1860s American Tycoon Chapter 277 277: Stay

A quiet neighborhood near Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.

Three high-end villas prepared by Federal Realty manager Arthur Hamilton stood side by side in the night.

The iron gates were tightly closed, and the surrounding streets were already filled with Argyle Family security.

A fleet of black carriages stopped in front of the villas.

As Felix stepped down from the carriage.

From the carriages behind, Batu and the seven won stepped down, guided by the security personnel, feeling anxious.

As the cold wind blew, Yun Yan and Yun ng wrapped their cloaks tightly around themselves, shivering.

Felix stood in the middle of the three villas.

He turned his head to look at this group of Eastern visitors who were still shaken.

"There are three houses here; you can distribute them yourselves. The housekeeper will arrange your daily life."

As soon as Felix finished speaking, the five girls who understood English looked at each other.

Just then, Liu Wanqing stepped forward.

She took a deep breath secretly, forcing herself to look directly at the man who held their destiny in his hands.

"Mr. Argyle."

Liu Wanqing's English had a slightly rusty accent, but her pronunciation was clear enough.

Felix looked at the girl who stepped out with so surprise.

Not bad; he appreciated people with courage.

"Speak." Felix nodded.

"We... we seven can live together; living in one villa is enough."

Liu Wanqing's hands were clenched into fists under her cloak, but she tried to keep her tone calm.

"One?" Felix raised an eyebrow.

"Although there are enough rooms inside, there is no need for you to crowd together."

"We understand your kindness, sir," Liu Wanqing continued.

"But in the Great Qing Empire, we have an old saying. Only with more people does a house feel alive. We are new here, and in this strange country, we can only sleep soundly if we rely on each other. And..."

Liu Wanqing paused, a glimr of shrewdness flashing in her eyes.

"If we live together, when you co to visit us, you won't need to run back and forth between these three houses. This will save your valuable ti."

Hearing this, the corners of Felix's mouth suddenly curled into an undisguised smile.

In his past life, he was a Chinese person.

So he understood the logic behind this rhetoric all too well.

What she said was very nice, but it wasn't at all about saving his ti.

This is about huddling together for warmth.

In a foreign land, facing the fear of the unknown, binding everyone together was the most instinctive survival strategy for this group of weak prey.

But he didn't think there was anything wrong with that.

On the contrary.

This kind of honest cleverness was much more likable than that kind of timid stupidity.

"Very good. A very reasonable suggestion; then stay in the largest one in the middle."

Felix waved his hand.

Security personnel imdiately stepped forward and pushed open the door of the middle villa.

The villa was brightly lit.

Luxurious Western-style furniture, huge Persian carpets, and a burning fireplace gave this group of won, accustod to Eastern siheyuan courtyards, a strong visual shock.

Felix walked to the sofa in the living room and sat down, then pointed to the long sofa opposite.

"Don't be afraid, everyone sit down."

The seven won sat in a row cautiously.

Batu, like a bodyguard, stood stiffly behind the side of the sofa.

Felix's gaze began to examine them one by one.

Finally, his gaze stopped on Hu i and Shen Yue. These two obviously couldn't understand English and could only guess the situation through others' expressions.

"I have read the list O'Neill sent," Felix leaned back in his chair.

"It seems Prince Gong only sent five people. So these two don't seem to be on the list."

Liu Wanqing quickly translated Felix's words into Chinese in a low voice for the two won.

Su Ying's face instantly turned a bit pale.

She stood up abruptly, walked a few steps to Felix, knelt down, and tears flowed uncontrollably.

"Mr. Argyle, please, I beg you."

Su Ying pleaded in the English she had learned at the last minute.

"She is my mother, a woman with a hard life. In our country, if she stays, she will be forced into lowly professions that are not even fit for dogs. Please, I beg you, don't send her away."

Although Hu i couldn't understand what Su Ying was saying, she saw her daughter's tears and actions.

This woman, who had been through the Music Registry, imdiately displayed her survival instincts.

She stood up quietly from the sofa and went to kneel beside her daughter.

Then, she looked up.

What kind of eyes were those.

Tears welled up in her eyes but stubbornly refused to fall.

Her eyes were filled with submission to fate, yet they also revealed an irresistible, pitiful charm.

Felix's gaze couldn't help but fall on Hu i.

Must say, this woman is simply a masterpiece.

The passage of ti did not make her age; instead, her figure exuded a mature charm that those green girls simply couldn't compare to.

Under the tight clothing, her voluptuous, sexy curves were like a potent drug in this exotic villa living room.

Felix felt a surge of extrely primal palpitation.

He was a normal man, and he had no intention of pretending to be a saint when faced with such ultimate temptation delivered to his doorstep.

"OK, I understand; she can stay."

Felix's voice lowered slightly.

Su Ying felt a sense of relief upon hearing this and pulled her mother to thank him repeatedly.

Although Hu i couldn't understand, she guessed the result from her daughter's expression, and her eyes beca softer and more submissive as she looked at Felix.

Having solved Hu i's problem, Liu Wanqing spoke again.

"Sir. This is my aunt, Shen Yue."

Liu Wanqing pointed to Shen Yue, who was sitting in the corner of the sofa.

"My parents were worried that I wouldn't be used to being alone in this country, so they let her co to accompany . She is very good at cooking and can also do embroidery. She can be a maid; please let her stay too."

Felix glanced at Shen Yue.

She was a typical woman from the Jiangnan water towns, with gentle features and a slender figure.

Although she kept her head down, that shy and timid appearance was truly endearing.

"The villa is not short of maids, but since it is your parents' arrangent, then let her stay."

Felix waved his hand generously.

A crisis regarding staying or leaving was resolved so lightly.

"Alright, ladies." Felix stood up.

"You just got off the train and probably need a hot bath. We will have dinner in the dining room in an hour; I don't like people who are late."

Afterward, the servants led the seven won to take a bath.

An hour later, in the villa's spacious dining room.

The long oak dining table was covered with a white tablecloth and filled with sumptuous Arican steaks, roast turkey, and red wine.

Felix sat at the head of the table, with the seven won sitting on both sides.

This group of won, who had received traditional Eastern education from childhood, seed a bit unaccustod to using knives and forks.

While cutting his steak, Felix chatted with them in an extrely casual tone, asking about their experiences on the road to ease their emotions.

Although his tone was not severe, the aura of soone who had long been in a high position still made these won afraid to even breathe loudly while eating.

They were all waiting.

Waiting for the mont after this al ended.

Because they knew very well why they had co here.

The night deepened, and the fire in the fireplace cast flickering shadows on the walls.

After dinner, the butler and the maids cleared the plates.

Felix carried a glass of whiskey toward the living room on the second floor.

Guided by the maids, the seven won returned to the luxurious guest rooms assigned to them in the villa.

The sound of each door closing felt like a strike against their taut nerves.

The hallway was very quiet.

Su Ying sat on the large European-style four-poster bed in her room.

She had changed into a white silk nightgown, her hands tightly intertwined as she listened carefully to the movents in the hallway.

Everyone knew that the man who controlled all of their fates would surely push open one of those doors tonight.

Who would it be?

Would it be the clever and bright Wan Qing?

Would it be the wild Amur?

Or...

In another guest room.

Hu i was facing the vanity mirror, carefully combing her long hair.

Her movents were slow, her eyes filled with an extrely complex sense of anticipation.

She knew exactly where her advantages lay.

If that man pushed open her door, she had absolute confidence that she could use the techniques she had learned at the Music Registry to please him.

anwhile, Shen Yue hid under the quilt, not even daring to breathe too hard, praying only that she could make it through the night safely.

In the living room on the second floor.

Felix downed the whiskey in his glass in one gulp.

Then he stood up and walked out into the hallway.

The faces of the seven won flashed through his mind.

Hu i's incredibly seductive, mature charm certainly made him itch, and Shen Yue's gentleness was also quite captivating.

But Felix was a rational man.

Strictly speaking, Hu i and Shen Yue were not official gifts sent by Prince Gong.

They had been mixed in as accessories.

For such won, Felix did not want to take the initiative to claim them.

He wanted to wait, to let the survival rules of this villa teach them.

To wait for them to be willing, or even take the initiative, to climb into his bed in order to obtain more resources.

That would be the most interesting conquest.

Therefore, tonight's "unboxing" had to be chosen from those five official maids.

Felix's footsteps stopped in front of Su Ying's door.

He rembered this girl who had dared to stand up and plead for her mother in broken English.

Although she was delicate, deep down she had a stubbornness, a willingness to go all out for her loved ones.

Felix grasped the brass handle, turned it, and pushed the door open directly.

The room was illuminated in a warm yellow by the electric light.

Hearing the door open, Su Ying sprang up from the bed as if electrocuted.

Looking at Felix who had walked in, her eyes were filled with confusion and helplessness, like a young deer cornered.

Felix closed the door behind him and tossed his coat onto the sofa.

"You look very nervous."

Felix walked to the bedside and looked down at her.

Su Ying leaned back, trembling slightly.

"Mr... Mr. Argyle..."

Her voice was shaking, and she couldn't even utter a complete sentence.

Seeing this, Felix reached out and gently pinched Su Ying's chin.

