill stood at the edge of the deck, inhaling a breath of cold air mixed with the sll of coal smoke and seaweed.
Behind him were seven Eastern won, their steps unsteady from the long voyage, and Batu, who stood rooted to the spot like an iron tower.
"Listen up, boys!"
O'Neill, biting down on his cigar, shouted to the dock foreman below the deck.
"Open the hold for , and be gentle! Those wooden crates aren't filled with flour; they are the real deal!"
The foreman was an Irish man with sideburns; he tilted his head back and hollered in response.
"Leave it to us, Mr. O'Neill. The security team has already locked down Pier 6; not even a bird can fly in."
The massive steam crane began to operate.
One heavy wooden crate after another was hoisted out of the hold and landed steadily on the flatbed wagons on the pier.
The sowhat damaged edges of the crates refracted a dazzling, golden glow under the sunlight.
That was the gold the Great Qing Empire used to purchase ships and machinery.
In addition to the gold, there were also imperial seals from previous dynasties, bronzeware, and antique paintings and calligraphy collected by Prince Gong and his associates.
O'Neill walked down the gangplank and gave instructions to his deputy.
"Transport the gold and antiques directly to our vault on Montgory Street, and have the security team watch it twenty-four hours a day. Without my signature, no one is allowed to approach that vault door. Do you hear ?"
"Yes, I understand, sir." The deputy imdiately took n to follow the wagons.
O'Neill turned around and looked at the seven won and Batu who had just walked down the gangplank.
"As for you all…"
The smile on O'Neill's face beca very polite.
"San Francisco is just a transit point. I have already had people find the best residence currently available in the city. You will rest there for these few days, and once you have adapted to land, we will take the train to New York."
Two large four-wheeled carriages were parked at the end of the pier.
Batu did not sit inside the carriage; instead, he jumped onto the driver's bench, sat side-by-side with the coachman, and scanned the surrounding dock laborers—who were carrying large bags and spouting profanities—with vigilant eyes.
The carriages passed through the noisy streets of San Francisco and finally stopped in a quiet, elevated neighborhood.
There was a newly completed three-story Vienna-style villa here, with white-painted exterior walls and a wide lawn outside.
After O'Neill escorted them into the villa and left two maids and a team of security personnel to patrol the periter, he hurried away to handle telegraph matters.
In the villa's spacious living room, heavy velvet curtains were half-drawn.
The seven won sat on leather sofas.
Looking at the strange Western furnishings around them, the enormous crystal chandelier, and the ticking brass clock on the wall, complex emotions surged in everyone's hearts.
Hu i, the oldest, was the first to break the silence.
She stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room to look outside, and confird that the ard security personnel were all outside the fence.
Then, she turned around, her gaze sweeping over every woman present.
"Ladies."
Hu i's voice no longer held the numbness from the Music Registry; instead, it exuded the air of an official's wife.
"We have survived the ocean, but this is only the first step."
Amur sat on the armrest of the sofa, toying with a paper cutter she had swiped on the ship.
"Auntie Hu, just say what you have to say. In this place, we are completely in the dark; I'll listen to whoever I have to."
The straightforward girl Amur's tone was blunt, but it made Hu i nod with a smile.
"Then I will speak plainly. We all know the backgrounds of the seven of us. Su Ying is my own flesh and blood; Yun Yan and Yun ng, you are the daughters of wealthy landowners from Jiangnan; Wan Qing and Shen Yue are not from ordinary families either. As for Amur, you and your brother have also had a difficult ti…"
Hu i walked to the center of the living room.
"You heard what that Mr. O'Neill said just now. In a few days, after we have rested, we are going to New York. To et that Mr. Argyle."
"That man is currently cooperating with the Great Qing Empire, and he is also the one who holds our lives in his hands. We are rely items being sent over; don't expect foreigners to talk to us about benevolence or morality. Once we arrive in New York, if we are like loose sand, there won't even be anyone to collect our corpses in this strange place."
