New York, in the study of a Fifth Avenue mansion.
Edward Frost placed a thick collection of newspaper clippings in front of Felix. This was already his first task every morning as the Chairman's assistant.
"Boss," his tone was calm, but a hint of awe was barely concealed in his eyes, "the storm has passed."
The clipping collection was filled with newspapers from all over the country. From The Boston Globe to The Philadelphia Inquirer, and even as far as Chicago, almost all neutral or pro-Federal newspapers reprinted or rewrote Fowler's report on their front pages or important sections.
An Irish soldier on the front lines using miraculous new medicine and rations, an ordinary worker in the rear proud of his Boss and nephew, a mysterious philanthropist building a future for orphans in Five Points—these three images were perfectly woven together to form a narrative full of humanitarian brilliance and patriotic fervor.
Felix flipped through the clippings, a smile appearing on his face, "It seems public opinion has played its due role."
"Yes, Boss," Frost added, "Mr. Flynn's intelligence shows that Senator Hans in Washington has already voluntarily withdrawn his proposal for a tax investigation into us. Chairman Clark and Senator Conkling didn't even have to act."
"Of course he would withdraw," Felix nodded, "No politician would dare to stand up at a time like this and accuse a patriotic businessman who is saving expenses for soldiers on the front lines."
Just as Felix was enjoying the fruits of victory from this public opinion battle, an encrypted telegram from Connecticut brought him another, more significant, victory report.
The telegram was personally sent by Miller, and the content was very brief.
"Boss:
The production line is stable. Daily output of core components is two hundred sets.
—Miller"
...Two days later, Connecticut, Militech's final assembly workshop.
This was no longer the place full of chaos and arguments it had been a few weeks ago. A fifty-foot-long assembly line occupied the center of the entire workshop. At each workstation stood a strictly trained worker, who, like gears in a giant machine, silently and efficiently repeated their single action.
Frank Cole, the company's production supervisor, was patrolling his position like a strict commander.
...Workstation No. 17, stock polishing complete. Send to the next process."
"Workstation No. 23, trigger assembly complete. Check torque."
Rhys Griffiths stood with his arms crossed at the end of the production line. His task was to personally conduct the final quality spot check on every set of universal parts delivered from Springfield Armory and core components produced by them. His gaze was still critical, but the impatience on his face had lessened, replaced by the satisfaction of an engineer seeing his work perfectly replicated.
When Felix and Frost walked into the workshop, they happened to see the first "Militech 1863" rifle, produced entirely by the assembly line, being sent to the final station of the assembly table.
Chief artisan Silas Blackwood personally and steadily installed the dark blue gleaming bolt, designed by Griffith, into the receiver. Then, he skillfully completed the final assembly.
He handed the brand new rifle, still smelling of gun oil, to Felix.
"Boss," Silas's voice was hoarse with excitement, "The first one. From the first screw to the final assembly, it took less than three hours."
Felix took the gun. Its weight, its texture, the tolerance of every single part, were all identical to the prototype gun he had seen earlier at the shooting range.
"Frank," Felix looked at his most trusted production supervisor, "What is our production capacity now?"
"Reporting, Boss," Frank replied, his eyes full of confidence, "After the initial break-in period, this production line can stably produce two hundred rifles that fully meet standards every day. Moreover, as the workers become more skilled, this number can at least double next month."
"Good, but not enough. The Federal Army currently has a scale of over a million, and there is still a large shortage of firearms. Increase production capacity as soon as possible," Felix said with a slight frown.
"Understood. We are continuously recruiting and training employees."
Felix handed the rifle to Miller.
"Miller, send the produced guns, along with the official contract we just signed with the War Department, to the military department as quickly as possible."
"Tell Secretary Stanton," Felix's eyes gleamed, "Argyle Company's promise has been fulfilled. Now, it's the Federal Government's turn to pay their bills."
...That night, on the special train returning to New York.
Felix did not handle official business in the carriage as usual. He simply watched the tranquil American countryside outside the window in the twilight.
Frost placed a cup of hot tea in front of him.
"Boss," he said, breaking the silence, "Militech, Umbrella, the Five Points charity plan… everything seems to be on track. What… what do we do next?"
Felix turned his head and looked at his young and intelligent assistant.
