After handling matters at the food company, Felix turned his attention to Wall Street.
Argyle Empire Bank had been operating very steadily under the management of George Templeton since its opening.
The number of depositors grew steadily, and several loan businesses to companies under Felix's control were handled in an orderly manner. But Felix knew very well that he couldn't always be just a chairman who only looked at financial statements. He had to understand the inner workings of this financial machine to set its future course.
This morning, Felix's carriage stopped in front of the Argyle Bank building on Wall Street.
Templeton stepped forward to lead Felix on a comprehensive tour, starting from the main banking hall.
"Boss," Templeton said with a hint of pride as he entered the bank, pointing to the dozen service counters separated by brass railings on the first floor, "This is the bank's deposit and withdrawal counter. On average, it takes in over five thousand dollars in new deposits every day."
Felix observed the depositors in line, mostly well-dressed small businessmen and middle-class housewives.
"The interest rate shouldn't be higher than other banks, should it?"
"You're right," Templeton responded, "but a bank never sells interest, Boss, it sells 'confidence.' When Mr. Tilford's carriage stops at our door every week, and when the huge military contract payments for your food company are settled through our accounts, confidence is built. For these depositors, putting their money alongside the names of the super-rich is the safest guarantee."
Passing through the hall, Templeton led Felix into the bank's massive underground vault.
The vault door, made of the latest alloy steel, slowly opened, driven by a complex mechanical structure. It revealed rows of safe deposit boxes cast from brass and steel.
"This is the core of our bank's security, where gold, silver, and currency are stored," Templeton introduced. "The security here was personally designed and supervised by Mr. Miller's team. I believe that even if people from the Pinkerton Detective Agency came, they wouldn't be able to take a single coin from here."
Felix looked at the neatly arranged safe deposit boxes, and a new idea formed in his mind.
"George, ever since the government started printing a lot of greenbacks, people's trust in paper money is declining, and they are starting to hoard gold and silver. But keeping a large amount of precious metals at home is not safe."
"Yes," Templeton agreed, "last month, there were several home invasion robberies targeting wealthy merchants in the city."
Felix nodded, recalling the future bank's custodial services. "Then Argyle Bank could completely launch a brand-new service—private storage service."
"What do you think of renting out these safe deposit boxes for one hundred dollars a year to clients who need to securely store precious metals, jewelry, and antiques, providing them with top-tier security and absolute privacy?"
Templeton's eyes instantly lit up. He immediately understood the immense value behind this business.
"Boss, this is a… a brilliant idea!" he said excitedly. "This business has almost no risk, yet it can bring us stable and substantial annual fee income. More importantly, the clients who can afford to rent our safe deposit boxes are among the wealthiest people in this city. Their arrival will further solidify our bank's reputation for safety and reliability, and they will naturally bring their other banking business to us!"
"Write this down, George," Felix decided. "I want the phrase 'Argyle Bank's vault is the safest place in New York' to become a consensus among all the wealthy. Also, since confidence in paper money is low right now, acquire more gold."
"Understood, Boss, that's certainly not a problem."
The two then went to the loan department on the second floor. A middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses and a meticulous expression immediately rose to greet them.
"Boss, this is our Chief Loan Officer, Mr. Finch," Templeton introduced. "I poached him from my previous employer. In all of New York, few people understand the risks of a loan better than him."
"Good day, Mr. Argyle," Mr. Finch's greeting was concise and professional.
"Mr. Finch, show me the business you've been handling recently."
"Certainly." Finch pulled out an application from a pile of documents. "This is a typical case. A textile factory in Brooklyn needs a five-thousand-dollar loan to purchase several new British-imported looms to fulfill a military blanket order."
He flipped the application to the back, where a thick investigation report was attached.
Finch explained, "After receiving the application, my team spent three days verifying every detail. We investigated the factory's past tax records to assess its true profitability. We also visited its cotton yarn suppliers and dye merchants to confirm its industry reputation. We even anonymously questioned the workers in its factory to understand the owner's character and temperament."
"We are not just evaluating his factory and orders," Templeton added, "but also assessing the entrepreneur's character, ability, and capital situation. These are the oldest and most effective three principles of bank credit. A person's character is his best collateral."
Felix nodded in agreement with this view. "So, what's the conclusion?"
Seeing the big Boss ask, Finch immediately replied, "The conclusion is that this gentleman is an honest, diligent, and shrewd operator. His orders are genuine and valid, and his repayment source is clear and reliable. We approved this loan at an annual interest rate of eight percent, with his factory equipment and a portion of finished products as collateral. The risk level is 'low.'"