He leaned down and kissed those trembling lips directly.

Su Ying's eyes widened instantly.

Instinct made her want to push away the man in front of her, but reason made her hands grip the quilt tightly.

Because she knew that the price of resistance was that both she and her mother would be thrown onto the street to fend for themselves.

She could only resign herself and close her eyes.

Everything that followed was a brand new experience for this girl who ca from an official family and had been raised in the inner chambers since childhood.

Although Felix's actions were not rough, they carried the strength of his physique.

Su Ying simply couldn't withstand this intense conquest.

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed with pink.

More than an hour later.

The room finally returned to calm.

Su Ying curled up in the quilt like a broken ragdoll.

There were still traces of tears on her face; exhausted and having experienced such a storm for the first ti, she had fallen into a deep sleep.

Felix leaned against the headboard and pulled the blanket over himself.

Looking at the delicate girl beside him, a satisfied smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

Eastern won certainly possessed a sense of submissiveness completely different from European and Arican socialites.

He didn't intend to eat them all tonight; good things should be savored slowly.

The next morning.

Just as the sky was beginning to brighten, Felix had already gotten up and finished washing.

After dressing neatly, he was escorted by two security personnel and took a carriage toward the Empire Bank Building.

On the second floor of the villa.

As sunlight shone through the window lattice, the won woke up one after another.

After washing up, they gathered in the dining room on the first floor to prepare for breakfast.

When everyone was seated, they all noticed that Su Ying had not appeared.

The atmosphere at the dining table instantly beca extrely subtle.

Everyone knew in their hearts what had happened to Su Ying last night.

Unexpectedly, the favor of the first night had fallen upon Su Ying, who appeared the weakest.

Liu Wanqing's eyes flickered as she cut the fried egg on her plate.

Amur, on the other hand, drank her milk in large gulps, seemingly unconcerned.

Yun Yan and Yun ng looked at each other, their eyes filled with both relief and disappointnt.

Hu i, sitting in the corner, had a complex expression.

There was disappointnt, sadness, but more than anything, happiness.

Her daughter was the first to be favored.

This ant that in this strange country, she and her daughter finally had a foothold they could rely on.

"Please enjoy your al, everyone. I'm going to check on Ying'er."

Thinking of this, Hu i stood up, took a tray filled with hot porridge and milk from a maid, and walked quickly toward the second floor.

She pushed open the door to Su Ying's room.

The room was suffused with the distinct scent of lovemaking.

Su Ying was still lying in the quilt, her face sowhat pale.

"Ying'er."

Hu i placed the tray on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed.

Su Ying opened her eyes and saw her mother, her expression showing a hint of shyness and pain.

"Mother..."

Hu i touched her daughter's forehead with heartache.

"Ying'er, you did very well. You've taken the most difficult step."

Hu i lowered her voice and spoke into her daughter's ear, sharing private words that only a mother and daughter could exchange.

"Is Mr. Argyle rough? Does he have any special fetishes?"

Hu i asked for details in a sophisticated manner.

Su Ying bit the corner of the quilt, her face flushed, and shook her head gently.

"That's good." Hu i let out a sigh of relief.

"Ying'er, rember. A man's sense of novelty is very short-lived. Although you have taken the lead, there are still five hungry wolves sitting downstairs. Wan Qing is calculating, and Amur is wild.

You have a weak personality and don't know how to fight for things. I will slowly teach you the things I learned at the Music Registry; we mother and daughter must have a say in this villa."

As for sticking together?

You can stick together against outsiders, but internally, there must be a hierarchy.

anwhile, in the dining room downstairs.

The remaining five won were also having their own discussion.

"It seems Mr. Argyle likes obedient ones."

Liu Wanqing put down her knife and fork, picked up her napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth, and looked thoughtful.

"Su Ying took the initiative to plead yesterday, letting him see her weakness. For a man with such a strong desire for control, seizing a woman with a weakness provides the most sense of security."

Amur scoffed.

"So what? Doesn't Arica value strength? My brother Batu was taken away early this morning by that steward nad Hamilton, supposedly to report to so construction site guard team outside the city. As long as my brother gets the job done, Mr. Argyle will naturally think highly of ."

Yun Yan sighed with so worry.

"How are we going to endure the days ahead? Having to live in such fear every single night."

"Endure?" Liu Wanqing looked at the bright sunshine outside the window.

"This isn't about enduring, sisters."

"We have no way back. Without his protection in this country, we wouldn't even dare to easily step out of this door."

"So things are better done early than late."

Arriving at his office, Felix had just hung his coat on the coat rack.

The black internal dedicated line phone on the desk rang urgently.

He walked over to the desk and picked up the still sowhat cumberso brass receiver.

"Hello?"

A slight static crackle ca through the phone line, followed by Catherine's voice.

"Good morning, Felix. I heard you had a very fulfilling night at the villa on Fifth Avenue. Are those seven guests O'Neill brought back for you from the Far East still to your taste?"

Catherine's intelligence network was just as sensitive in New York.

But there was no hint of feminine jealousy or resentnt in her tone.

Because she knew her position very well.

A few helpless won from the Qing Empire on the other side of the ocean, no matter how good they were at pleasing a man, could never touch the edge of power held by the president of Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company.

She didn't even pay much attention to Anna in Washington, let alone a few canaries kept in a villa.

"It was just dealing with so public relations gifts sent by the Far East distributors."

Felix leaned back in his leather chair, not avoiding the topic at all.

"Those old-style nobles like to use this thod to consolidate comrcial contracts. If I refused, they would instead think that tropolitan Trading Company was plotting so conspiracy."

"You can always find the most perfect excuse for your indulgences, Felix."

Catherine chuckled on the other end of the line, then quickly got to the point.

"However, I didn't call to discuss this with you. There is serious business."

Felix lay back in his chair and said comfortably,

"Then tell , is it about those two generic drug factories in Boston and New Jersey? What is the situation now?"

"They are, of course, about to go crazy with anxiety." Catherine's voice was pleasant.

"A couple of days ago, the funds for the Sterling Brotherhood in Boston and Apotek in New Jersey finally arrived. They imdiately took this money and went on a frantic shopping spree on the black market."

"However, the coal tar and cinchona bark on the black market have already been driven up by our people to nine tis the normal price. In order to fulfill the low-price supply contracts they signed earlier, they had to grit their teeth and forcibly buy that batch of raw materials at several tis the cost."

Catherine was flipping through the ledger on the phone.

"I had the finance departnt calculate it. For every box of carbolic acid disinfectant they send to the clinics in the Midwest, the net loss on the books is forty dollars. Those two million-dollar capital injections can only support their delivery volu for three weeks at most. As long as the British stop the blood transfusion, their capital chain will imdiately collapse, and they won't even be able to pay the workers' weekly wages."

"Well done," Felix praised.

"As expected of you. Continue to control the import channels at the ports. That idiot Cavendish must be jumping with anxiety in Philadelphia right now. This is forcing them to use Old Morgan's money to fill this bottomless pit."

"Not just that, Felix. I have two other strategic plans to discuss with you today." Catherine's speaking speed increased.

"The head of the Umbrella laboratory, Dr. Thorne. He rushed into my office yesterday afternoon with a clinical report. Based on willow bark extract, he used a new chemical synthesis thod to stabilize a substance called salicylic acid, and significantly reduced its irritation to the stomach and intestines."

Catherine's voice was filled with irrepressible excitent.

"This is an extrely potent antipyretic and analgesic drug. It is more valuable than our current Iodine Glycerin and laudanum. Because laudanum is addictive, many formal hospitals are unwilling to use it in large quantities during non-warti conditions. But this thing is different; the doctor says it is non-addictive. Any ordinary person with a high fever or joint pain can buy it and swallow it without any worries."

Felix's eyes lit up.

He imdiately realized that this was very likely the prototype of early aspirin.

In 1871, if this miracle fever-reducing and pain-relieving dicine could be mass-produced, Umbrella would no longer just be the hegemon of battlefield dicine, but could completely monopolize the civilian daily drug market across Arica and even Europe.

"Then what are we waiting for? Apply for the patent imdiately. Use the highest level of security to lock down Dr. Thorne's laboratory," Felix commanded.

"By the way, tell Dr. Thorne that as long as he can develop the mass production process for this, Umbrella will give him another two percent share of the net profits."

"Don't worry, I have already taken care of that. This leads to my next proposal."

"We hold the best dicine in the country, but we have always been constrained by those independent clinics and hospital procurent departnts distributed across various states. To sell our dicine, we still have to haggle with them."

Catherine threw out her expansion plan.

"I plan to establish three more 'St. Vincent-Argyle United Hospital' facilities in Brooklyn, Queens, and Upper Manhattan in New York, wholly owned by Umbrella. Since we have the dicine, we should open more hospitals ourselves. From diagnosis to selling dicine, we will try to keep every cent of profit in our own ledgers."

"Hmm... I support the plan, but it will require massive capital and land," Felix reminded her.

"That's fine; Umbrella has sufficient funds on the books. As for the land, let Federal Realty handle it; they have hoarded a large amount of land in New York anyway. The funds will co from Umbrella's accounts."

Catherine replied imdiately; it seed she had long planned for this.

