The next day, at precisely ten o'clock in the morning, Edward Frost arrived punctually at Felix Argyle's study in his Fifth Avenue mansion.
He was dressed in a well-pressed, dark grey suit, looking like a company executive about to deliver an important report.
As he entered the room, his gaze calmly swept over the weighty, hardbound books on the shelves before settling on Felix, who was sitting on the sofa by the fireplace.
"Mr. Argyle," he said with a slight bow, his greeting concise and appropriate.
"Have a seat," Felix said, gesturing to the sofa opposite him.
A servant brought tea for the two men, then left the room.
Felix did not, like a typical Boss, immediately inquire about Frost's work history. Instead, he picked up an open copy of Adam Smith's "The Wealth of Nations" from the table.
His first question was unexpected: "Frost, do you think Mr. Smith's theory of the 'invisible hand' is still fully applicable in the States today?"
Frost was momentarily stunned; he clearly hadn't expected this meeting, which would determine his future, to begin with an economics question.
But he showed no trace of panic. He pondered for a moment, then replied in an equally calm and thoughtful tone: "Mr. Argyle, I believe Mr. Smith's theory is a great cornerstone. But in times of war, this 'invisible hand' sometimes trembles with fear and greed. It needs a 'visible hand'—such as strong government intervention and the foresight of entrepreneurs like yourself—to guide it in the right direction."
This answer both expressed respect for the classic theory and incorporated independent thought on current realities. A hint of approval flashed in Felix's eyes.
"A very interesting point of view," he continued. "Then, what do you think of the 'National Economics' theory of Dr. Elias Schmidt, the exiled German economist in Lisbon?"
When Felix spoke the name "Elias Schmidt," an unconcealed look of surprise flickered across Frost's usually calm face.
It seemed his Boss had already thoroughly investigated him beforehand. Of course, when selecting talent, one would certainly delve into a person's background, so he quickly composed himself. After all, it was merely a personal matter, and he hadn't done anything detrimental to the company.
"It seems, Mr. Argyle, your understanding of me is far greater than I imagined," Frost admitted frankly. "Yes, I greatly admire Dr. Schmidt. I have always maintained an academic exchange with him."
"No need to be nervous, Frost," Felix said with a smile. "I have no prejudice against him personally. I'm just curious, how have his radical views on 'opposing excessive state monopolies and encouraging free competition' influenced you?"
This was the true core question of the meeting. Felix needed to know what kind of seeds were buried deep within Frost's thoughts.
"His theories taught me to view business from a more macroscopic perspective," Frost replied with sincerity. "He made me realize that the purpose of a truly great enterprise should not merely be to accumulate wealth, but rather to drive the progress of society as a whole by increasing efficiency and creating value."
Frost looked at Felix, his eyes shining, "He taught me that the value of an enterprise ultimately isn't determined by how much money it has, but by the extent to which it makes the world it inhabits a little better."
Felix listened quietly.
He knew that all of Flynn's worries were superfluous. What Frost had learned from his German teacher was not dangerous political ambition, but a business philosophy that perfectly aligned with Felix's own.
"One last question, Mr. Frost," Felix said, standing up, ready to conclude this unconventional interview. "Why do you want this job?"
Frost also stood up, looking at the man before him, who was several years younger than himself yet had already built a vast business empire.
After a brief thought, he slowly said, "Because I no longer want to understand this era merely through reading and contemplation."
"I want to participate in it firsthand. I want to see up close how a great undertaking is truly built. And I believe, in the entire States, there is no better position than to be by your side."
Felix smiled.
He extended his hand to Edward Frost.
"Welcome aboard, Frost."
...That afternoon, Felix Argyle's personal assistant officially took office.
He was assigned to a workstation in the corner of Felix's study.
The first task Felix gave him immediately made him feel the weight of this job.
Felix handed him a report Jones had just submitted, "Frost, Jones has successfully acquired the properties in Five Points. The land issue is resolved. Now, it's time to turn it from a map into actual bricks and steel."
"You will represent me in meeting with Mr. Richard Upjohn, New York's best architect. This is my initial concept," he handed over a sketch, "an orphanage that can accommodate two hundred orphans, and a school that can provide education for five hundred children. I need you and Mr. Upjohn to transform it into a perfect architectural blueprint ready for construction."
"At the same time," Felix picked up another, thicker document, "the War Department's contracts regarding the 'United Ammunition Company' and 'Rifle Joint Production' have entered the most critical stage of detailed negotiation. Their lawyers, like a pack of sharks smelling blood, are unyielding on every single clause."
"You will immediately familiarize yourself with all the preliminary agreements we have reached with the military. Next week, you will join me in meeting with our legal team. You need to become more knowledgeable about this contract than the opposing lawyers."
"Finally," Felix added, "this weekend, you and I will go to Connecticut."
His tone became serious, "Militech is attempting to establish an unprecedented rifle assembly line, and they're encountering many problems. I need you to see it with your own eyes, to understand it. Because that contract, which is about to be signed, will determine our relationship with the entire Federal military-industrial complex for the next ten years. You must understand the immense effort required behind every word the company promises."
Charity, law, industry.
Three vastly different, yet equally daunting tasks, piled up on Frost's small desk within his first hour on the job.
Looking at Felix, his usually calm heart at this moment began to beat violently, stirred by the magnificent future ahead.
He picked up the topmost document, the plan for the orphanage, without any hesitation.
"I understand, Boss."
On Monday and Tuesday of Edward Frost's first week in office, he accompanied Mr. Upjohn, the architect, for a field survey of the newly acquired land in Five Points.
There, he witnessed firsthand the poverty and despair of New York's lowest stratum, and for the first time, he understood the profound weight behind his employer's philanthropic plans.
On Wednesday and Thursday, he was brought by Felix into the lawyer's conference room for contract negotiations with the War Department.
Lawyer Hoffman and his team were engaged in a difficult, unyielding battle with the military's lawyers over the equity division of "United Ammunition Company" and the ownership of technical patents for "rifle co-production."
After all, when collaborating directly with the Federal Army to establish a factory, the division and definition of rights had to be clear.
Frost sat to the side of the conference room, responsible for organizing all the meeting minutes; his eyes and mind, accustomed to reading literature and history, now needed to comprehend legal clauses filled with traps and pitfalls.
It wasn't until Friday morning that he bid farewell to his parents and wife, and boarded a special train to Connecticut with Felix.
Upon arriving in Whitneyville, the atmosphere at Militech was completely different from Frost's imagined "full-speed production." There was no chaos; on the contrary, everything was orderly, but this orderliness carried a sense of gravity.
Miller, the company president, and Frank Cole, the supervisor, greeted them at the factory entrance.
"Boss," Miller said with a very serious expression, "Welcome to inspect."
"Tell me about the situation," Felix asked as he walked.
"Following your instructions, Frank has organized the best craftsmen to begin the first trial production of core components," Miller reported, "But the progress is a bit slow. Slower than our worst-case scenario."
They walked into the newly built, bright and clean precision machining workshop. Dozens of brand-new Pratt & Whitney lathes were operating at low speed. Rhys Griffiths was fuming over a list of scrapped parts.
"Frank," Felix said, observing the slow production pace in the workshop, "This isn't a problem with the assembly line. Your previous experience in the food factory should be equally effective here."
"Yes, Boss," Frank Cole said with a hint of helplessness, "The problem isn't with process management. The problem is that we are facing a technical challenge."
He led Felix and Frost to a milling machine, where Silas, the chief craftsman, was meticulously performing the final polishing on a complex receiver.
"Boss, look," Frank explained, "Mr. Griffiths' 'Prometheus alloy' has unimaginable hardness and toughness. This makes machining it exceptionally difficult. Our best drill bits are scrapped after drilling ten holes in it. Each part takes five times longer to process than ordinary steel."
"What we can achieve now," Frank summarized, "is to produce no more than twenty sets of qualified 'core components' per week, almost like custom handcrafting. This is sufficient for initial sample testing and small-scale military refitting trials. But we are still far from the stable production capacity of twenty thousand sets per month that you requested. However, give us some time, and we can definitely improve it."
Felix nodded; this result was within his expectations. He turned towards the design office.
"So, what about the machine gun project?"
At the mention of this, Miller and Frank's expressions grew even more solemn.
In the design office, on a large workbench, lay a semi-finished prototype of a Militech machine gun. Its six barrels gleamed with a cold metallic luster, but the core feeding and firing mechanisms were disassembled into many pieces.
"We've hit a bottleneck, Boss," Griffith walked over, "The heart of this thing is too complex. When the rate of fire exceeds three hundred rounds per minute, continuous, violent vibrations and instantaneous high temperatures cause unpredictable metal deformation in the internal precision parts. We've already burned out three prototype bolt carriers."
This was a more thorny problem than rifle mass production. It was no longer a simple material science or production management issue, but a systemic challenge involving dynamics, thermodynamics, and mechanical engineering.
Felix listened quietly, not offering any solutions, but instead turned and asked his newly appointed assistant.
"Frost, what are your thoughts?"
Edward Frost had barely spoken throughout the entire inspection. He had been quietly observing and quickly reading the project weekly reports Frank handed him.
"Boss," he began, his voice soft but clear, "I believe Mr. Griffiths and his team are not facing a technical problem, but a 'methodology' problem."
"They are trying to solve all problems at once. But this system is too complex." He pointed to the prototype, "I suggest we can learn from the way watchmakers work. Disassemble the entire system into three independent subsystems for testing: the feeding system, the rotating firing system, and the ejection system."
"We first ensure that each subsystem can operate independently and stably ten thousand times under simulated extreme pressure. Then, we combine them to solve new problems that arise after combination. This way, we can more accurately pinpoint the root of the failure."
This suggestion made Griffith and Frank's eyes light up. They were engineers, accustomed to solving problems from a holistic perspective. But Frost, an assistant with a liberal arts background, provided them with a logically clear research and development path from a management perspective.
Felix looked at Frost, a look of genuine approval on his face.
"Frank, Miller," Felix turned to his two supervisors, "You both heard him. Frost's suggestion is my next directive."
"I need you to re-formulate the machine gun's R&D plan following this approach. I will give you more time and budget. I don't want hastily made samples; I want an absolutely reliable harvesting weapon."
On the special train returning to New York, Edward Frost was organizing the notes he had taken at Militech during the day under the dim light.
That factory was filled with organized chaos, the difficulties of technological breakthroughs, and a passion for creation that was unfamiliar to him.
Felix, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, resting with his eyes closed.
He was repeatedly simulating in his mind the two equally challenging technological paths of Militech and Umbrella Corporation, along with the equally complex political chessboard of Washington.
Just then, the train made an unscheduled stop at a small station, and a telegraph operator, who had been waiting there, delivered an urgent telegram from New York into Felix's hands.
The telegram was from Catherine; its content was short, but its implications were quite weighty.
After reading it, Felix's brows furrowed tightly.
He handed the telegram to Frost.
"It seems Colonel Bishop hasn't completely conceded defeat on the firing range after all."
Frost respectfully took the telegram and quickly read through it.
"...Negotiations for the 'Federal United Ammunition Company' contract have reached a stalemate over the issue of management rights.
The military's legal team, at the strong recommendation of Colonel Bishop, insists that the new company's daily operations must be managed by a military officer appointed by the military, who possesses experience in armory management.
The nominated candidate is Colonel Bishop himself."
Frost instantly understood the implications behind this.
"He, or rather the military, wants to control the new factory!"
"Yes," Felix's tone was calm, but beneath the calmness lay an undeniable resolve.
"It seems that after losing the rifle business, he wants to seize the more important ammunition business from within.
He wants to combine our most advanced technology with his outdated, bureaucratic management style.
I don't know what he's thinking."
"The company absolutely cannot show weakness regarding management rights; perhaps we can find something discreditable about this colonel," Frost said subconsciously.
"Of course not," Felix looked out at the dark night sky.
"I will not hand over my most precious golden goose to a farmer who only wants to pluck its feathers but doesn't know how to feed it, but there's no need to look for dirt.
After all, the other party is an active colonel in the military."
Felix had now found his footing and no longer needed to resort to risky tactics as before.
So he chose the most direct way to solve this problem.
"Frost," Felix looked at his face, which was somewhat pale from tension, "It seems we don't need to go back to New York tonight."
He pulled the emergency stop cord in the carriage.
When the conductor ran over, panting, Felix handed him a large denomination banknote.
"Send a telegram at the next station with the message to dispatch a dedicated train to Washington."
...The next day at noon, in Secretary Stanton's office at the War Department.
Secretary Stanton looked at Felix, an expression of surprise on his face.
"Mr. Argyle? Aren't negotiations still ongoing in New York? Why did you come directly to Washington?"
"Yes, Mr. Secretary, negotiations are still continuing," Felix said directly, "but I received a telegram that compelled me to come to Washington."
"Regarding the management rights of the 'United Ammunition Company.' I hear the military hopes for Colonel Bishop to serve as the new company's manager."
"Yes," Stanton nodded, acknowledging the matter, "Colonel Bishop has extensive experience in armory management.
This is recognized by many within the military."
"I never doubt Colonel Bishop's experience and patriotic fervor," Felix responded, "However, Mr. Secretary, you must understand one thing."
"The excellent rifle you saw on the firing range, the life-saving rations—they were created not just because of technology.
They were also created because of a brand new, efficient, problem-solving oriented management approach."
"This management approach is completely incompatible with the Springfield Armory's tradition, which is full of bureaucracy, seniority, and conservatism."
"You cannot expect to drive a brand new steam locomotive with the driving style of a coachman.
That would only lead to a crash and loss of life."
Felix stated his demand, "Therefore, the daily operation and management of the 'United Ammunition Company' must be handled by a professional team dispatched by our side, as discussed in the previous meeting.
This is the only prerequisite to ensure that this company can operate efficiently and provide the most reliable ammunition to the front lines."
Stanton's brows furrowed tightly.
He knew that what Felix said was true.
But he also faced immense pressure from traditional forces within the military.
"I can understand your concerns, Mr. Secretary," Felix seemed to read his mind, "However, as discussed in the previous meeting, the military will still retain oversight of the factory.
It can appoint a chief inspector and an entire audit team to be stationed at our new factory.
They can review accounts at any time, supervise production processes, and ensure that product quality and the interests of the States are not harmed in any way."
"If both oversight and management rights are entirely in the hands of the military, then whether the benefits from my investment can be effectively realized is a very unequal cooperation.
If the military does this, then I cannot accept such terms."
Stanton's pressure immediately doubled.
He was very clear about the new weapons; if they could be quickly put into the war, the States's chances of winning would be greater.
However, the military internally placed great importance on the military-industrial complex and did not want a businessman to have a seat at the table.
After a long time, the desire for victory in his mind tilted the scales towards Felix, and Mr. Secretary nodded.
"Good."
He then called his assistant.
"Go send a telegram to the lawyers in the Military Justice Department and Colonel Bishop," he said to the assistant who walked in, "Regarding the ammunition company contract, proceed with the final revision immediately according to the proposal Mr. Argyle just presented."
"I hope," he added, "to see this contract, which will bring victory to our soldiers, on my desk before tomorrow's sunset."
...That evening, Felix boarded the train returning to New York.
"Frost, you've seen the architect's blueprints and the actual site," Felix said, "Tomorrow morning, you will represent me at St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Arrange a formal meeting for me with Archbishop Hughes."
"Tell him that a devout believer hopes to do his part for those homeless compatriots in this city."