Felix nodded. It was the first time he had so directly seen the rigorous and traditional side of banking in this era.
This was a world entirely different from Sterling's speculation.
After the tour, in the chairman's office on the top floor, Felix looked out at the bustling financial district outside the window.
"George, you've done very well," Felix said sincerely. "You've laid a solid and stable foundation for this bank."
"That's my duty, Boss."
Felix's topic then shifted. "But George, a good foundation is for building a taller building. We shouldn't make all our clients come to Wall Street. The bank should go to them."
Templeton's expression stirred slightly. "You mean… opening branches?"
"Exactly."
Felix's gaze turned to different areas beyond Manhattan in the distance. "A bank that only stays on Wall Street is like a king who only stays in the capital. His rule is illusory, don't you think?"
How could Templeton disagree? "That's a very good idea, but the accounting might be a bit complicated."
"It doesn't matter. Just make sure multiple copies of all business documents are signed to ensure the head office has records. So, George, I need you to start the branch expansion plan as soon as possible," Felix instructed. "My first-phase goal for you is three branches. One opened in the dock area to serve shipping companies and import/export merchants, another in Brooklyn's factory district to provide funding for emerging industries like that textile factory we just saw. The last one will be in the Upper East Side residential area to attract private deposits from wealthy families."
A flicker of understanding passed through Templeton's eyes. It seemed Boss had already had this idea.
"I understand, Boss," he replied. "But this will require huge capital and human investment."
"We have the money," Felix said. "As for people, we'll train and promote them from the bank's team, and we can also recruit more people to train. I give you full authorization."
He then remembered another matter. "By the way, what's Tom been up to lately?"
"Patriot Investments has been very quiet recently," Templeton said, pulling out a report from another folder. "He has strictly followed your instructions, avoiding any high-risk speculation. He has only acquired small amounts of stock in a few companies on the market that are related to our own industrial chain."
He pointed to several names on the report. "A foundry that supplies tinplate to the food company, a timber company that provides high-quality railway sleepers to the railway company. Both are very stable long-term investments. In Mr. Hayes's own words, this is called 'strengthening our own moat.'"
Felix couldn't help but nod, clearly very satisfied with Hayes's patience and foresight.
That evening, Felix and Catherine attended a charity gala at the Niblo's Garden Theatre, held to raise funds for the "Federal Wounded Soldiers' Pension Fund."
Inside the theatre, the lights cast a shimmering glow on the ladies' layered silk gowns and the gentlemen's crisp black tuxedos.
The air was filled with the fragrance of expensive French perfume, Cuban cigars, and champagne.
People gathered in small groups, conversing in hushed tones, their topics invariably revolving around three things: war, business, and the rumors surrounding the first two.
"Felix, I'm still not quite used to these kinds of occasions," Catherine whispered in his ear, dressed in a modest yet elegant deep purple velvet gown, keeping her distance from the ladies around her who wore exaggerated jewelry.
"Just think of it as a hunting ground, my dear," Felix replied with a smile, handing her a glass of champagne. "Except, the prey here is information."
After exchanging polite pleasantries with several bankers and businessmen, Felix, glass in hand, "casually" approached a small circle of shipping magnates.
Leading them was Connor Hudson, owner of the "Hudson River Clipper" fleet, a hot-tempered old titan of New York's shipping industry.
"Those bureaucrats at the Navy Department are a bunch of incompetents!"
Hudson's voice, even when deliberately lowered, was full of anger. "Those Southern blockade runners are slipping through the blockade like eels. And our Navy? They've bought every ship that can float, but the procurement process is rotten and slow!"
"Exactly," another shipowner chimed in. "My shipyard has cleared all its docks to build patrol boats for them. But their payments are dragging, and every material invoice needs a dozen damned officials to sign off. If it weren't for 'patriotism,' I would have torn up their contract long ago!"
"They need more ships, faster small steamships," Hudson concluded. "But the biggest shipyards in the city, like Weber Shipyard, are booked until next year. And those smaller shipyards with capability and technology are being dragged to death by the Navy Department's damned approval process due to lack of funds."
Felix didn't interject; he just listened for a few sentences before turning to leave, as if he were merely a guest who had passed by unintentionally. But in his mind, he had already pieced together this information, full of complaints, into a brand new business map.
The next morning, Felix summoned Hayes to his bank office.
Felix relayed the information he had heard last night to Tom Hayes: "The Federal Navy needs ships, but their rigid procurement system is causing small shipyards capable of building these ships to face bankruptcy. This doesn't sound good."
