The Washington hearing, like a sudden storm, quickly spread its aftershocks to every corner of power in New York.
After confirming their cooperation, Tom Hayes met with Vanderbilt's chief financial officer, Billy Kip, in a private suite at the Union Square Hotel.
There was no wine or pleasantries, only a conversation full of probing between two representatives of different sharks.
"Mr. Hayes," Billy Kip began, "The Commodore has always admired Mr. Argyle's excellent performance in Washington."
"Mr. Argyle also believes," Hayes smiled, "that without Senator Conkling's timely and righteous intervention, the hearing might have had a different outcome."
The two tacitly confirmed their alliance.
"My Boss believes," Hayes continued, "that the current stock price of Pennsylvania Railroad does not reflect its true value. We plan to hold it long-term."
"Yes, The Commodore thinks so too," Billy's response was watertight, "The entire railroad sector, especially those companies with room for improvement in management efficiency, may be undervalued."
They did not discuss any details of collaborative operations, nor did they share their respective capital scales or shareholding targets. But from each other's words, they understood everything they wanted to know. In this hunt, they would tacitly attack their respective targets, but also vigilantly guard against the other's equally sharp teeth...
While Hayes and Vanderbilt's forces made initial contact, legal attacks arrived as scheduled.
A letter from a top New York law firm was delivered to J. Edgar Thomson's desk.
In the letter, lawyers representing Patriot Investment Company and other minority shareholders formally requested the board of directors to disclose all "special public relations expenses" related to the Eastern Railroad Alliance over the past year.
Almost simultaneously, another similarly worded letter was delivered to Sloan, except the sender was another law firm representing Vanderbilt's interests.
"They've teamed up!" Thomson angrily told Sloan in his New York Central Railroad headquarters office, "This is absolutely Vanderbilt and that Argyle working together! They want to bring the humiliation we suffered in Washington directly into our boardroom!"
Sloan's face was terrifyingly grim. He knew that a more dangerous war from within the company had begun.
"What do we do now?" Thomson asked, "Hans in Washington is still waiting for our reply."
"Tell him to shut up!" Sloan's reply was cold and decisive, "Didn't I say to immediately cut off all contact with him? Tell him that all previous proposals have nothing to do with us. Now, we must retract all our defenses and concentrate on securing our positions on the board. We don't have the energy to deal with any damned comprehensive audit."
...Just as Sloan and Thomson were overwhelmed by these internal legal attacks, another important piece of Felix's business empire welcomed its moment of harvest.
Brooklyn, the docks of the Atlantic Steam Power Plant.
After receiving ample financial support from Argyle Bank, this shipyard, once on the verge of bankruptcy, burst with astonishing vitality.
Today was the day the first shallow-draft gunboat was officially delivered to the Navy Department.
On the pier, Felix and Catherine accompanied a middle-aged naval officer in a navy blue uniform with a steady demeanor. He was Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds.
When the gunboat, named "Avenger," demonstrated astonishing speed and flexibility during its sea trial, Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds's face showed satisfaction.
"Mr. Argyle, Mr. MacGregor," he praised sincerely, "This is truly an incredible ship. It is exactly what the Navy Department needs most on the Mississippi River. I will immediately submit a top-priority procurement report to General Farragut."
MacGregor's face flushed with excitement, listening to the praise from the Navy Department.
"This is just the first one, Lieutenant Colonel," Felix smiled, "As long as there are enough orders, we can deliver one to you every month. In addition," he glanced at the new shipyard being expanded beside them, "our new type of cargo ship designed for the Great Lakes Region has also completed its drawings, and the keel can be laid next week."
Just as Felix was enjoying this hard-won victory, one of Flynn's messengers rushed to the dock.
"Boss," the messenger handed over an encrypted document, "Intelligence has an urgent discovery."
That evening, back at the Fifth Avenue mansion.
"Boss, as we continued to dig deep into Sloan's personal finances," Flynn pointed to a spot on the document, "we found a very strange flow of funds."