"Edward," he said slowly, "What do you think is our most powerful weapon now? Is it Militech's rifles? Or Umbrella's medicine?"
"Neither," Felix shook his head, "Our most powerful weapon now is the capital we hold and the reputation we have just earned."
"That's right, rifles and medicine can earn us respect and profit during wartime. But war always ends."
Felix's gaze deepened, "And I need to find a cornerstone that will be just as indestructible in peacetime."
Just then, the train's whistle sounded in the quiet night sky. In the distance, on another track, a freight train bearing the "Pennsylvania Railroad" emblem passed them by.
"Look, Edward," Felix pointed to the steel behemoth outside the window, "That is our next battlefield."
...The next morning, Tom Hayes, President of Patriot Investment Company, personally arrived at the Fifth Avenue mansion.
"Boss," he placed a document in front of Felix, "The next board meeting of the Pennsylvania Railroad will be held in Philadelphia in two weeks. Our shareholding is already enough to grant us a formal attendance qualification, and… the right to nominate a proposal."
Felix looked at the meeting notice, a smile appearing on his face.
"Well done, Tom."
He turned to Frost.
"Edward, prepare my itinerary for Philadelphia."
"It's time to get to know our new 'business partners' properly."
The storm Wall Street caused by Sloan's downfall gradually subsided.
Cornelius Vanderbilt was already preparing to clear out the entrenched old forces within the New York Central Railroad.
The entire East Coast transportation industry felt the chill of a new king ascending the throne during this reshuffle.
Felix, like the most skilled hunter, after helping the lion corner its prey, quietly carried away his share of the spoils, then retreated to his own territory to calmly observe the situation.
Two weeks later, a private train compartment bearing the Argyle Company emblem was smoothly traveling on the tracks towards Philadelphia.
Felix leaned back in the soft velvet seat, watching the rapidly receding Pennsylvania countryside outside the window. Edward Frost quietly reported the agenda for the upcoming meeting to him.
"Boss, the Pennsylvania Railroad Company's board of directors will convene at headquarters at 2 PM this afternoon. According to the agenda, Mr. Hayes will formally propose to the board, on our behalf, that we be granted board seats proportionate to our shareholding."
"What was Chairman Thomson's reaction?" Felix asked, referring to the Pennsylvania Railroad chairman who was still struggling after Sloan's downfall.
"He seemed very rigid," Frost replied. "Our informant reported that during a previous internal meeting, Mr. Thomson described us as barbarians from New York and speculators trying to subvert the company's century-old foundation. He has already united most of the old members of the board and is prepared to jointly veto our proposal at today's meeting."
"That's to be expected," Felix's face showed no ripples. "An old lion will always use all its strength to guard its territory, even if that territory is almost barren due to its own actions."
Frost continued, "Mr. Hayes believes our chances of success are low. Thomson's roots on the board are too deep. He suggests that we make a strong showing this time to put sufficient pressure on the board. The real decisive battle might have to wait until the next annual shareholders' meeting."
"That's a very accurate assessment," Felix nodded. "Tell him to proceed with his plan. After all, I'm not going there today to win a vote."
"Then you are..."
"I'm going to meet some people, Edward," Felix said, looking at the land of Pennsylvania outside the window. "And they need to know what a major shareholder looks like."
...1:45 PM, Philadelphia, Broad Street.
The Pennsylvania Railroad Company's headquarters building was a classical-style structure built of heavy granite. It looked less like a company and more like an impregnable fortress, symbolizing the company's decades-long dominance in the city.
When Felix and Frost, accompanied by Tom Hayes, walked into the luxuriously decorated boardroom, all eyes in the room focused on him.
The boardroom was already full of people. They were mostly elderly, well-dressed Philadelphia local dignitaries: bankers, coal merchants, steel mill owners. They were the directors of this railroad company and the true power core of this city.
Leading them was Chairman J. Edgar Thomson. He sat at the head of the long table, his gaze at Felix filled with undisguised hostility.
"Mr. Argyle, welcome to Philadelphia. I never imagined you would take such a keen interest in our 'old' company."
"Chairman Thomson is too kind," Felix responded with a smile. He sat down in the seat Hayes had prepared for him, his posture as relaxed as if he were in his own living room. "I have always believed that the Pennsylvania Railroad Company is one of the most valuable industrial assets in the entire States. It just needs some... new vitality."
This opening remark, full of insinuation and provocation, made the faces of all the directors present even grimmer.
Then the meeting began.
Tom Hayes, representing Patriot Investment Company, stood up and presented his proposal.
"...Based on Patriot Investment Company's current ownership of thirty-two percent of your company's issued shares, we hereby formally nominate Mr. Felix Argyle, Mr. Tom Hayes, and Mr. George Templeton as new director candidates to join the board, in accordance with the company's articles of association."
As soon as Hayes finished speaking, a suppressed gasp echoed through the room.
Clearly, they hadn't expected Felix and the others to ask for not one, but three seats!
This was almost equivalent to directly snatching a quarter of the board's control from these old-timers!
"I object," a voice broke the silence. The speaker was a director named Patterson, whose family's steel mill was the railroad company's largest supplier of railroad tie bolts.
"We don't need an outsider to tell us Philadelphians how to run our own railroad," his tone was full of xenophobia. "We've all heard about Mr. Argyle's exploits in New York. We certainly don't want to bring New York's speculative practices into our company, which has been steadily managed for thirty years."
"I also object," another banker director echoed. "Mr. Argyle used the hearing to manipulate public opinion and suppress the company's stock price. Now he wants to join the board; this is a completely unethical behavior."
One after another, voices of opposition rang out. They were like a well-rehearsed choir, using various high-sounding reasons to express the same core message: you are not welcome here.
Felix did not defend himself. He simply listened quietly, a hint of an amused smile even on his face.
When all the opposing voices gradually subsided, Chairman Thomson cleared his throat, preparing for the final procedural vote.
"Alright, gentlemen," he said, "Since everyone's opinion is already very clear. Then now we...".
"Please wait a moment, Mr. Chairman."
Felix spoke, "Before the vote, I need to remind everyone that a major shareholder must hold a certain position on the board; this is a right granted by law."
Then, without looking at the hostile directors, he turned his gaze to a seemingly inconspicuous old man in the corner of the conference room who had been silent throughout, merely quietly drinking tea.
Felix smiled and said, "Also, I think perhaps we should first listen to the opinion of the most respected member of the committee, Mr. Matthew Becker."
Felix looked at the old man and said casually, "After all, Mr. Becker's family foundry has been the company's most important locomotive wheel hub supplier for twenty years. And, to my knowledge, the company unilaterally tore up its long-term supply contract with Mr. Becker last quarter, citing 'cost reduction,' is that right?"
Felix's seemingly casual remark stirred silent ripples.
The entire room instantly fell silent.
All the directors' gazes, in unison, shifted from Felix to the old man who had been sitting silently in the corner—Matthew Becker.
Matthew Becker, the founder of Becker Foundry and the oldest member of the board, slowly put down his teacup.
His face, covered in age spots, showed no expression, but a flash of humiliation and anger, like an old wound exposed in public, flickered in his usually somewhat cloudy eyes.
"Mr. Argyle," Chairman J. Edgar Thomson's voice broke the dead silence. His tone carried the anger of challenged authority.
"I don't understand what Mr. Becker's private business has to do with our agenda today?"
"It has everything to do with it, Chairman Thomson." Felix's face still held that polite yet distant smile.
"As a major shareholder, I'm curious."
"Mr. Becker's foundry provided the most reliable locomotive wheel hubs for the Pennsylvania Railroad Company for twenty years. Yet, just last quarter, this twenty-year cooperation agreement was suddenly torn up, and the order was given to a new factory in Delaware, established less than a year ago."
He paused, then added the most crucial sentence.
"As far as I know, some names among the shareholders of that new factory have some... coincidental overlap with the relatives of several directors present here."
A few stifled gasps echoed in the meeting room.
Patterson and several other directors' faces darkened. They couldn't believe that the behind-the-scenes Transfer of benefits were so clearly understood by this outsider from New York.
"Slander! This is baseless slander!" Patterson stood up agitatedly, pointing at Felix, "You are maliciously slandering! Mr. Chairman, I demand that this Patriot..."
"Shut up, and put your claws away."
Felix glanced at him, his voice sharp, "I'm not here to argue today. I just want to legitimately and legally join the board as a major shareholder with thirty-two percent of the shares. But if anyone doesn't respect my status, I will make you understand what respect is!"
Then Felix looked at Thomson, his gaze sharpening.
"To save five percent in procurement costs, you abandon a twenty-year partner, the most reliable supplier in terms of quality, and instead support a new factory full of uncertainties. Is this decision truly in the best interest of all shareholders? Or," his voice turned cold, "is this merely in the private interests of certain directors present here? As a major shareholder, I reserve the right to be suspicious and pursue this matter."
These words made Thomson's face extremely grim; it was a complete laying of cards on the table.
However, he was, after all, a local power player who had operated in Philadelphia for decades, and he quickly regained his composure.
"Mr. Argyle," he said hoarsely, his voice carrying a forced air of calm authority, "These... are baseless accusations. The company's procurement decisions have our own processes and considerations. Now, let's return to the true agenda of our meeting today."
He didn't give Felix another chance to challenge him, but instead looked directly at the directors present.
"Gentlemen, regarding Patriot Investment Company's proposal to nominate three new directors, voting will now begin." He said in an almost hurried tone, "Those opposed, please raise your hand."
One by one, arms were firmly raised in silence.
Patterson, the banker director, and all the other old guard whose interests were tied to Thomson, unequivocally expressed their opposition. They used this method to show the "invader" from New York their unshakeable unity and strength in this room.
After a brief hesitation, Matthew Becker finally and slowly raised his right hand, which trembled slightly with age.
Tom Hayes watched the scene before him, showing no surprise. He merely shook his head almost imperceptibly at Felix.
"Very good." Chairman Thomson's face broke into a victorious smile, "The vote count is thirteen opposed, one in favor. Mr. Argyle, I regret to inform you that the proposal has been rejected, and you can only occupy one board seat."
He looked at Felix as if he were looking at a clown who had brought humiliation upon himself.
"If you have nothing else," he made a gesture of dismissal, "today's meeting is adjourned."
...In the carriage returning to the hotel, the atmosphere was somewhat somber.
"Boss," Tom Hayes began, "As expected, Thomson and his old cronies are like a herd of buffalo, circled up, horns pointed outwards, impenetrable to anyone."
"No, Tom." Felix shook his head. There was no sign of defeat or frustration on his face; instead, there was a focused intensity, like a chess game just beginning, "You only see their horns circled together. But what I see is a deep crack that has already appeared within the herd."
"Are you referring to... Mr. Becker?" Frost asked.
"Yes." Felix nodded, "Although he eventually raised his hand and voted against it, his hesitation before raising his hand and his grim expression afterward told me all the information I wanted to know. He is not Thomson's ally, but merely an outcast who hasn't yet found a reason to betray."
Felix looked at Hayes, "Tom, perhaps you could pay Mr. Becker a private visit."
...That evening, Matthew Becker was drinking alone in his manor outside Philadelphia.
The humiliating scene from the board meeting replayed repeatedly in his mind. He knew he had been excluded from that small circle. His vote today was merely the last shred of dignity for a loser.
Just then, the butler walked in.
"Sir, a Mr. Hayes from Patriot Investment Company in New York is here to visit."
Becker's expression darkened.
In the study, Tom Hayes was humble, like a junior visiting an old friend.
"Mr. Becker," he said directly, "I regret what happened at the board meeting today. But I can understand your situation at the time."
"Did you come here just to mock this old man?" Becker's tone was harsh.
"No, sir." Hayes shook his head, "I'm here to discuss a business deal with you."
He gently placed a document in front of Becker.
"My Boss, Mr. Argyle, greatly admires Becker Foundry's century-long reputation." Hayes said, "He has authorized me to negotiate a five-year exclusive strategic supply contract with you, to provide the highest grade castings for all our railway, military, and food processing factories."
Then he took out a second document.
"At the same time, Argyle Empire Bank is also willing to provide your factory with a low-interest loan of one hundred thousand dollars for equipment upgrades and debt repayment. We believe that your factory, after acquiring new funds and orders, will be reborn."
Finally, Hayes casually left an unmarked manila envelope on the corner of the table.
"As for this," his voice lowered slightly, "it's something... interesting I personally discovered while investigating Mr. Patterson's steel mill. Perhaps you'd be interested in understanding how your former business partners exploited your trust to line their own pockets."
He stood up, preparing to leave.
"Oh, and my Boss once said," he paused at the door and looked back, "a great craftsman should be respected, not betrayed."