Hayes' eyes instantly flashed with a shrewd glint; he understood the deeper meaning of these words.
"Boss, this is certainly bad for them."
"But for us, a market full of enormous demand, yet on the verge of collapse due to broken capital chains... it's full of opportunities."
"Sharp intuition," Felix said with a smile. "So, you, my experienced hunter, what is the fattest and most vulnerable prey you've sniffed out in this new jungle?"
"Atlantic Steam Power Plant."
Hayes said after a moment's thought, "It's in Brooklyn, and the owner's name is MacGregor. A genius engineer from Scotland, his shallow-draft gunboats are fast and powerfully armed, perfect for operations in those Southern inland rivers. The Navy Department greatly admires his design and gave him an urgent contract to build three gunboats."
Felix became interested. "That sounds like a good business, so why would you choose him?"
"Of course, the problem is that MacGregor is a genius engineer, but a terrible businessman," Hayes then began to explain.
"To rush the construction, he bought a batch of boiler steel plates at a high price from the market and also paid his workers double wages in advance. Now his cash has run out, and the Navy Department's first progress payment is stuck in Washington due to a spelling error on a certain document. I heard that if he can't pay his workers next week, his factory will go bankrupt. That lucrative contract will also be mercilessly reclaimed by the Navy Department."
"A genius stifled by bureaucracy," Felix summarized.
"Precisely, Boss," Hayes looked at Felix. "This is a perfect investment opportunity. We only need a small amount of capital to solve his cash flow problems. He can complete the contract on time, and the Navy will get the gunboats they desperately need."
A financier's characteristic smile appeared on his face. "And we will receive a share of the profits from a lucrative military contract, as well as shares in a shipyard with cutting-edge technology."
This plan perfectly aligned with Felix's dual goals of "making money during wartime" and "strengthening the industrial chain."
Although shipbuilding was not part of his existing industrial chain, the entirely new field of naval logistics held a fatal attraction for him.
After all, a powerful navy in the future is a manifestation of a nation's military strength.
"We've always served the Army," Felix stood up and walked to the window, looking at the ships traversing the East River in the distance. "But the outcome of this war also depends on the water. A Navy that can control rivers and coastlines is the only one that can truly strangle the economic lifeline of the South."
He turned around and looked at Hayes.
"Tom, get me the most detailed background investigation report on MacGregor and Atlantic Steam Power Plant as soon as possible. I need to know all his debts, technical patents, and all information about him personally; overheard information is not very reliable."
"If the fundamentals are sound," Felix made his decision, "then we'll go talk to him."
"Understood, Boss," Hayes replied, his steps becoming lighter as he left.
Just as Felix was expanding new maritime territories for his business empire, a letter from Connecticut also arrived on his desk.
The letter was from Frank Cole, detailing the latest progress of the "Prometheus Project."
"...Boss, Mr. Rhys Griffiths is simply a devil, and a genius, of course. Under his guidance, the factory built a brand new experimental furnace. We used his specified formula to mix and re-smelt steel transported from Sheffield with our own iron ore. The first batch of alloy samples has already been sent to the central laboratory for chemical analysis."
"Additionally, the latest precision milling machine he requested from Hartford arrived at the factory yesterday. Uncle Silas said that the machine's precision is like a watchmaker's tool. With it, we are confident that we can process the first set of 'Militech 1863 Rifle' receivers and bolt assemblies next month."
Felix read the letter, a relieved smile on his face. It seemed that results for Army equipment would be seen soon, though he wondered how things would fare on the Navy's side.
He picked up a pen and wrote in his reply to Frank:
"Tell Rhys that money is not an issue; let him experiment to his heart's content. I would rather burn ten thousand dollars worth of scrap iron in the furnace than see a rifle explode on the front lines due to substandard materials."
He handed the letter to the butler, instructing him to send it through the fastest channel.
Inside the study of a Fifth Avenue mansion, Tom Hayes respectfully placed a newly completed investigation report in front of Felix Argyle.
"Boss, as per your instructions, I conducted the most detailed background check on the Atlantic Steam Power Plant and its owner, MacGregor."
"Tell me about it," Felix gestured for him to continue.
"The situation is pretty much as we discussed before, but it's worse... and better."
Hayes then explained, "As rumored, MacGregor is a brilliant Scottish shipwright.
He holds two exclusive patents for shallow-draft gunboat designs, which is why the Navy Department awarded that valuable contract to his small shipyard."
"But he is indeed a terrible businessman," Hayes turned to another page of the report, which was filled with a dense list of debts.