Liu Wanqing sat on a single sofa on the other side and picked up the water glass on the coffee table to take a sip of clear water.
"Auntie Hu ans that we must stick together."
Liu Wanqing took over the conversation.
Her thinking was very clear; as the daughter of a rchant, she was accustod to analyzing the current situation through the lens of interests.
"When my father saw off at the post station, he said that after coming to Arica, vying for favor is just a ans. Surviving and establishing a foothold is the goal." Liu Wanqing looked at Hu i.
"Auntie Hu sees through worldly affairs very clearly. But regarding the big picture, we must figure out what kind of person this Mr. Argyle really is. What he likes, what he dislikes. These past few days on the ship, I asked the interpreter quite a bit."
"Did you find out anything?"
Yun Yan asked nervously, hugging her younger sister, Yun ng.
"The interpreter didn't know much either, only that he is very young. It seems he is only in his twenties." Liu Wanqing's words were shocking.
"What? In his twenties?" Shen Yue let out a low exclamation.
She had always assud that the foreigner who could make Prince Gong bow his head must be an old man with a face full of white whiskers and a protruding belly.
"Yes." Liu Wanqing nodded affirmatively.
"And I heard he doesn't care about one's background; he is a man who values interests and rules. Auntie Hu, in front of such a man, if we only use the thods we've learned to vie for favor, it might work at the beginning, but after a long ti, he will definitely grow tired of it."
Hu i narrowed her eyes.
She had to admit that this salt rchant's daughter had a sharp mind.
"Then in your opinion, what should we do?" Hu i asked in return.
"Establish rules and divide the work." Liu Wanqing held up three fingers.
"First, we co from the sa place, so we absolutely must not trip each other up. Whoever gains favor must help the others. If anyone dares to hog the benefits for herself, we will all work together to pull her down."
"There is one more thing. Big Brother Batu is our only reliance on the outside." Liu Wanqing looked at Amur.
"Amur, I see that your brother is quite brave. Therefore, we must find a way for him to enter Mr. Argyle' security team or factory. Only if he has power on the outside will we have confidence here."
Amur nodded.
"My brother said the sa. He has fists and can kill. Foreigners also need blades that will risk their lives for them."
"Finally…" Liu Wanqing looked at the twins huddled in the corner.
"Yun Yan, Yun ng, you two have the weakest temperants. When we get there, if that man is in a bad mood, try to avoid him. Don't try to be heroes if sothing happens."
After hearing Liu Wanqing's analysis, the corners of Hu i's mouth curled into a satisfied smile.
"Good, Wan Qing. Your mind is truly excellent."
Hu i stepped forward and extended her hand toward Liu Wanqing.
"I learned a saying in the Music Registry: those who survive are always the spiders spinning webs, not the moths flying alone. The seven of us will set this rule today in this foreigner's house. From now on, no matter who sleeps by that man's pillow, no one is allowed to loosen this rope."
Liu Wanqing stood up and grasped Hu i's hand.
Shen Yue, Amur, and the sisters Yun Yan and Yun ng also stepped forward one after another and joined hands together.
In the telegraph room of the San Francisco branch, the brass telegraph machine emitted an incredibly crisp tapping sound.
O'Neill stood behind the telegraph operator, watching the strings of code being punched onto the paper tape.
"Send this to the tropolitan Trading Company president's office in New York," O'Neill said, biting on his cigar as he dictated the content of the telegram.
"Tell them the trip to the Great Qing Empire has concluded, and three million in gold cash along with several antiques have been deposited into the Montgory Street vault. Also..."
O'Neill paused, a sly smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"The seven private female companions gifted to the Big Boss by Prince Gong, along with one Western Regions guard, have arrived safely in San Francisco and are currently properly settled. Please ask President Bill when I may escort this group and the gold to New York to report the details of the Far East expansion to the Boss in person."