"Also, Felix, as the chairman of the Argyle Family Charitable Foundation, I propose establishing a dozen orphanages around these three hospitals simultaneously, along with supporting primary and interdiate schools."

Felix frowned slightly.

"I can understand building hospitals, but building orphanages and schools? My dear, that is a pure expense. Our charitable foundation used to just make a show of things in the newspapers for the politicians to see."

"Felix, listen to ."

Catherine's tone was sowhat serious.

"This is not just simple charity. It is a long-term human resources investnt. Over the past few years, with the expansion of each company, I have discovered a fatal problem. Except for the Food Company, Pioneer Military Industry, Lex Steel, tropolitan Trading, and our Umbrella do not lack ordinary workers."

"However, we are extrely lacking in middle and high-level managent personnel, and lacking accountants who understand ledgers and scheduling. The graduates we recruit now, although they take our salary, their loyalty to the Argyle Family remains to be tested. Once a competitor offers a high salary, they are very likely to jump ship with our trade secrets."

Catherine paused for a few seconds on the other end of the line.

"And orphanages and schools are our petri dishes. We adopt those holess children. We give them food to eat and clothes to wear. Let them know from a young age that it was the Argyle Family that gave them their lives."

"By the ti they graduate from our middle schools, they will be the most loyal cogs. The vast majority can go directly into the grassroots level of our factories, but for those truly smart children, we cannot just let them do manual labor."

Then Catherine threw out her vision.

"So Felix, I propose that we must establish a top-tier comprehensive university in New York in the na of the Argyle Family. We must cultivate our own loyal personnel who can control these companies in the future."

A brief silence fell on both ends of the phone line.

Felix held the receiver in his hand, his gaze cast toward the Manhattan skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling window.

Catherine's insight was truly sharp.

As the Argyle Family expanded rapidly, the shortage of loyal, high-level talent had beco the biggest bottleneck constraining their growth.

Starting from the orphanage, nurturing them all the way through university graduation.

Once this internal talent circulation system was established, the Argyle Family would possess an endless moat of talent.

Whether in academia, politics, or the business world, these students, deeply branded by the Argyle Family, would beco their most solid foundation.

"Clap, clap, clap..."

Felix's applause rang out over the phone, breaking the silence.

"This idea is excellent, my dear. It is the necessary path for the family to beco a century-old dynasty. But this is definitely not sothing that can be solved just by buying a plot of land in New York and putting up a few teaching buildings."

Felix's tone beca very realistic.

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about starting a university, but to be honest.

The Argyle Family wasn't very famous in academia, and it was hard to hire good teachers.

Even when they started the orphanage and schools a few years ago, those teachers were pulled from the church, and for that, they had to compromise by adding exclusive church courses.

"Although you understand business, you don't necessarily understand the rules of academia. Those professors capable of teaching top-tier talent in universities, those truly heavyweight scholars—they are arrogant to their bones."

Felix's fingers couldn't help but tap lightly on the desktop.

"Those people value school prestige, historical heritage, and recognition within the academic circle more. If we just take a checkbook to Yale, Harvard, or Cambridge to poach people.

Tell them to co teach at our university that was just built with bricks and doesn't even have a na yet. They wouldn't even give it a glance. In their eyes, we are just nouveau riche reeking of copper."

Catherine sighed on the other end of the line.

"I've considered this problem too. The few doctors at the Umbrella and General laboratories have published quite a few articles in dical and scientific journals over the past few years, gaining so fa in the circle. But relying on just them, we can't support the facade of a comprehensive university. Without good professors, those smart kids won't be able to learn any real skills even if we send them in. So, clever and wise Felix, do you have any good ideas?"

Felix leaned back in his chair, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Since my dear Catherine has asked , then there must be a way."

"Since those people value prestige, then we will use money to smash out the greatest prestige in the world for them."

In Felix's mind, the globally famous award from later generations erged.

Such as the Nobel...

"Catherine. Before building the university, you can first establish an award in the na of the charitable foundation. Let's call it the 'Argyle Science and Peace Prize'."

"An award?" Catherine was a bit confused.

"Yes. The award should set up five separate categories: Physics, Chemistry, dicine, Mathematics, and Peace."

Felix began to describe this award, copying the model.

"Also, we will select winners annually on a global scale. Don't care whether those winners are Arican or European. As long as they have made top-tier breakthroughs in these fields, we will award them."

"The most crucial part is the prize money."

Felix paused; after all, people who dedicate themselves to scholarship aren't necessarily rich.

"For each individual category winner, issue a pure gold check of fifty thousand dollars."

The sound of Catherine gasping ca from the other end of the phone.

Fifty thousand dollars!

It might not seem like much, but that's only for rich people like the Argyle Family.

But in this era, a skilled worker couldn't earn that much money in a lifeti, even without eating or drinking.

This huge sum of money was enough to drive any impoverished scholar struggling in a lab to madness.

"This is too exaggerated, Felix. Five awards an two hundred and fifty thousand. And we have to issue it every year?"

"In the words of the East, this is called buying horse bones with a thousand gold pieces," Felix explained with a smile.

"But think about it. When the entire global academic community knows that as long as they win this award, they can imdiately beco wealthy, our award will, in a very short ti, beco the most authoritative and sought-after holy grail in the entire scientific world."

Felix analyzed the chain reaction behind this for Catherine.

"The key is, to judge this award, don't we have to invite the titans of prestigious schools like Harvard, Yale, and even Berlin and London to be judges?"

"We use high travel expenses and judge stipends to invite these big shots of academia to New York. In the process of selection, we establish deep personal relationships with them."

"Once the prestige of this award is firmly established, those cutting-edge scientists who took our fifty-thousand-dollar prize, and those titans who took our stipends—will they still feel that the na Argyle is just a nouveau riche reeking of copper? No, in their eyes, we will be the great patrons of science and civilization!"

Felix clenched his fist tightly, firing himself up.

"By then, you can slap the employnt offer for Argyle University in front of them. Tell them that here, we have the best laboratories in Arica, the most sufficient research funding, and the smartest students. Do you think they will still refuse to leave those lifeless, old-school prestigious universities?"

Catherine was completely silent on the other end of the line.

She was deeply impressed by Felix's overt sche to forcibly hijack the reputation of the entire academic community with money.

"I understand, Felix. You are using the greed of the entire academic world to pave the way for our future university."

After figuring it out, Catherine's voice beca crisp and efficient again.

"I will imdiately have the foundation staff start drafting the regulations for this award. And I will have Fowler's newspaper start building montum in both Europe and Arica simultaneously. As for the site selection for the hospital and orphanage, I will go finalize it with Hamilton this afternoon."

"OK, go ahead and do it. If the funds are insufficient, transfer them directly from the Imperial Bank internally."

After settling a few more details, the two hung up the phone.

Felix stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

Looking at this city that was undergoing trendous changes under his will.

dicine, education, academia.

The Argyle Family's business empire was evolving from a pure comrcial monster into a behemoth from the abyss that controlled the social resources of this country.

And just on the other end of this city of New York.

The morning mist had not yet completely dispersed from the Hudson River.

An ocean-going freighter flying the flag of a Dutch rchant ship docked silently at a remote private pier.

The gangplank was lowered.

A European man wearing a dark, high-end wool coat and a top hat, carrying an exquisite leather suitcase, walked quickly off the freighter.

It was Jan Vanderbilt.

In the Morgan mansion in London, he represented the Dutch Vanderbilt Family and joined two other families to pressure Old Morgan, forcing the other party to hand over the promise of a stake in Westinghouse Electric.

But after that roundtable eting ended and Old Morgan stated the solution, Jan did not stay in London.

He imdiately boarded the family's rchant ship and secretly crossed the Atlantic Ocean to co to New York.

Standing on the pier, Jan looked at the forest of chimneys and dense buildings in the distance in Manhattan.

He felt the air here was even more turbid than in London, filled everywhere with the aura of barbaric growth.

"What a vulgar place."

Jan covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, his eyes revealing the arrogance and disdain of an old-school European aristocratic rchant.

But he knew that today he had to step onto this vulgar land.

Although the speed of Old Morgan's collapse in Arica had exceeded everyone's expectations.

But the solution provided was right here in New York.

Jan hailed a carriage.

"Go to Washington Square."

Jan said to the coachman.

"Washington Square? Which building, sir?"

"Go to the ho of the man known as the 'Commodore', that is, the mansion of Cornelius Vanderbilt."

The coachman paused for a mont, then swung his whip.

In New York, few people didn't know the tyrant who controlled the entire East Coast railway and shipping.

Although the Argyle Family had gradually surpassed them in recent years, that was still a top-tier big shot.

The carriage sped along the cobblestone streets.

Jan looked at the streetscape outside the window, his eyes becoming extrely complex. The man he was about to et was a distant blood relative of their Dutch main family who had drifted to Arica over a hundred years ago.

An Arican nouveau riche who had long ceased contact and had even been forgotten in the European family genealogy.

As the carriage set off, it soon arrived at the massive mansion of the Vanderbilt Family on Washington Square.

This building, constructed of red brick and granite, displayed an unadorned, purely Arican ruggedness and luxury everywhere.