"He invested the entire first advance payment from the Navy Department into expanding the dry docks and paying high wages to his workers, hoping to build the best ships as quickly as possible.
This ambition is respectable, but it completely depleted his cash reserves."
"Now, he owes steel suppliers, steam engine manufacturers, and lumber merchants over thirty thousand dollars in total.
His shipyard has been mortgaged at an extremely high interest rate by a private credit company from Philadelphia.
If he cannot pay the latest installment of interest before next Monday, that credit company will have the right to directly confiscate his shipyard and the unfinished Navy contract."
Felix listened quietly, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk.
"That is indeed very bad," Felix commented.
"So, what's the good part?"
Hayes's face broke into the characteristic smile of a financier.
"The good part is MacGregor himself.
I sent people to inquire in the Brooklyn taverns.
He is an extremely proud Scotsman, despising us financiers who 'shuffle papers' on Wall Street, and only trusts his own hands and steam engines.
He believes that the greed of bankers and credit companies led to his predicament."
"So," Hayes concluded, "if we buy those loan contracts and then have a good talk with him, we can easily acquire most of the company's shares.
Of course, that's assuming he's willing to yield; otherwise, he might choose bankruptcy.
After all, without him, the shipyard's value would decrease."
Felix understood instantly.
"Indeed, but it doesn't matter.
Let's secure the debts and the shipyard first; as for the rest, we'll see what he chooses then."
The Navy Dockyard area in Brooklyn.
This place was starkly different from the refinement of Manhattan, with the air filled with the salty smell of seawater, the pungent odor of coal tar, and the fresh scent of cut timber.
Felix did not take his ostentatious luxury carriage, but instead, he and Hayes switched to an ordinary rental carriage.
He also took off his expensive suit and changed into a coarse tweed jacket, similar to those often worn by factory supervisors.
The Atlantic Steam Power Plant was smaller and more dilapidated than Felix had imagined.
Of the two massive dry docks, only one was under construction.
The keel and basic framework of a shallow-draft gunboat had been laid, and workers were installing armor plating, but the hammering sounds seemed weak and listless.
As Felix and Hayes walked to the shipyard entrance, they were drawn by a fierce argument.
"MacGregor! I'm telling you one last time!"
A well-dressed but burly man with a scowling face was yelling at a tall Scottish man.
"Next Monday! If I don't see the money, my men will come and dismantle this pile of scrap metal!
Don't think I won't dare to touch you just because you have a Navy contract!"
"Get out of my shipyard, Hobbs!" The Scottish man was MacGregor.
His face was flushed with anger, and he gripped a large wrench tightly in his hand.
"Don't expect to get even a single screw from me again!"
"Very well, we'll see," the supplier named Hobbs snorted coldly and led his men away, disgruntled.
MacGregor watched their retreating figures, trembling with rage.
He violently threw the wrench in his hand at a nearby pile of scrap, creating a deafening clang.
He turned around and only then noticed Felix and Hayes standing not far away.
His bloodshot eyes, filled with anger and anxiety, immediately became wary.
"Who are you two?" His voice was hoarse and rude.
"Are you here to collect debts too? Or sent by Wall Street to mock me?"
"Neither, Mr. MacGregor," Felix met his gaze calmly and walked up to him.
"My name is Felix , a man who runs a factory by the East River."
"My factory also serves the States, specializing in producing canned goods and medicine for the Army."
Felix's gaze then swept over MacGregor's shoulder, looking at the unfinished gunboat resting quietly on the slipway.
"I heard you have the best shallow-draft gunboat design on the entire East Coast.
So I was curious to see what something the Navy Department raves about truly looks like."
Hearing Felix'swords, MacGregor's hostile gaze softened somewhat.
He scrutinized Felix up and down, seemingly judging the truthfulness of the young man's words.
"Someone who makes canned goods is interested in ships too?" he asked back with some disbelief.
Felix shrugged, replying with a touch of nonchalance: "Of course, I'm interested in anything that can win a war."
These words silenced MacGregor, who almost rolled his eyes.
Someone who makes canned goods and medicine spoke with such grandiosity; one would think he was the President.
There are plenty of things that can help in war; it's a pity you're not making guns and cannons with such big talk.
But he didn't voice these thoughts.
He looked at his 'child,' the ship forced to halt construction due to lack of parts and funds, then at the genuine appreciation and curiosity in Felix's eyes.
After a long moment, he squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth.
"You want to see?" He grunted gruffly, then pointed to the slipway behind him.
"Then follow me."
"I'll let you see your fill."