The telegraph operator's fingers flew, turning these words into electric currents that raced along the telegraph lines spanning the Arican continent, rushing toward the East Coast.
O'Neill watched the operator finish the work and patted him on the shoulder with satisfaction.
He certainly had his own selfish motives.
Opening the doors to the Far East and signing the customs trusteeship agreent.
Expanding the market was a major achievent.
He did not want to hand over this gold and those won to the subordinates to transport to New York.
That was why he wanted to escort them personally.
Only by delivering this "grand gift" to the Big Boss in person could he secure his position as the Asia regional manager like an iron bucket.
Perhaps he might even be able to use this opportunity to enter the Executive Committee.
...
New York, tropolitan Trading Company president's office.
Bill held the telegram that had just been delivered by the decoder.
He glanced at the contents and couldn't help but laugh and curse.
"Ha~ this damn fat man, full of little tricks. Even across the entire continent, I can sll the stench of him seeking credit."
Bill tossed the telegram onto the desk, picked up his coffee cup, and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the busy streets of Manhattan.
As the top person in charge of the tropolitan Trading Company and one of the eight directors of the Executive Committee.
Bill had long since moved past the stage of fighting for credit.
He knew O'Neill's thoughts very well.
"Wanting to show his face before the Boss? Wanting to use those boxes of gold and those Eastern won as a stepping stone?" Bill took a sip of coffee.
He did not intend to refuse; after all, O'Neill was a talent.
After all, he had managed the company's business in California well, and this ti, he had successfully completed the mission in the Great Qing Empire.
This kind of ambitious and capable person was exactly what the company needed most.
Letting O'Neill leave a good impression on the Boss would also be beneficial for his future work.
Thinking of this, Bill walked back to the desk.
He picked up the sowhat bulky black receiver on the desk.
Although the Telephone Company had already been established, telephones were still relatively rare items.
Currently, only between the headquarters of the enterprises under the Argyle Family in New York were these short-distance internal dedicated lines, just developed by General Electric, installed.
Bill cranked the handle and connected to the building's internal telephone switchboard.
"Connect to the office of Arthur Hamilton at the Federal Real Estate Company," Bill said into the transmitter.
A faint sound of static from a female voice ca through the line, and before long, a slightly distorted male voice responded.
"This is Federal Real Estate, this is Hamilton."
"Arthur. It's , Bill."
Bill's tone was very casual.
Arthur Hamilton on the other end of the phone imdiately straightened his attitude.
Although Federal Real Estate was backed by the Imperial Bank and was aggressively acquiring land and building in New York, he, Arthur, had not even touched the threshold of the Executive Committee yet.
Facing one of the core eight directors like Bill, he had to maintain absolute reverence.
"Mr. Bill, may I ask what the matter is?"
"Of course, it's about the matter the Boss previously instructed you on. Regarding those adjacent high-end villas in Manhattan," Bill went straight to the point.
"That group of guests sent from the East will be taking the train from San Francisco in the next few days. There are seven won in total; how is the preparation on your end?"
Hamilton nodded repeatedly on the other end of the line, even though Bill couldn't see it at all.
"Please rest assured regarding this matter, Mr. Bill. Three adjacent villas have been prepared and have all been cleaned. They are right next to Fifth Avenue, three blocks away from the villa where Miss Isabella lives. It is absolutely safe and private. The furniture, beds, and daily necessities inside have all been purchased according to the highest specifications."
"Very good." Bill's voice was calm.
"When they arrive, rember to ensure the heating and catering in the villas. They are from the Great Qing Empire and may not be used to Western food. You might want to find a few reliable cooks."
"Understood, Mr. Bill. I will send the most reliable security personnel to guard the place; I will not let any strangers get close." Hamilton imdiately promised.
"OK, that's all."
Bill hung up the phone.
He then picked up the dip pen on the desk and began to write a reply on a blank telegram form.