"Every year, a large sum of money, under the name of 'sleeper procurement prepayment,' flows from a special account of the New York Central Railroad to... a timber company located in Montreal, Canada."
"What's wrong with that?" Catherine asked.
"The problem is that this timber company is very small and does not have the capacity to conduct such large-scale transactions with Central Railroad. Also, its true owner, after our repeated verification, is a very famous cotton exporter in New Orleans in the South. We strongly suspect," Flynn's voice was extremely low, "that this may be a secret channel for Sloan to 'transfer benefits' to the South through false procurement, using his position."
Felix looked at the document, his finger slowly tracing the name of the Canadian timber company.
If Flynn's suspicions were confirmed, then this would truly be treason.
"Felix," Catherine's voice trembled slightly, "This is... this is evidence enough to send him to the gallows! Should we give it to Chairman Clark?"
Felix was silent for a long time, then slowly shook his head.
"No."
"Chairman Clark's battlefield is in Congress, and his weapons are law and procedure. Using this evidence to fight a long lawsuit is too slow and too wasteful." He looked at Flynn, "To deal with someone like Sloan, sometimes, you need to use other means."
He turned around and looked at the huge federal map.
"And our current target is Pennsylvania Railroad, not New York Central Railroad, right?"
"Yes, Boss."
"Sloan's New York Central Railroad is what Vanderbilt wants." A smile appeared on Felix's face, "Flynn, try to inadvertently deliver this intelligence to the desk of Vanderbilt's most trusted deputy, Billy Kip."
Flynn instantly understood Felix's intention.
"Doesn't The Commodore want to kick Sloan out of Central Railroad? Then let's give him a gift."
"Let those two most greedy sharks fight it out in the New York pond first."
Just as Felix cast a wide net from Washington's Capitol Hill to Wall Street's trading floors, at the other end of his business empire, Umbrella Corporation in Brooklyn, a far-reaching technological revolution was entering its harvest season.
Inside the Project Hermes laboratory.
The "Hermes I" continuous flow reactor, personally designed and supervised by Carl Becker, was set for its first full-process official run today, after a month of debugging and modifications.
"Is everything ready, Dr. Thorne?" Carl Becker, the stubborn German engineer, shouted up at Dr. Thorne, who was at the top of the reaction tower. His work clothes were stained with oil, but his blue eyes shone with the light of a creator about to inspect his masterpiece.
"Ready to begin, my engineer!" Dr. Thorne's voice was also full of anticipation. He had changed into a pristine white lab coat and wore safety goggles, like a priest about to perform a sacred ritual.
The new president, Catherine, and plant supervisor, Peter Jenkins, stood outside the safety line, watching everything nervously. Over the past month, they had witnessed firsthand how these two geniuses from different fields went from initial mutual repulsion and fierce arguments to ultimately establishing a unique rapport and respect, belonging only to engineers and scientists, through countless failures and modifications.
"Start!"
As Becker pulled down the main valve, steam began to surge into the jacket of the pipes, providing precise heat to the entire system. The centrifugal pump, which he had personally designed and equipped with a pneumatic accumulator, emitted a steady, powerful hum.
Precisely measured alcohol and iodide solutions were injected into the bottom of the reaction tower in a visibly smooth, pulse-free manner.
The solution gradually ascended within the tower, reacting fully with the catalyst at each level. Data for every stage—temperature, pressure, flow rate—was clearly displayed on the German-made instrument panels personally installed by Becker.
Workers no longer needed to rely on experience to make judgments; they only needed to operate each valve precisely, like sailors, according to the readings on the instrument panels.
Minutes later, as the final product slowly flowed out from the top outlet of the tower and into a large glass storage tank, Dr. Thorne took a sample with a pipette and dropped it onto the testing instrument.
"Purity... ninety-nine point eight percent!"
Dr. Thorne looked at the reading and exclaimed in surprise, "It's higher than any purity we achieved with any batch production method before! And its yield…"
Peter Jenkins looked at the flow meter at the outlet and reported the number with a trembling voice.
"President... at this rate, with just one machine operating on two twelve-hour shifts, we can produce over ten thousand bottles of qualified Iodoglycerol every day. This... this is ten times our previous capacity! And the defect rate is almost zero!"
Catherine looked at the machine, which was running quietly and efficiently, her eyes shining.
She knew that the enormous funds Felix had invested in the central laboratory were, at this moment, truly beginning to transform into immeasurable value. The significance of this machine was far more than just increasing production capacity.
It marked that the industries under Argyle were officially moving from a craftsman-experience-dependent manual workshop amplification model to the modern industrial model driven by science and engineering, as Felix had described.
That night, Catherine boarded the last ferry back to Manhattan. She wanted to tell Felix the good news in person... In the study of the Fifth Avenue mansion.
After listening to Catherine's report, Felix's face showed a satisfied smile, like that of a harvest season.
"Well done, Catherine," he praised sincerely. "You not only successfully managed two geniuses but also installed a money-printing machine for Umbrella Corporation."
"This is all your credit, Felix," Catherine leaned into his arms, feeling that unique warmth and security. "You provided them with this stage."
"The success of Project Hermes is just the first step," Felix's gaze turned to the bustling night view outside the window. "It solved the problem of how to produce efficiently for us. Now it's time to consider the next problem."
"The next problem?"
"Yes, how to make our Iodoglycerol appear not only on the military's procurement list. I also want it to appear in every family's medicine cabinet across America and on every operating table in every hospital."
Catherine understood Felix's thoughts, and indeed, according to the current production, there would be a lot of surplus production even after supplying the military market.
"You mean... the civilian market?"
"Exactly." Felix nodded. "War will always end. But people's demand for health and life is eternal. The future of Umbrella Corporation lies not only in the military's multi-million dollar orders but in that broader, tens of millions, or even hundreds of millions of dollars civilian medical market."
"But this is difficult, Felix." Catherine's tone became serious. "The civilian market is completely different from military procurement. It requires entirely new channels and needs to convince thousands of conservative doctors and pharmacists. This takes time, and it needs an opportunity."
"I know." Felix's answer was calm. "So, we need to create an opportunity for it."
"And the military being able to purchase our medicines for use on the battlefield is itself a form of advertising. Of course, the public doesn't know, and it's not authoritative enough, so we still need a little other small help."
He walked to the desk, took out a plan he had been contemplating for a long time from a locked drawer.
"And Catherine," he handed her the plan, "I plan to donate a sum of money to Columbia University Medical School in the name of the Argyle Family Charitable Foundation."
"This fund will be used to establish a brand-new research project." He looked at her and said, "I've already thought of the project's name. It will be called 'Research on Modern Surgical Disinfection Technology and Clinical Applications.'"
Columbia University, King's College College of Physicians and Surgeons.
In New York's oldest and most authoritative medical institution, Dr. Morgan, the dean, was receiving two young visitors with a mix of caution and curiosity.
"Mr. Argyle, Miss O'Brien."
Dr. Morgan adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles. "First, please allow me, on behalf of the college, to thank your company for developing Iodoglycerol. Several surgeons in our hospital have clinically verified its miraculous effects. It is saving lives."
"That is the credit of Dr. Thorne and his team, Doctor," Felix said humbly. "And I am here today precisely because I hope to help more geniuses like Dr. Thorne transform their wisdom into a reality that can benefit more people."
"Oh?"
Felix stated the purpose of his visit: "I plan to donate a special fund of fifty thousand dollars to your college in my personal and family name."
Hearing the figure of fifty thousand dollars made Dr. Morgan, as the dean, pause in his breathing. One must know that in 1863, fifty thousand dollars was enough to build a brand new building in any district of Manhattan.
Felix continued, "This fund will be specifically used to establish a brand new research project—'Modern Surgical Disinfection Technology and Clinical Application Research.' At the same time, we will also fund the college to build the most advanced surgical research wing in all of America."
Excitement and vigilance once again flickered in Dr. Morgan's eyes.
"Mr. Argyle, your generosity is enough to move any of Columbia University's predecessors. But you must understand that the university's academic research must maintain its absolute independence and purity. We cannot accept any donation with commercial attached conditions."
Felix was not surprised, because universities at that time were not like those in later generations where projects could be collaborated on.
"I completely understand, and completely agree, Doctor. I only have one additional request for this donation."
Felix looked at him, his tone sincere, "That is, all results of this research, whether papers or technologies, must be published and promoted without reservation, and as quickly as possible, to all doctors, hospitals, and medical schools across America. My goal is to improve the overall level of surgical procedures in the entire States, not to seek any new patent for my Umbrella Corporation."
This condition dispelled Dr. Morgan's last doubts.
No commercial returns, only knowledge sharing—he was simply a philanthropist.
Dr. Morgan stood up and extended his hand to the man forty years his junior. "Mr. Argyle, on behalf of King's College Columbia, on behalf of New York, and even on behalf of the countless lives that will be saved in the future, I thank you for this generous and benevolent gift."
...On the carriage returning to Fifth Avenue, Catherine's face still held a trace of excitement.
"Felix, this is a brilliant move. With the official endorsement of Columbia University Medical College, Sloan's accusations in the newspapers about us 'profiteering' will not hold up. Umbrella Corporation's reputation in the medical community will also reach a new height."
"This is just the first step, Catherine."
Felix looked out of the carriage. New York's streets were as bustling as ever, but in the unseen corners, the wounds of war were spreading.
"Sloan's newspaper portrays me as a war profiteer who only cares about profit, damaging my reputation. He wants to drag me into the mud and make me like him. So I will use actions to tell the entire States that I care about far more than just profit."
"The university donation is aimed at the elite class of this society." Felix's gaze deepened. "But Catherine, a stable building cannot rely solely on a magnificent roof; it also needs the most solid foundation buried deep underground."
"I also need to do something for the ordinary people of this city."
Felix turned to look at Catherine.
"The chaos of war and immigration has filled the streets of New York with homeless orphans. Their parents may well be Federal soldiers who sacrificed their lives on the battlefields of Virginia. Many of them, like us, are of Irish descent."
Felix revealed his second long-planned scheme: "I want to buy a piece of land near Five Points, in the name of my family's charitable foundation, to establish the best orphanage in all of New York."
"We will provide these children with clean beds, sufficient food, and education. We will also establish a school where they and the children of the company's workers can attend, learn a trade, learn to read and write, and have the opportunity to become engineers, doctors, instead of just selling cheap labor in docks and factories like their parents."
Catherine listened quietly. She knew that what Felix was doing had far exceeded the scope of simply restoring his reputation. He was using his capital to try and mend this society torn apart by war.
"This matter requires more than just money," Felix continued. "I need a partner whom all Irish descendants can trust."
"Catherine, I will need you to arrange a meeting for me with someone later."
"Who?"
"Archbishop Hughes of St. Patrick's Cathedral," Felix said, naming the highly respected figure in New York's Irish community.
"He is the spiritual leader of the entire Irish community in New York, and even in all of America." Felix's thoughts were crystal clear. "When the time comes, tell him that I plan to invest one million dollars over the next ten years to establish a complete system for New York's Irish community, consisting of an orphanage, a school, and a community hospital."
"I will provide the funds and be responsible for all construction." He looked at Catherine. "And I hope that the church can take charge of the daily management and operation. I need his credibility, and I also need him to unite the strength of the entire Irish community for me."
Catherine was somewhat excited by this plan.
One must know that if this plan succeeded, Felix would not merely be a wealthy businessman. He would become the protector and leader of the entire Irish community in New York, and even the States.
Sloan's accusations of him 'sucking blood' would become utterly ridiculous in the face of such monuments built of money and morality.
"I understand, Felix." She nodded heavily. "I will make the arrangements then."
Felix looked out the window. The carriage was driving through the area of Fifth Avenue that symbolized wealth and power.