Looking at it, there were no intricate Baroque carvings like those in European palaces, only a sense of oppression built from sheer size, solidity, and money.

Hmm...

Felix once said it was nice, but didn't learn.

In the spacious study on the first floor of the mansion.

The seventy-seven-year-old Cornelius Vanderbilt, the man who was once the shipping and railroad tycoon of all Arica and known as the "Commodore," was sitting behind a large oak desk.

He was not wearing a proper suit, just draped in a sowhat worn wool cardigan.

Chewing a wad of foul-slling tobacco and holding a red and blue pencil in his hand, he was drawing lines on a freight report for the New York Central Railroad.

That's right, he was working from ho now.

Ti had left deep marks on the old man's face.

But his eyes remained as sharp and fierce as a vulture's.

The door to the study was gently pushed open.

His eldest son, William Henry Vanderbilt (nicknad Bill), walked in cautiously.

Bill was middle-aged, but his personality was relatively cautious, even sowhat timid.

In front of his father, a tyrant with absolute authority, he never dared to speak loudly.

"Father."

Bill walked to the side of the desk, slightly bowing his waist.

The Commodore didn't even raise his head, continuing to stare at the report in his hand.

"What is it? Can't you see I'm calculating the coal freight rates along the Hudson River? If it weren't for that kid Argyle using open-hearth steel rails to lower our procurent costs, the profit margin on this line would have dropped another two points. Shit! Those train boilers are simply coal-eating monsters."

The old man grumbled while accurately writing down a row of numbers on the paper.

"Uh... Father, there is a guest outside."

Bill swallowed, his tone sowhat strange.

"A guest? Who? If it's those brokers from Wall Street, tell them to get lost. I don't have ti to listen to them peddling that shit-like debt."

"It's not... it's not soone from Wall Street," Bill lowered his voice.

"It's a man who calls himself Jan Vanderbilt, saying he just got off a Dutch rchant ship. He says... he is from the main family in Amsterdam, our distant relatives in Europe."

Upon hearing this, the pencil in Cornelius's hand stopped.

He slowly raised his head, his sharp eyes, deep in their sockets, staring at his son.

"Heh~ Main family? Distant relatives?"

The old man suddenly opened his mouth and spat the wad of chewed-up tobacco directly into the expensive brass spittoon beside him, letting out an extrely harsh sneer.

"Fuck it. To hell with it, Bill."

The old Commodore leaned back in his chair, his voice very raspy.

"You listen to clearly. Ever since my grandfather's grandfather, who couldn't even afford a boat ticket and had to escape to Arica as a coolie under the deck, our family has had nothing to do with any main family in Amsterdam!"

The old man stretched out a thick finger, pointing in the direction outside the study.

"When I was young, I rowed those leaky ferries in New York Harbor, and my hands were covered in blood blisters. To buy my first small steamboat, I had to beg those bankers. Where were those so-called 'relatives' in Amsterdam then? They didn't even send a single penny! They even despised us poor relatives digging in the mud in Arica for ruining their noble reputation!"

Bill lowered his head, not daring to contradict his father's anger.

"Now that I have used my fists and coal to build a transportation empire worth tens of millions of dollars on this continent, these sons of bitches sll the money and co knocking? Ha... want to claim kinship? Fuck!"

The old Commodore let out a disdainful grunt.

"Father," Bill said, bracing himself to explain.

"I just probed him a little. He doesn't seem to be here to borrow money or claim kinship this ti. He ntioned the Morgan Family in London, and he also ntioned that Felix Argyle of ours in New York."

Hearing these two nas, the angry look on Cornelius's face subsided a little.

As an old fox who had been rolling in the business world for more than half a century, his sense of sll was extrely keen.

"Morgan? Argyle?" The old Commodore narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, Jan Vanderbilt seems to represent a syndicate alliance from Europe. It's the owner behind those funds that were following the British a while ago, heard to be buying up steel mills and pharmaceutical factories everywhere in Philadelphia and the Midwest."

Bill pieced together the information he had gathered.

Cornelius fell silent.

Although he had not directly participated in this business war that swept across the entire East Coast.

But he controlled the railroads, and whether the rails from those steel mills could be shipped out, and how the raw materials for the pharmaceutical factories were dispatched, were all clearly reflected on his freight manifests.

He even had feelings about the United Credit Bank incident so ti ago, and at that ti he was happy to see Felix fighting with the other side.

After all, if it weren't for that bastard Argyle, they, the Vanderbilt Family, would be the kings of New York.

However, he also saw that the British guy Cavendish couldn't play the ga in Arica at all and was being fiercely rubbed into the mud by that little bastard Argyle.

"Ha~ I understand."

The old Commodore suddenly laughed, his smile revealing an extrely clear cunning.

"These European noble lords. They must have been swindled by that Morgan in London and actually threw their money into Arica's at grinder. Now they are being beaten tooth and nail by Argyle in steel and dicine, losing almost everything."

The old man tapped the table with his fingers to himself.

"Did they discover that Old Morgan is unreliable, and that Cavendish is a piece of trash? So, this Dutch guy nad Jan secretly ran to New York. Hoping to find , a hick Arican relative, and counting on to use my local influence in Arica to help them deal with that ruthless kid, Argyle?"

After hearing his father's analysis, Bill suddenly realized.

It seems plausible, doesn't it?

"Then... Father, should we see him?"

Cornelius picked up the red and blue pencil on the table again.

Although in his bones he extrely despised these old European nobles.

Although he also did not want to go to war against that extrely dangerous young oligarch Argyle for the sake of these irrelevant people.

But in the business world, intelligence and utility value are always paramount.

So...

He really wanted to know, what exactly did Jan co here for?

And whether that Old Morgan in London still had any trump cards, and whether he could keep these shrewd European families continuing to leave their money on that sinking ship.

After all, he certainly hoped that the other side would continue to fight with that kid Argyle.

Otherwise, that kid would sooner or later set his sights on his own family.

Seeing that his own health was getting worse and worse, he glanced at his eldest son, and the old man knew he couldn't beat Argyle.

So... he must find a way out for the family...

What's more, watching these high-and-mighty European nobles begging for help in front of him was also a very pleasant thing.

The old Commodore lowered his head and continued to draw lines on the report.

He didn't answer directly whether to see him or not, but just ordered his son in a cold tone.

"You go receive him and find out clearly."

The first floor of the Vanderbilt mansion in Washington Square.

The heavy oak door of the reception room was pushed open.

William Henry Vanderbilt walked in with a steady yet slightly restrained gait.

He had inherited his father Cornelius's massive fra, but he had not inherited that chilling aura.

Jan Vanderbilt was sitting on the leather sofa by the fireplace. Hearing the door open, this distant cousin from Amsterdam imdiately stood up, his face wearing that extrely standard, yet extrely hypocritical, smile of European high society.

"Oh~ William, my dear cousin. It is truly a pleasure to see you on this vibrant continent."

Jan extended his right hand, clad in a white glove.

Billy glanced at him, showing neither the warmth of a long-awaited reunion nor the coldness of throwing a guest out directly.

He rely extended his hand in an extrely perfunctory manner, touched Jan's fingertips, and imdiately withdrew it.

"Sit, Jan."

Billy pointed to the sofa opposite, then walked to the liquor cabinet in the center of the reception room, picked up a crystal decanter, and poured himself a glass of Bourbon.

He did not ask Jan if he wanted a drink; this was an extrely obvious slight.

But then again... who asked his father to dislike them.

"Was the voyage smooth? I heard the Atlantic Ocean has been in a bad mood lately."

Billy stood by the liquor cabinet, holding his glass, and tossed out a aningless pleasantry.

Jan sat back down, placing his hands on his knees.

He could, of course, feel Billy's aloofness, which kept everyone at arm's length.

One could even say that the very air in this house was perated with rejection toward him.

Jan gritted his teeth inwardly. He felt sowhat aggrieved.

Back when the ancestors of the Vanderbilt Family fled the Netherlands like beggars and ran to Arica to dig mud, the main branch in Europe had indeed offered no support.

Even before the Old Commodore made his fortune, Amsterdam had always regarded these poor Arican relatives as a disgrace to the family.

But that was over a hundred years ago! Those decisions were made by their great-grandfathers; what did that have to do with him, Jan Vanderbilt?

Now that he had traveled across the ocean to seek cooperation, only to have to take the bla for his ancestors from over a century ago, he found it extrely uncomfortable.

But Jan was a mature businessman; he suppressed all his dissatisfaction deep in his heart, his face still maintaining that gentle smile.

"The winds and waves at sea were indeed quite strong. However, compared to the events that have occurred in London and Philadelphia recently, the storms of the Atlantic are as gentle as a baby's breath."

Jan skillfully steered the conversation from aningless pleasantries directly to the main topic.

Billy took a sip of his Bourbon, walked over to the sofa, and sat down. Looking at this cousin who was full of European airs, he couldn't be bothered to beat around the bush anymore.

"Enough, Jan. Our two families haven't had any dealings for nearly a hundred years. You suddenly running to New York today, I assu, isn't to discuss sailing logs with ."

Billy placed his glass on the coffee table, his gaze becoming sowhat guarded.

"Father is upstairs crunching numbers and has no ti to see you. You can tell directly whatever it is. Of course... if I'm not interested, perhaps you can go to the docks now and buy a return ticket."

Facing this Arican style that was so direct it was almost rude, Jan took a deep breath. I endure!

"Very well, Billy. I have co today representing an extrely powerful syndicate. This includes not only our main Vanderbilt Family in the Netherlands but also the Valois family in France, the Grosvenor family in England, and Junius Morgan in London."

Jan tossed out this luxurious lineup of capital that was currently enough to shake the entire Wall Street.

"We hope that the Vanderbilt Family in Arica will join us. Let us join forces to deal with that arrogant kid, Argyle."

The reception room fell into a brief silence. Billy stared at Jan for a mont for no apparent reason. Suddenly, he let out a short, mocking laugh.

He looked at Jan as if he were looking at an idiot who had just escaped from an asylum.

"What? Are you joking?"

Billy shook his head, looking at his distant cousin.

"Sorry~ Are you saying you traveled across the ocean to New York, ca to my family's reception room, to invite our family to deal with Felix Argyle?"

"I'm serious, buddy, do you really think we don't know about the stupid things you've done in Philadelphia and Ohio?"

Billy's tone was full of schadenfreude.

"That Englishman Cavendish took your money to buy those nearly obsolete steel workshops. As a result, Argyle used a few shell companies to poach all the skilled workers, making it hard to even start production. And your pharmaceutical factory in Boston now has to buy raw materials at several tis the price; God knows how much you've lost."

Speaking of which, Billy spread his hands.

"Look~ You've been beaten like children in Arica, and your pounds are flowing out like water. Now that you've realized you can't deal with him, you run to Washington Square, expecting my family to deal with Argyle for you? Stop joking, will you?"

Billy picked up his glass again.

"Jan. Do you think that because our family has been digging mud in Arica for a hundred years, our brains are also full of mud?"

Facing Billy's rciless mockery and his "you're an idiot" look, Jan's hands clenched tightly into fists on his knees.

His chest heaved slightly, but he forcefully swallowed his anger. I endure again!

"Brother, do you think I am begging you?" Jan's voice beca low.

"I admit we have suffered setbacks in steel and dicine. But that is because we are far away in Europe, and the supply chain has been hit by Argyle. But that does not change one fact."

Jan looked straight into Billy's eyes and began to toss out the rhetoric he had prepared.

"The Vanderbilt Family in Arica was painstakingly managed by your father Cornelius for decades. You seized railways amidst the smoke of the Civil War and fought hand-to-hand with competitors on the Hudson River, only then becoming the wealthiest family in Arica. A few years ago, you were the undisputed kings of New York."

Jan paused for a mont, then added a mocking, provocative tone.

"And what happened? In just five years, this throne was very easily taken away by that young man nad Argyle. Now, when New Yorkers ntion the kings of New York, the first thing they think of is no longer the 'Commodore', but that person in the Empire Bank Building!"

Billy's expression changed slightly. Jan's words stabbed at the family's most sensitive pride.

"Thrones and whatnot are nonsense in the newspapers. The old man only cares about the cash in the ledger." Billy retorted toughly, but his confidence was clearly lacking.

"But is this really just nonsense in the newspapers?"

Getting into the swing of things, Jan simply stood up and paced slowly around the reception room.

"My brother, we are all smart people. Why don't I analyze this for your family?"

Jan walked to a map of the East Coast railroad network hanging on the wall.

"Back then, to fight for control of the Erie Railroad, your father had a brutal, bloody battle with those Wall Street thugs, Daniel Drew and Jay Gould. The Old Commodore poured millions into buying up those illegally issued stocks. And the result?"

Jan turned to look at Bill.

"The result was that Felix Argyle intervened at the most critical mont. He used extrely cunning tactics to snatch control of the Erie Railroad right out of your hands. The Old Commodore suffered a huge, silent loss. Although he eventually got his principal back, you completely lost that golden gateway to the Great Lakes Region."

"And ever since then, the friction between your two sides hasn't stopped, right?"

Jan's analysis made the atmosphere in the reception room feel oppressive.

Even the aroma of the whiskey seed to carry the pungent sll of gunpowder.

Bill's expression was gloomy.

The Battle of the Erie Railroad was one of the few tis Cornelius had been humbled in his later years.

Whenever this was ntioned, the old man would fly into a rage in his study, cursing that little bastard Argyle for being inhuman.

"Hmph, so what? Wins and losses in business are normal."

Bill let out a breath, trying to maintain the family's dignity.

"You must know that we still control the New York Central Railroad. The Vanderbilt Family is still the undisputed hegemon along the Hudson River. Our freight volu sets new records every year."

"Aha... yes! Your freight volu is indeed setting records. But what about your profit margins?"

Jan bluntly punctured Bill's fantasy; they had long since collected intelligence on these things and analyzed them carefully.

He walked to the map, extended a white-gloved finger, and tapped heavily on several key transportation hubs.

"Oh, my dear brother! Take a good look at this map and see what the Argyle Family has done in these past few years!"

Jan's finger slid along the railroad lines on the map.

"He holds the Pennsylvania Railroad on the East Coast, controlled the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company in the central region early on, and has even been expanding into the South.

And in the North, he holds that Erie Railroad you once dread of. Even in the far West, that Union Pacific Railroad Company that spans the Arican continent—I recall he also occupies a large number of shares."

Jan turned around, his eyes filled with a deep sense of wariness.

"Wow, look at your proud New York Central Railroad. Now it's just like a beast trapped in a cage!"

Seeing William Henry Vanderbilt's face begin to flush, Jan used professional data and comrcial logic to dismantle the Vanderbilt Family's current predicant.

"Your family wants to expand business to the West to haul Chicago grain and frozen at from the slaughterhouses? Sorry, the Erie Railroad and Pennsylvania Railroad in Argyle's hands are choking your throat on prices.

And if your freight rates are set even one cent higher than theirs, those Chicago rchants will not hesitate to load their goods onto Argyle's trains.

These things have already happened, right?"

"You want to expand to the South? The massive network of the Pennsylvania Railroad blocks your path like an iron wall."

Jan walked back to the sofa, leaning his hands on the coffee table, staring intently at Bill.

"Brother, Uncle Cornelius is a remarkable railroad tycoon. But now, he is no longer the rule-maker. He has beco a slave to the rules!"

"In terms of pricing, you must keep close to those few railroad companies. If the Argyle Family wants to target soone—for instance, if they want to suppress those disobedient coal mine owners—they announce a reduction in freight rates. Doesn't your New York Central Railroad have to follow suit?"

"If you don't follow, the four massive railroad companies under the Argyle Family's control will imdiately form an alliance. They will use dumping tactics below cost price to steal all your Central Railroad's clients. Right?"

Fine beads of sweat seeped out on Bill's forehead.

What Jan said was exactly the reason why the old man used to curse wildly in his study.

The Vanderbilt Family seed to still be massive, but they had completely lost the initiative in freight pricing.

The Argyle Family's railroad network was like a giant spider web, sticking them firmly in this corner of the East Coast.

"We know these things in our hearts."

Bill took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

"Since you know, why endure it?"

Jan sat back on the sofa.

"Because you're afraid! You know that relying on the strength of the Vanderbilt Family alone is no longer enough to contend with that monster, Argyle. So you can only choose to submit, choose to follow behind his ass and pick up the bones he leaves behind."

Jan's tone carried strong incitent.

It was clearly cooperation, but he frad it as being given alms.

"But now it's different, Bill. European capital has arrived. London, Paris, Amsterdam—our four oldest families are willing to provide massive amounts of pounds. As long as we join forces. You use your local railroads, shipping, and political influence in the open, and we provide financial support in the dark."

"When the ti cos, we can lobby in Washington, introduce antitrust legislation, and split up his railroad transport network. We can go to Chicago and buy the franchises for those slaughterhouses at double the price. As long as we form an alliance, it is not impossible to defeat the Argyle Family's business empire."

Bill fell silent.

He had to admit that Jan's words were very tempting. If European capital was really willing to throw money regardless of the cost, perhaps they could really pull Argyle down from that throne.

"But the risk is too great."

Bill shook his head.

"Father is old and now only seeks stability. Argyle is a madman. If this doesn't succeed, our Vanderbilt Family's foundation in Arica, built over many years, could be completely destroyed. You have to know that if he's pushed too far, he's even capable of assassination."

Obviously, Bill also knew about the incident with Little Morgan.

Hearing Bill's cowardly reply, a surge of intense contempt rose in Jan's heart.

How could this family, which once conquered the world with their fists, have beco so soft-boned by the second generation?

"Seek stability? In the world of capital, there is no such word as'stability'."

Jan snorted coldly in annoyance.

"Brother. Do you think that just because you don't provoke Argyle, he will let you off?"

Jan's eyes beca extrely vicious; it seed his words weren't aggressive enough.

"I think the railroad is just one link in his noose. Do you think I ca here today just to talk about a few railroad tracks?"

Jan took several shipping reports out of his briefcase and threw them directly onto the coffee table.