"To Witt ONeill. Telegram received. After the gold is deposited, leave half in the San Francisco branch as operating funds. The remainder, along with the seven distinguished guests and the guard, shall be led by you personally, taking a special train on the Union Pacific Railroad, and depart for New York imdiately. Upon arrival at the New York train station, there will be designated personnel to receive you. Bill."
After finishing, Bill rang the bell on the desk to have the confidential secretary send the telegram.
A few hours later, O'Neill received this reply.
He looked at the words "led by you personally" on the telegram and whistled excitedly.
"That's right, this is the pass to New York."
O'Neill stuffed the telegram into his pocket and strode out of the office.
He called his deputy and took a carriage directly to the villa where Hu i and the others were settled.
He pushed open the villa's front door and asked the maid to invite the seven won.
O'Neill watched the seven won co down to the living room and clapped his hands, attracting everyone's attention.
"Hey~ ladies."
"Please pack your luggage and put all those dull clothes you brought into the trunks."
O'Neill looked at them, his eyes filled with anticipation.
"Headquarters has sent instructions; we will not be staying in San Francisco."
"Tomorrow morning, I will personally escort you onto the steam train that spans Arica."
"To go to New York and et my Boss."
Just as the trains in Arica were thundering along the tracks, racing toward New York, laden with gold and won.
The European continent across the Atlantic Ocean, however, was shrouded in a cold political fog.
On a rugged dirt road in Spain near the Pyrenees.
A black carriage without any family crest was struggling through the mud.
The two horses pulling the carriage were exhausted, and the wheels jolted in deep ruts, emitting an unsettling creaking sound.
Inside the carriage.
Duke Antoine gripped the carriage handle tightly.
He wore a plain brown coat, with a soft felt hat pulled low over his head.
Sitting beside him was Duchess Louisa.
She was also wrapped in a thick gray cloak, her face appearing extrely pale from the long, bumpy journey.
"How much further? Antoine."
Louisa's voice was weak.
"Almost there. Past that mountain pass ahead is your father's territory."
Antoine reached out to put his arm around his wife's shoulders, trying to offer her so support.
Ever since that night, after Antoine had conceived that extrely risky plan in his mansion in Vienna.
Without a mont's hesitation, he made arrangents and imdiately took his wife and left Vienna secretly.
They did not notify the Count of Paris, Philippe.
After all, this was a betrayal.
It was also a usurpation of power for the sake of survival.
"Antoine."
Louisa leaned on her husband's shoulder, her eyes filled with worry.
"Will this really work? If Philippe discovers we aren't in Vienna, he might guess we've co to Spain. Will he cause trouble?"
"He can't spare the attention for us anymore."
"That Echo's words have backed Philippe into a corner. He is now obsessed with how to prove that Henry V won't flip the table. I hear he's been frantically writing letters to the Royalists in Paris, and has no energy to deal with us."
At this, Antoine sneered.
"And even if he guesses, does he dare co to Spain to arrest us? This is the territory of the House of Anjou. A titular Count without any military power, what can he do here?"
Louisa fell silent for a mont upon hearing this.
"But... my father. Will he agree to get involved in this ss? Although the House of Anjou has succession rights to the Bourbon, they have exhausted too much energy in the Carlist Wars in Spain these past few years. Father has always advocated staying away from France's political whirlpool."
"Rest assured, he will agree."
Antoine's tone was extrely certain.
He turned his head to look at his wife.
"Because we aren't going to borrow troops, but to deliver a crown. The legitimate crown of the House of Bourbon. There isn't a single noble in this world with Bourbon blood flowing through their veins who could refuse such a temptation."
Antoine lowered his voice and continued.
"As long as your father nods and steps forward in his capacity as an elder of the House of Anjou to negotiate with Henry V to ensure that the Orléanists successfully inherit the throne, we, the Orléanists, are willing to follow the Anjou branch in inheriting the legitimacy."
"Then we will jointly guarantee to Henry V that those won of the Legitimists will be well taken care of in both countries. I believe Henry V will not refuse."
