The next morning, Phillip dressed carefully. He wore a clean waistcoat, his cravat tied neatly, and his hair brushed back. In one arm he carried a leather folio stuffed with ledgers, contracts, and sketches. This was not a visit as a son—it was a meeting as a businessman.
The butler led him through the familiar halls of the Wellington estate. At the end of the corridor, the doors to his father's study stood open.
The Duke of Wellington sat at his desk, spectacles perched low on his nose as he read correspondence. He looked up when Phillip entered, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
"You look like a man about to argue before Parliament," the Duke remarked dryly.
"In a way, Father," Phillip replied. "Today I am here not only as your son, but as the managing director of Imperial Dynamics System."
The Duke leaned back in his chair. "Very well then. Let us speak as businessmen. What is it you want?"
Phillip set the folio down on the desk and opened it with care. Inside were sheets of figures written in his tidy hand, copies of contracts signed with seals, and diagrams of workshops and engines. He slid the first ledger forward.
"This is the account of our operations in 1779, the first year. Revenue from engines and steel sales: £3,900. Expenses: £2,000. Profit: £1,900. My personal net worth at year's end was £9,000."
The Duke's brows rose slightly, but he said nothing. Phillip placed the second ledger on top.
"This is the account for 1780, year-to-date. By autumn we cleared £2,100 profit, with total revenue at £4,400. Orders from Manchester, Cornwall, and Portsmouth have been fulfilled. More inquiries arrive each month."
He pushed the papers closer so his father could see the neat columns of numbers, each line backed by a signature or seal.
The Duke tapped a finger against the margin. "Respectable figures, Phillip. But this hardly explains why you march in here demanding more capital."
Phillip took a breath. This was the heart of his pitch.
"Father, what I have shown you is only the beginning. We are not merely a foundry selling iron bars. We are building the foundation of a new age. Imperial Dynamics does not just produce steel or engines—we produce power. And power will become the currency of the future."
The Duke's expression remained guarded, but his eyes sharpened. Phillip opened another folder and revealed several sheets of projections.
"This chart shows our current capacity," Phillip explained, pointing with his quill. "With one yard, three converters, and one hundred twenty men, we can produce no more than forty engines a year. Even if each sells for £300 on average, our revenue caps at £12,000."
He slid another sheet forward. "But with a second yard near the Thames, larger workshops, and another two converters, we could triple output within two years. One hundred engines annually, at £300 to £400 each, means revenue of £30,000 to £40,000 per year."
The Duke frowned. "Ambitious. And what of expenses? Wages, coal, iron?"
Phillip nodded. "They will rise, of course. Perhaps £15,000 annually at that scale. But the profits—£20,000 or more—would more than justify the outlay. And this is only with the markets we already serve: mines, mills, and workshops."
He reached for another sheet, this one bearing crude sketches of a locomotive and a ship.
"Consider transport. Today, wagons crawl on muddy roads. Barges creep along canals. But with steam engines, we can drive wheels on rails. Steel rails, stronger and smoother than wood. One engine could pull dozens of wagons at speed. It would change trade across the kingdom. And for ships—steam can power winches, pumps, even propellers. Imagine vessels that move regardless of the wind."
"Wait, I'm going to stop you there," the Duke interrupted. "You are saying we can have wagons drawn by your steam engines?"
Phillip kind of slipped the idea of steam locomotives, and steam propulsion in the navy. But with the current technological level, those things were feasible.
"That's correct, Father," Phillip confirmed. "May I ask why you ask that?"
"There were talks in Parliament," the Duke said slowly, setting his spectacles down, "that our country should explore another mode of transportation. Horses' dung is piling in the streets of London, clogging the cobblestones. Thousands of carriages, wagons, and carts make it worse each year. It has become both a nuisance and a public health concern."
Phillip leaned forward, intrigued. "So they are already thinking of alternatives?"
"Aye," the Duke replied. "Some propose more canals, to move goods by water. Others want stricter ordinances to limit wagons in the capital. But the mood is clear: Parliament is open to solutions. And I think your steam engine here, if I am not right, could help in that area."
Phillip pondered for a moment and yes, the reasons why civilization had moved away from horse-drawn carriages was because of its poop. And surely, the steam engine could help in that but wouldn't definitely replace the horse-drawn carriage entirely. It will be the cars that replaced them, not trains.
But there was another mode of transportation, one that bridged the gap between carriages and railways—the tram. Rails laid along the streets, wagons drawn not by horses but by compact steam engines.
Phillip's eyes lit with the thought. "Father, what if I told you the steam engine need not only serve factories or long-haul wagons? We could build trams—street wagons running on steel rails, carrying passengers across London without a single horse. Cleaner streets, faster travel, and no dependence on weather or beasts."
The Duke arched a brow. "You propose to tear up the streets of London and lay rails?"
Phillip shook his head. "Not all at once. Pilot projects. A single district, a single line. Demonstrate the efficiency. Once people see a steam tram carrying fifty passengers at the speed of two horses, Parliament will fund the rest."
The Duke drummed his fingers on the desk. "And you think you can persuade them?"
"That is why I ask, Father—what is the possibility of securing a government contract? Parliament is already debating waste and congestion. If I present a working tram or locomotive before the year ends, we could offer them not a theory but a solution. With a government contract, Imperial Dynamics would not just be another company—it would be the supplier of the nation's future."
"Hmm…there is indeed a possibility of it, and it's going to be a big one. If you could show them your technology, then they will fund it. Contracts would be in the sum of thousands to hundred thousands of pounds. And as for your proposal, I'm going to give you the 15,000. Consider it as my investments, I want 20 percent of your company."
"10 percent, father," Phillip countered. "I need more shares to play around to expand globally."
"Fine, ten percent. Now get to work."