"Your Vanderbilt Family made its fortune in shipping. Your father is even called the 'Commodore'—that is your family's lifeline. But take a good look at these reports. See how the Argyle Family is forcing you into a dead end on the sea!"

On the coffee table, those slightly yellowed shipping reports looked extrely glaring.

Bill did not reach for those reports.

Upon hearing that it concerned shipping, he, as one of the actual managers of the family business, knew better than anyone what those reports ant.

Jan Vanderbilt watched the silent Bill, his voice like cold tides, crashing wave after wave against the psychological defenses of this wealthy heir.

"Not looking? Then I will tell you! In recent years, the Atlantic Steam Power Company, under the absolute control of the Argyle Family and supported by their capital, has grown increasingly massive. I believe it has now beco, without dispute, the number one shipbuilding enterprise in Arica."

Jan's fingers tapped forcefully on those reports.

"Relying on this shipyard, its sister company—that monster known as Lex Steel—has never seen its business falter. They are even building new blast furnaces and workshops every year to expand production; they have ford a perfectly closed-loop industrial monster."

Jan stood up and walked to the window, watching the carriages coming and going on Washington Square.

"And over these years, those massive steel giants built by Atlantic Steam Power have mostly been sold to another sister company, the tropolis Trading Company. They have used them to establish a trading fleet capable of spanning the globe."

Jan turned around, his gaze like a torch fixed on Bill.

"My brother, your father is known as the 'Commodore.' Your family possesses a massive number of ships in New York Harbor and the Great Lakes Region. But what kind of junk are those ships?"

Jan ruthlessly tore open the scar the Vanderbilt Family was most unwilling to face.

"Although you have many ships, a large portion of them are nothing but decrepit antiques from over a decade ago! Many are even wooden-hulled paddle stears or wooden sailing ships that can only run in coastal waters! This kind of junk requires massive maintenance costs every trip, and you have to worry about the winds and waves at sea!"

"And what about the tropolis Trading Company?"

Jan's tone revealed deep apprehension and envy.

"They not only have huge cargo capacity, but their ship quality and sailing speeds have likely left you far behind long ago. What they hold in their hands are'sail and steam dual-powered ironclads' capable of sailing the world!"

Jan walked back to the sofa, resting his hands above Bill's knees, looking down at him from a position of superiority.

"Just a few days ago, our intelligence network received confird news. The Asia regional manager of the tropolis Trading Company returned from the Great Qing Empire in the Far East with their ironclad rchant ships. They not only exchanged those obsolete machines and one ship for massive orders from the Qing people, but they also brought back millions of dollars worth of gold!"

Jan's voice echoed in the reception room.

"My brother, with these ironclads capable of ocean voyages, the tropolis Trading Company can sell the products of other sister companies—those canned goods, kerosene, rifles, and Typewriters—endlessly to the whole world, earning the Argyle Family money that they will never be able to spend."

"This is a super comrcial empire that can treat the entire world as an ATM. And what about you? You can only survive on this North Arica continent, surrounded by their railways, relying on a few rivers and a few restricted tracks to earn those pitiful freight price differences."

Bill's expression had turned from annoyance to gloom, and his hands were trembling slightly at his sides.

Every word Jan spoke was a thorn piercing the heart of the Vanderbilt Family.

Although his father, Cornelius Vanderbilt, would not admit it aloud, in his study, he had more than once cursed those ironclads of the tropolis Trading Company.

Shipping and railways—these were the two legs of the Vanderbilt Family.

But now...

One leg had its ankle locked by the railway network, and the other had been ruthlessly crushed by those steel giants.

"Jan..."

Bill's voice was terrifyingly dry.

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

"What I want to say is that you have no way out."

Jan sat back down and adjusted his white gloves, his eyes carrying a hint of smugness and satisfaction.

Finally, he had taken the bait!

"If you think now that you can preserve your current family business just by not provoking him, that is clearly wrong! My dear brother, capital expansion knows no bounds. When he has earned enough gold from all over the world and ironclads fill New York Harbor, the next ones to be annexed will be you—the stumbling blocks hindering his complete monopoly of the Arican transportation network."

"So, now, while the roots of the Argyle Family have not yet fully spread to Europe, while his operations are spread too thin and he has enemies everywhere..."

Jan's tone was filled with incitent.

"If you don't take this opportunity to pull him down from that throne and dismantle him completely, once he catches his breath, the descendants of your Arican Vanderbilt Family will forever be shrouded in the shadow of the Argyle Family. You will only be able to be a second-rate family!"

The reception room fell into a deathly silence once again.

There was only the ticking sound of the grandfather clock.

Bill picked up the glass of whiskey that had long since gone cold and drank it in one gulp.

The bite of the strong liquor made his chaotic mind slightly clearer.

He had to admit that Jan had persuaded him.

This distant cousin from Europe had shattered his fantasy of seeking stability with data and predictions of the future comrcial landscape.

But he dared not make the decision.

In this family, only that old man upstairs with the fiery temper had the authority to make the final call on such a heaven-shaking gamble that would determine the life or death of the family.

"Jan."

Bill put down the empty glass and took a deep breath.

"I will convey your words to my father. As for whether he is willing to join forces with you, that is not sothing I can decide."

Bill stood up and made a gesture for him to leave.

Jan was not angry because of Bill's dismissal.

Because he knew that this thorny seed had been successfully planted in the heart of this wealthy heir.

As long as the old Commodore still had the ambition to dominate, he could not possibly refuse this proposal for an alliance.

Jan stood up, picked up his top hat from the side, and adjusted the collar of his overcoat.

As he walked toward the oak door of the reception room.

Jan suddenly stopped and turned his head.

Those eyes, filled with the shrewdness and darkness of an old-school European aristocrat, looked at William Henry Vanderbilt.

"My dear William, I know your father is getting old. Perhaps he really is old and afraid of trouble."

Jan's lips curled into a smile as he said aningfully.

"My dear brother, you are only forty-seven, aren't you?"

"But you must know."

"Argyle is even younger than you!"

The wooden door of the reception room closed slowly behind Jan Vanderbilt, making a dull thud.

But to the ears of William Henry Vanderbilt, this sound was like a funeral knell over the family grave.

Billy stood frozen in place, still holding that glass of Bourbon that had long since stopped swirling.

He stared blankly at the closed door, the last words Jan left behind swirling madly in his mind.

"Felix Argyle... is even younger than you!"

This seemingly simple sentence shattered the glimr of hope deep within Billy's heart.

He slowly turned around, stumbling over to the sofa and collapsing into it dejectedly.

He was fifty years old this year, his hair beginning to thin, and his energy not what it used to be.

And his father, the man revered by all of Arica as the "Commodore," was already seventy-seven.

But what about that Argyle, who was growing ever stronger in Arica and beating European capital until it was battered and bruised?

He was only twenty-nine!

Not even thirty yet, in the pri of his youth and strength.

Billy's fingers began to tremble uncontrollably, the ice in his glass clinking crisply against the crystal.

"Not even thirty..."

Billy muttered to himself, his voice filled with despair.

"He still has forty, maybe fifty years to expand his business empire. When Father is gone, and I am too old to even read the ledgers, he will be at the absolute peak of a man's strength."

Billy tilted his head back and drained the remaining liquor in the glass.

The spicy liquid slid down his throat, but could not dispel the chill in his heart.

Father Cornelius had struggled his whole life, using every iron-fisted tactic to build this massive railroad and shipping empire on the East Coast.

Yet, facing the crazy rise of the Argyle Family in recent years, even an old fox like Father, who had crawled out of piles of dead n, could only choose to avoid the brunt of the attack and watch helplessly as the Erie Railroad was snatched away.

If even Father couldn't fight that monster, why did he think he could win?

After Father passed away, he would take over this family.

He would be facing a monarch more than twenty years younger than him, holding the largest cash flow and heavy industry system in all of Arica.

Did the Vanderbilt Family even have a future?

Would that guy Argyle let go of this piece of fat at right by his mouth?

"No."

Billy slamd his glass onto the coffee table and clutched his head with both hands.

"His railroad network has already surrounded us, and his ironclads are stealing our manifests. As soon as we show even a hint of weakness, he will surely pounce like a vicious wolf and tear the New York Central Railroad to shreds."

Fear!

An absolute fear of the future completely engulfed the heir.

At this mont, the scales in Billy's heart began to tilt.

He no longer felt that Jan Vanderbilt was just a poor relative begging for a handout.

He even began to think that Jan was right; relying solely on the power of the Vanderbilt Family was simply no match for the passage of ti and the expansion of the Argyle Family.

Only by joining forces.

Only by uniting with Old Morgan in London, the Valois family in France, and those ancient European capitals.

While Father was still here, and while the family still had its foundation, they could use European funds to launch a strangulation war against Argyle on Arican soil.

Only by defeating that young man could the Vanderbilt Family survive.

"Not just survive."

A greedy, vicious glint suddenly flashed in Billy's eyes.

"If we win, those railroad companies under Argyle's na, his shipyards, and the ironclads of the tropolitan Trading Company will all be dismantled. If we can swallow even a third of those assets, the rule of the Vanderbilt Family can last for at least another century."

The more he thought about it, the more he felt this was a viable path to survival.

He sat alone in the reception room for a long ti, his mind constantly rehearsing how to convince the old man upstairs to agree to this transoceanic alliance.

Just then, the door to the reception room was shoved open roughly.

"Bang!"

Cornelius Vanderbilt walked in with big strides, wearing that old wool cardigan.

The old man's face looked terrible; he scanned the empty reception room and his gaze fell upon his son.

"Did that Dutchman leave?"

Cornelius walked over to the sofa, looking down at Billy.

"I told you to send him away; why have you been sitting here for an hour? Are you ignoring the freight ledgers upstairs? Have you been possessed by so damn devil?"

The old Commodore said, unceremoniously reaching out with his rough, large hand and slapping Billy on the back of the head.

"Smack!"

Billy jolted from the slap, snapping out of his deep thoughts.

Then, seeing his father's eyes, he imdiately stood up, his attitude becoming extrely respectful and nervous.

"Ah... sorry, Father. I was just thinking about sothing."

Billy kept his head down, not daring to et the old man's gaze.

"Thinking about sothing?"

Cornelius walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of plain water.

"What did that man say to you that could make you, the Vice President of the New York Central Railroad, forget to look at the ledgers? Did he convince you to donate to him?"

Billy swallowed hard.

He knew there was no point in lying in front of his father.

"No, Father. He didn't co to ask for money."

Billy collected his thoughts, trying to make his voice sound steady.

"He just told about the situation of the European Syndicate Alliance in Arica. The steel mills over in Pittsburgh are temporarily paralyzed, and the pharmaceutical factories have had their raw materials cut off by Umbrella."

"Hmph, I guessed as much. A bunch of noble lords who haven't even stepped on Arican mud, trying to play business war here—it's simply courting death."

The old Commodore took a sip of water, his tone filled with disdain.

Billy continued cautiously.

"But Jan stated that their four great families will never withdraw their capital. They also want to invite our Vanderbilt Family to join the alliance. They provide the funds, we provide the local channels and political influence, and together we deal with the Argyle Family."

Cornelius listened without any expression of surprise.

He walked to the coffee table and sat down, staring at his son with those sharp eyes deep in their sockets.

He was silent for a full minute.

The only sound in the entire reception room was the ticking of the grandfather clock.

The old Commodore glanced at his son's slightly pale complexion and the dejected appearance he had just displayed.

He knew exactly what was going on, but deliberately didn't show his hand, instead asking as if it were a casual question.

"And what about you, Billy?"

Cornelius's tone betrayed no joy or anger.

"After listening to what he said, what do you think?"

Faced with his father's sudden question, Billy's hands involuntarily clenched the corner of his clothes.

He knew this was an extrely critical mont.

"Father, I..."

Billy stamred.

Although his tone was hesitant, he poured out the fear in his heart.

"I think what Jan said isn't entirely nonsense. The expansion of the Argyle Family in recent years is too terrifying. Their railroad network is choking us, and their ironclads could smash our wooden sailing ships to pieces at any mont. But those aren't the most fatal things."

Billy mustered up his courage and looked straight into his father's eyes.

"The most fatal thing is that Argyle is only twenty-nine. In the future, I have no confidence that I can stop his annexation. Jan is right; if we don't take this opportunity to unite with European capital to pull him off his throne, the Vanderbilt Family will only be able to survive in his shadow from now on."

Billy beca more agitated as he spoke.

"Father, if we join the alliance, we don't even need to put up much cash; let the Europeans burn their money. As long as we cooperate in secret, when Argyle's empire collapses, we can seize his railroads and shipping. For us, this is a rare opportunity for expansion!"

Billy finished expressing his thoughts in one breath.

Then he looked at his old father with trepidation.

"Father, what do you think?"

Cornelius listened quietly to his son's grand ambition.

There was no appreciation on his face, nor did he imdiately get angry.

But deep inside, the old man felt a sense of relief and deep helplessness.

It was good that his son had a sense of crisis.

But he saw through the Europeans' tricks at a glance.

What did "they provide the money, we provide the channels" an?

Those European foxes clearly wanted to push the Vanderbilt Family to the forefront to bear the wrath of that guy Argyle!

Once it started, even if Argyle's capital chain broke, he would absolutely be able to drag their family down with him before he died.

Moreover, that guy Argyle was not so easy to take down now.

And his own son had actually been scared witless by the other party's flippant remark that "he is younger than you," unable to even see through such a basic tactic of borrowing a knife to kill soone.

Fear really makes people stupid.

Cornelius stood up, not giving any direct answer to his son's question.

He didn't want to discourage his heir at this mont, but it was even more impossible to agree to such a stupid alliance that would lead the family into a pit of fire.

"Put those European matters aside for now."

The old Commodore's tone beca stern.

"Your task now is to verify those freight ledgers for the Hudson River line upstairs for . Argyle being young is his business; as long as my old bones are still here for one more day, the tracks in New York must follow my rules. Go do your work."

Having said that, Cornelius walked out of the reception room slowly with his hands behind his back.

Leaving Billy standing there alone, his face full of shock and unwillingness.

While those ancient families were secretly calculating for their future survival, the political wheels of the United States of Arica had already begun to turn with a roar amidst the clamor and frenzy.

The curtain for the midterm elections had officially risen.

Philadelphia, Broad Street Station.

A piercing whistle cut through the sky as a special train, adorned with the Stars and Stripes and red, white, and blue ribbons, slowly pulled into the platform. The platform was already packed with a dense crowd, and the local brass band was playing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" with great vigor.

President Ulysses S. Grant, dressed in a crisp black formal suit with Civil War dals pinned to his chest, stepped out of the carriage, surrounded by several senior aides and security personnel.

A deafening cheer erupted from the crowd.

No matter how much Washington politics attacked his cabinet for corruption, in the eyes of ordinary citizens and veterans in the northern states, he remained the invincible general who had led them to win the Civil War and preserve the Federal Governnt.

Grant walked to the makeshift wooden podium on the platform. He raised his hands and pressed them downward, signaling for the crowd to quiet down.

"Citizens of Philadelphia! My comrades-in-arms!"

Grant's voice carried across the entire square through a simple loudspeaker.

His speech had been polished repeatedly by the top aides in Washington.

He began by affectionately recalling the bloody battles at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, successfully pushing the emotions of the scene to a climax.

Then, he shifted his tone, cutting to the true core of this speaking tour.

"Back then, we shed blood on the battlefield to defend this country! And now, the country must turn back to protect those who have dedicated their lives to her!"

Grant waved his fist and announced loudly.

"Just before this, I formally submitted the 'Federal Civil Servant Retirent Security Fund' bill to Congress! From the postman delivering letters every day, to the clerk checking accounts at the customs house, to the policeman patrolling the streets. As long as you serve the Federal Governnt, the governnt will never let you starve on the streets when your hair turns gray!"

"The Democratic Party is attacking , saying this is a scam. But I tell you, this is a promise from the United States to her loyal servants! This fund will be entrusted to the most reputable institutions, ensuring that you have your own bread and butter in your later years!"

Even more enthusiastic applause erupted from the crowd.

At the sa ti.

The headquarters building of the News dia Company in New York.

General Manager Victor Fowler was standing in the center of the bustling editorial departnt. Dozens of telegraph machines were constantly spitting out paper tape, and the typesetters, covered in ink, were working frantically in front of the movable type printing presses.

Fowler held the president's speech draft that had just been transmitted from Philadelphia.

"Listen up! Everyone stop what you are doing!"

Fowler clapped his hands and shouted.

The entire editorial departnt fell silent instantly, and all the editors-in-chief and reporters turned to look at the man who controlled the largest public opinion machine on the East Coast.

"The big boss has spoken. Starting today, serialize this for three months."

Fowler slapped the telegraph draft in his hand onto the nearest desk.

"I want Grant's photo on the front page of our twelve core newspapers in Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York. Pick a photo that looks firm yet kind. For the headlines, I only want to see the words 'Gratitude,''Security,' and 'Cornerstone of Arica.'"

Fowler issued orders like a commander on the battlefield.

"Do not discuss those boring financial terms in the layout, and do not ntion the na of the Imperial Bank! You must write about this damn fund as if it were a gift from God. Go dig through the Civil War archives, dig up stories of how General Grant cared for his soldiers back then, and write it in conjunction with this retirent fund."

A senior editor raised his hand.

"Mr. Fowler. The southern newspapers controlled by the Democratic Party are attacking this bill furiously, saying that the governnt's mandatory deduction of civil servants' wages is robbery."

"Then go interview those civil servants!" Fowler sneered.

"Send your sharpest reporters to the customs house, the tax bureau, and the post office. Go ask those low-level employees. Do not interview those fat-cat directors; interview the clerks who have worked for twenty years and can't even afford a new overcoat!"

Once the dia's carnival machine was set in motion, its power was no less than an army of tens of thousands.

Chicago.

Outside a busy Federal Governnt customs building.

Thomas, a reporter for the News dia Company, was holding a notebook and a charcoal pencil, stopping a customs supervisor who had just finished work.

"Sir. What is your opinion on the retirent security fund just announced by President Grant? I heard that a small portion of your salary needs to be deducted every month as a reserve."

Thomas asked politely.

The well-dressed, pot-bellied supervisor sneered, his face full of disdain.

"Opinion? This is simply nonsense! That is my salary; why should I let those politicians in Washington keep it for ? Do I not know how to invest?"

The supervisor adjusted his tie and complained in a low voice.

"I've worked here for ten years. My wife's brother has already started a freight company that specializes in supplying horses to the customs house. I also have two rental apartnts in the city. When I retire, I can go to Florida to bask in the sun just by relying on the rent and the company's dividends. Do I need his lousy fund that I don't know when will ever be cashed out? Deduct my money to fill the holes in the national treasury? Don't dream about it!"

Thomas recorded quickly while sneering in his heart.

This was exactly the situation General Manager Fowler had told them about.

The mid-to-high-level bureaucrats didn't need this bit of pension at all; they had long used their power to secure their own futures.

Thomas closed his notebook and did not write this interview into tomorrow's press release.

He turned and walked toward a dark alley at the back door of the customs building.

That was the passageway for low-level porters and junior registration clerks to get off work.

He stopped an archives clerk with graying hair, wearing a heavily worn coat.

"Sir, excuse . I am a reporter for The Tribune. What is your opinion on the president's retirent fund bill?"

The old clerk stopped and looked at Thomas sowhat cautiously.

"Uh, you an... the thing written in the newspapers, about deducting a few dozen cents every month, and when you're old and can't work anymore, the governnt pays a monthly pension?"

"Yes, what do you think of this policy? So say it's robbing your salary."

Thomas guided the topic.

The old clerk suddenly beca excited upon hearing this.

"Robbery? Those gentlen who sit in offices smoking cigars would certainly say so! Because they don't lack money!"

The old clerk held out his hands, which were covered in dust and ink from years of flipping through files.

"I've worked here for fifteen years, and my weekly salary is just enough for to buy flour and pay the rent. I can't save a single cent! I'm terrified every night when I sleep, thinking if one day I go blind, or get my leg broken by a carriage, and the customs house fires . Won't my wife and children have to go begging on the streets?"

The old clerk's eyes were a little red.

"If deducting the price of a few cups of cheap beer every month can get security for my old age, why shouldn't I support it? Those who curse President Grant, have they ever experienced the feeling of not being able to afford coal in winter?"

Thomas looked at this emotional low-level clerk, a satisfied smile appearing on the corners of his mouth.

This was the material most needed for tomorrow's front page of the newspaper.

Night had fallen, and the dim gas lamps on the streets of New York flickered to life.

In this era lacking entertainnt, the favorite gathering place for workers and low-level clerks after getting off work was the taverns on the street corners, filled with the scent of inferior ale and cheap tobacco.

Inside a small tavern in Brooklyn, a dozen mailn from the Federal Postal Service were sitting around a greasy wooden table.

They had just finished a day of heavy sorting and delivery work, and the snow that hadn't been brushed off still clung to the shoulders of their uniforms.

The conversation naturally turned to the "Retirent Fund" that had been plastered all over the newspapers recently.

"I think this is just a scam cooked up by those bankers on Wall Street!"

An older mailman with a full beard took a large gulp of beer and slamd his glass heavily onto the table.

"Use your heads and think about it. They're taking a percentage straight out of our pay envelopes every month. With hundreds of thousands of people across Arica living off the governnt, how much money does that add up to? Those politicians get the money and turn around to lend it to those big bosses to build railroads and skyscrapers. By the ti we're sixty, whether or not we can get that money back will depend on the whims of those masters!"

Several mailn who believed the propaganda in the Democratic Party newspapers nodded in agreent.

"Exactly! And who knows if I'll even live to be sixty? That's decades away! I still owe half my rent now, and they want to deduct my cash?"

Just then, a young mailman nad Arthur sitting in the corner put down his glass.

Arthur had just turned thirty this year, but he looked much older than his actual age.

Years of exposure to the wind and sun had left his skin rough, and he had a sick wife and three growing children at ho.

"Hey... I don't see it that way."

Arthur's voice wasn't loud, but it was firm.

He looked at the bearded mailman.

"Jack. You're a bachelor, and you throw all your remaining money every month into that brothel across the street. So, of course, you don't care about what happens when you get old."

Arthur's words resonated with the several married mailn around him.

"But I have a wife and children," Arthur sighed.

"Last month, old Thomas in the sorting room threw out his back while moving mailbags and was bedridden. The postmaster found soone to replace him the very next day. He only gave him two weeks' severance pay."

The atmosphere in the tavern instantly beca heavy.

They all knew about old Thomas; that honest man who had worked for twenty years now had to rely on his wife washing clothes for the wealthy just to scrape by.

"We aren't those masters at the Customs House; we don't get kickbacks from rchants, and we don't have the power to secure a future for our families," Arthur said, looking at the kerosene lamp on the table.

"If they deduct the cost of two packs of cigarettes from every month, and when I can no longer work, I don't have to end up as desperate as old Thomas, and can receive a monthly survival stipend... then I'll just consider that money never received in the first place. That's why I support President Ulysses S. Grant. Whoever can ensure I have food to eat when I'm old, that's who I'll vote for."

This extrely realistic calculation of the underclass caused the mailn who had just been complaining to fall silent.

Indeed, they had no savings or property; they had nothing but the labor they sold to the governnt.

That ethereal promissory note, while distant, was at least a glimr of light.

Half an hour later, Arthur dragged his exhausted body back to his narrow apartnt in the slums.

Pushing open the door, he was hit by a sll mixed with boiled cabbage and cheap coal.

His wife, Martha, was sitting by the stove, nding a torn shirt for their child by the dim light.

Hearing the door open, she quickly put down her work and walked over to help her husband take off his mailman coat, which was covered in snow.

"Abe, you're back? There's still soup warming in the pot."

Martha's complexion was a bit pale, but her eyes were gentle.

Abe walked to the table and sat down, picked up the chipped porcelain bowl, and drank the vegetable soup that had almost no oil in it in large gulps.

Martha sat opposite him, holding a sowhat tattered copy of the New York Tribune.

This was thrown away by a neighbor after they finished reading it; Martha was literate and usually liked to read the gossip columns in it.

"Abe. Did you see the news in the paper? About that retirent fund."

Martha's tone carried a hint of worry.

"I saw it. The office issued a notice today; it might start being implented when we get paid next month. They're going to deduct three percent from our original salary."

Abe put down the bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Martha quickly did the math in her head.

"Three percent... then we'll have to buy half a pound less at every week." Martha's brow furrowed slightly.

"Damn this governnt; don't they know we don't even have enough money to buy coal?"

Abe reached out and took his wife's rough hand.

"My dear Martha, don't curse. I think this is a good thing."

Abe repeated to his wife what he had said in the tavern about old Thomas's plight.

"Our lives are too cheap. If I have an accident one day, or if I get too old to walk and deliver mail, this fund will be the life-saving money for you and the children. Although it's tight now, just consider it buying insurance for the future. The newspaper says that part of the money in the foundation will be used to invest in promising companies for appreciation. The rest will be deposited in Mr. Argyle's Imperial Bank to earn interest, which is absolutely safe."

Listening to her husband's words, and looking at his hands that had beco deford from years of carrying heavy loads, Martha's eyes turned red.

She understood her husband's worries.

The greatest fear of the underclass was not current poverty, but the prospect of having no one to rely on in the future.

"I understand, Abe."

Martha squeezed her husband's hand back.

"Actually, it's fine to eat a little less at; I'll plant more potatoes in the backyard. As long as we can have so security, let them deduct the money."

The next morning.

Abe went to the post office to work, and Martha took a basket to the grocery store on the street corner to buy salt.

At the entrance of the grocery store, she ran into Mrs. O'Brien from next door.

Mr. O'Brien was a low-level cleaner at City Hall and also belonged to the category of public servants.

"Good morning, Martha."

Mrs. O'Brien was holding two onions in her hand.

"Is your Abe's salary going to be deducted too?"

"Yes, starting next month," Martha nodded.

"Oh my, those politicians are truly heartless," Mrs. O'Brien complained.

"That old man of mine ca back yesterday and threw a huge tantrum, saying this is a disguised pay cut."

Rembering her husband's words from last night, Martha couldn't help but retort.

"Mrs. O'Brien, I think you should look on the bright side. Before, when they worked until they were old, the governnt would just kick them to the curb. Even though money is being deducted now, at least we don't have to worry about starving to death in the future. It's like saving money. Just think, if there wasn't this fund, would our husbands have to keep working until they dropped dead on the street?"

Mrs. O'Brien was stunned.

She had only been focused on the few cents lost right in front of her, without thinking about the long term.

"What you say does seem to make sense."

Mrs. O'Brien was lost in thought.

The won's discussion on the street was like a silent storm.

The calculations of the underclass were very sharp.

They didn't care which vault on Wall Street this money would eventually flow into, nor did they care about the political dealings between Grant and Argyle.

They only saw a promissory note issued by the governnt that could secure their later years.

Under the deliberate guidance of the News dia Company and the ferntation of this word-of-mouth at the grassroots level, this bill, which was originally full of financial conspiracy, gained unimaginable support among low-level public servants.