A fanatical light flickered in Antoine's eyes.
"When that ti cos, I will be able to tell the special envoy sent by Argyle that the internal problems of the House of Bourbon have been completely resolved. As long as I beco king, there will be no need to worry that the invested funds won't receive sufficient returns."
The carriage traveled through the mud for another hour or so.
Finally, the road ahead beca sowhat flatter.
The coachman shouted from outside.
"Sir, we have arrived."
Antoine pushed open the carriage window.
On the hillside in the distance, an ancient and sturdy Spanish castle stood in the cold rain.
At the highest point of the castle, the flag bearing the crest of the House of Anjou was flying.
The carriage drove into the castle gate.
The butler ca up to et them with a few guards.
Seeing Antoine and Louisa stepping down from this dilapidated carriage, they wore expressions of extre shock.
"Miss Louisa?!"
The old butler rubbed his eyes, barely able to believe what he was seeing.
"It is , Old Peter," Louisa smiled wearily. "Is Father inside?"
"Yes, yes, the Count is in the study reading letters. I will go report this imdiately!"
The old butler turned and ran excitedly into the castle.
Antoine supported his wife and walked into the cold but extrely spacious hall of the castle.
At the end of the hall.
The oak door of the study was pushed open violently.
An old man with a full head of white hair and a still-burly figure walked out. He was wearing traditional Spanish noble hunting attire, and holding a pipe in his hand.
He was Louisa's father, the current Count of the House of Anjou.
He looked at his daughter standing in the center of the hall, the pipe in his hand trembling slightly.
"Louisa..."
The old Count's voice was sowhat hoarse.
Louisa could no longer control her emotions.
The years of exile and political maneuvering, and the pain of sending away her daughter Isabella.
All erupted the mont she saw her father.
She broke free from Antoine's support, lifted her long skirt, and ran forward.
The middle-aged Louisa, like a child who had suffered every grievance, plunged into the old Count's broad embrace, hugging tightly the father she hadn't seen in years.
"Father, I have returned."
Louisa threw herself into the old Count's arms, weeping uncontrollably like a child who had suffered every grievance.
Duke Antoine stood a few steps away, silently watching this scene.
His coat was covered in mud, and his originally straight back was now slightly hunched due to the long journey and imnse ntal pressure.
The old Count's large, calloused hands gently stroked his daughter's back, his eyes full of heartache.
Although he still maintained the dignity of the House of Anjou on this fiefdom, ti had ultimately carved deep furrows into the old man's face.
"There, there, my little Louisa. You are safe."
The old Count's voice was as hoarse as an old grindstone, but it carried a reassuring strength.
He looked up, his gaze passing over his daughter's shoulder to land on Antoine.
A trace of complex scrutiny flashed in those sharp eyes.
"Old Peter!"
The old Count waved to the butler standing to the side.
"Go quickly and prepare hot water, and have the kitchen make so hot soup and roast at. They look frozen."
"No, Father."
Louisa raised her head from the old Count's embrace and wiped the tears from her face.
"We cannot rest. Antoine has sothing extrely urgent to discuss with you. This is a major matter concerning our House of Bourbon."
The old Count's brow furrowed slightly.
Then, looking at Antoine's bloodless yet sowhat excited face, he imdiately understood the seriousness of the matter.
"Alright, alright, co with to the study."
The old Count patted his daughter's hand and turned to walk deeper into the corridor.
In the castle's study, thick pine logs were burning in the massive oak fireplace, emitting a crackling sound.
The firelight dispelled the chill in the room.
The old Count walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of strong brandy, handing one to Antoine.
"Take it, Antoine, and drink it. This will get your blood flowing again."
As he said this, he took a sip of the drink himself.
"Now, can you tell why you fled Vienna like foxes chased by hounds? And left your precious nephew, that Count of Paris who dreams of being king all day, all by himself?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers