That night, under the soft glow of the study lamp, after the initial excitement had subsided, Catherine, as the "grand steward" of the entire business empire, pointed out a core issue from the most practical perspective.
"Felix," she placed a schedule in front of Felix, "this plan is too ambitious.
The Columbia University project requires continuous follow-up and communication; the meeting with Archbishop Hughes requires the most thorough preparation; and the selection and construction of sites for the orphanage and school are complex undertakings that will consume countless hours of effort."
She looked at Felix, her tone very serious.
She pointed to her own schedule, "And Umbrella Corporation is in the most critical period of technological upgrading and production expansion.
Engineer Becker and Dr. Thorne encounter new problems every day, requiring me to coordinate between New York and Brooklyn at any time.
I… I may not have enough energy."
"I can no longer stay by your side all the time as before, handling these specific matters for you." Catherine's voice held a hint of apology, but more so, a sense of responsibility as the company president.
"Felix," she concluded, "you need an assistant—no, at least one—who can be by your side at all times, to execute and follow up on these matters on your behalf."
Felix listened quietly, knowing Catherine was absolutely right.
As his business empire grew, he truly could no longer burden Catherine alone with the execution of all non-core business activities.
He needed to establish his own efficient "think tank."
"You're right, Catherine." He admitted frankly, "I really need people to help me deal with these increasingly complex affairs."
"What qualities do you think this person needs to possess?" Felix asked in return, wanting to hear Catherine's opinion.
"First and foremost, absolute loyalty and impeccable character—those are fundamental," Catherine answered without hesitation.
"Secondly, he needs to have extremely strong learning ability and execution.
He doesn't need to be proficient in a specific profession, but he must be able to quickly understand your every command and execute it flawlessly."
"Finally," she added, "he needs to have excellent communication skills and a dignified demeanor.
Because often, he will serve as your eyes, ears, and even your voice, dealing with people like Dr. Morgan and Bank President Templeton."
Felix nodded, very satisfied with Catherine's analysis.
"That's very well said.
Then, the task of finding this person is entrusted to you.
I trust your judgment."
... The next day, Felix changed into an unassuming tweed jacket.
He was going to personally search for a suitable piece of land for the orphanage and school.
Accompanying him was Jones, the president of the food company.
"Boss, are we really going there?" As the carriage left bustling Broadway and headed towards that legendary area of chaos and crime, Jones's face showed a hint of remembrance.
"Of course." Felix looked out the window; the buildings on both sides of the street became increasingly dilapidated, and the pedestrians' clothes grew shabbier.
"Jones, you and I both came from there.
We cannot forget where we started after moving to Fifth Avenue."
The carriage finally stopped at the edge of Five Points.
This place was a world away from Fifth Avenue.
The air was filled with a mixture of cheap alcohol, untreated garbage, and poverty.
The narrow streets were muddy, lined with crumbling, cheap apartments, behind whose dirty windows were countless numb or desperate eyes.
A group of scantily clad children, barefoot, chased a rat in a sewage-filled alley; their laughter was the only sound in this desperate land.
Jones watched this scene, a complex expression in his eyes.
"I used to live near here," he whispered.
"For you to build a school here for these children, it would be heaven for them."
"It's not just about building a school, Jones." Felix's tone was calm.
"I want to create a new core for this community here."
They got out of the carriage and, under the not-too-distant protection of several plainclothes security personnel sent by Flynn, began their on-foot reconnaissance.
Felix quickly dismissed several vacant lots near the main road.
"It's too noisy here; it's not suitable for children to study."
Finally, his gaze settled on a relatively quiet block formed by the intersection of three small alleys.
In this block stood several long-abandoned old warehouses and a few cheap apartments that looked like they could collapse at any moment.
"This is it." Felix pointed to the area.
"Jones, look.
Those few apartments on the corner, though dilapidated, still have their structure.
We can renovate them to serve as the orphanage and staff dormitories.
The old warehouses next to them can all be torn down, giving us a large enough open space to build a brand-new school and a playground where children can run."
"And across the street," he pointed to another vacant lot, "we can reserve that for now.
When funding is plentiful in the future, we'll build a community hospital there for this neighborhood, offering low-cost medical care."
A complete community revitalization blueprint, centered around an orphanage, a school, and a hospital, clearly emerged in Felix's mind on this, New York's dirtiest land.
Jones looked at his Boss, his eyes filled with admiration.
This was more than just charity; it was an ambition almost akin to "creation."
"Jones, I'm entrusting this matter to you." Felix turned around, choosing to hand this vast plan to his subordinate, who also came from humble beginnings.
"In the name of the Argyle Family Charitable Foundation, acquire all the land deeds here in an inconspicuous manner.
You can pay a premium, but the process must be kept confidential.
I don't want to attract greedy land speculators before the project is officially announced."
Felix looked at him and said solemnly, "Money is not an issue; I just want speed."
Jones, the president of the food company, looked at the desolate land before him, then at Felix.
This was a task far more important and meaningful than managing a factory.
He was to be responsible for personally building a new hope for this community, for those who, like his former self, struggled at the bottom.
He nodded heavily, his resolute face filled with determination.
"Leave it to me, Boss."
On the way back along the East River, in the carriage, Jones was still pondering the task his Boss had given him.
Meanwhile, Felix leaned back in the soft seat, closing his eyes to rest, seemingly contemplating his next move.
"Jones," Felix suddenly broke the silence.
"Yes, Boss."
"I trust you can handle the matters here in Five Points well, and beautifully. Let's talk about the food company. What progress has the Field Rations R&D Department made in the past few weeks?"
A smile appeared on Jones's face as he snapped back to reality.
"You asked at just the right time, Boss," he replied. "We've just… made a small breakthrough. I was preparing to bring samples to report to you this afternoon."
"Oh?" Felix became interested. "The samples are ready? Then take me to see them now."
"No problem."
So the carriage did not return to Fifth Avenue but drove directly into the Argyle & Co. Foods factory area.
Unlike the atmosphere of quarrels and chaos from a few weeks ago, the R&D department now resembled a complex machine entering its breaking-in period; although still noisy, every gear seemed to have found its place.
Mr. Schmidt, the German baker, was gathered around a newly installed small press, loudly discussing pressure parameters with the engineers. In the corner, the chemist Henry Ward was performing a precise titration in front of a row of glass test tubes. And the old cowboy, Jedediah, was carefully inspecting a batch of dehydrating beef in his newly built indoor drying room.
Seeing Felix and Jones walk in, everyone stopped what they were doing.
"Well done, Jones." Felix looked around, nodding with satisfaction. "It seems you've executed my arrangements very well."
"It's thanks to all of them, Boss," Jones humbly responded. He turned to the large workbench. "Guys, bring our results for the Boss to see."
Mr. Schmidt, the baker, presented a plain-looking, palm-sized, dark-brown biscuit.
"Boss," Jones explained for him, "this is our first-generation military compressed biscuit."
He picked one up and handed it to Felix, "Please try it."
Felix took the biscuit, and his first impression was its weight. A small biscuit felt as heavy as a stone of the same size. He tried to break it with both hands, but even with all his strength, the biscuit only bent slightly, remaining completely intact.
"We failed hundreds of times," Mr. Schmidt said, his voice full of pride. "Simple baking would make it as hard as a brick, but also very brittle. And simple steaming couldn't remove enough moisture, which isn't good for long-term preservation."
He pointed to the steam press, "Finally, we followed your suggestion, Boss. We first steamed the dough, which was mixed with beef powder, ground nuts, and a large amount of lard, then used this machine, which provides two thousand pounds of pressure, for secondary pressing and shaping. Finally, it was sent into a low-temperature oven for twelve hours to remove all excess moisture."
"Its density is three times that of ordinary biscuits. Its hardness is sufficient to withstand any bumps and impacts in a soldier's backpack, and even close-range impacts from artillery shells, without breaking."
Felix brought the biscuit to his mouth and took a forceful bite.
The biscuit was extremely hard, but it didn't have the teeth-jarring sensation he expected. It was more like an extremely dense piece of beef jerky. As saliva moistened it, a rich aroma, a blend of grains, fat, and savory meat, began to spread in his mouth. While not exactly delicious, it provided a satisfying feeling of fullness.
Jones watched Felix chewing with some effort and couldn't help but hand him a freshly brewed hot coffee.
"Try this, Boss."
Felix dipped a small piece of the biscuit into the scalding coffee. A magical scene unfolded. The hard biscuit, upon contact with the hot liquid, rapidly began to absorb water like a sponge and slowly expanded. A few seconds later, it transformed into a moist and soft, bread-paste-like food.
"Remarkable," Felix praised sincerely.
"Next, is our second achievement," Jones gestured to the honest Ward nearby.
Henry Ward was much more confident than a few weeks ago. He placed a glass filled with murky river water and a small bottle containing a dozen white tablets on the table.
"Boss," he reported, "according to your instructions, my mentor and I collaborated on this. The biggest challenge was how to eliminate the irritating taste caused by chlorine and iodine while ensuring effective disinfection."
"Ultimately, my mentor suggested adding trace amounts of citric acid and a sweetener extracted from beets to the formula. These two substances can greatly neutralize and improve the taste without affecting the disinfection efficacy."
In front of everyone, he dropped a small white tablet into the somewhat murky water. The tablet quickly dissolved, emitting a string of tiny bubbles. After about a minute, the impurities in the water began to settle at a visible rate, and the once cloudy liquid became clear and transparent.
Felix picked up the glass of water and sniffed it. The pungent disinfectant smell had indeed disappeared, replaced by a very faint, refreshing scent similar to lemonade. He took a small sip. While it didn't taste as good as distilled water, it was completely free of that unpleasant chemical taste.
"Excellent," Felix said, putting down the cup, his face showing undisguised satisfaction.
"But Jones, how long can these two things be stored? Have tests been done?"
Facing his Boss's question, Jones blurted out directly, "Boss, the ones brought out earlier were made ten days ago. Based on our calculations, if stored under sealed conditions, the compressed biscuits can last at least three months, and the water purification tablets can last at least six months."
To be honest, Felix wasn't entirely satisfied with this storage period, but it was already very good under current conditions, and the data was 'at least,' meaning it could potentially last even longer. So, Felix didn't want to discourage the team.
"Fantastic, it seems you've accomplished a remarkable job. These two items will be key to the Federal soldiers surviving in harsh environments."
After expressing his praise, Felix looked at Jones again.
"Jones. Have the food factory begin small-scale experimental production."
"I need you to produce five hundred individual field ration packs within a week. Each pack, wrapped in the latest waxed waterproof paper bags, should contain a day's worth for one soldier: three compressed biscuits, two water purification tablets. You can select some products from our partners to add, such as coffee powder? Or cheese, to try and make our soldiers' rations more diverse."
Felix looked at the seemingly unremarkable samples on the table, which encapsulated countless failures and much wisdom.
He said to Jones and the others, "Sloan and them previously attacked me on Capitol Hill using the word 'profit.' They wanted to portray me as a merchant stealing money from soldiers."
He casually picked up a hard compressed biscuit, weighing it in his hand.
"And this will be the most powerful rebuttal."
"When this ration pack, which embodies technology, effort, and genuine consideration for the front lines, is sent to the Joint Investigation Committee and placed in the hands of every senator, who would still dare to question whether I am bleeding the States and the army dry?"