Secretary Stanton's question made all the officers present focus their attention on Felix.
They wanted to know if this young man would dare to accept the challenge.
Because those who came were well aware that, although theoretically 100,000 bullets could be produced daily, totaling three million bullets in a month, theory was always just theory; it didn't account for unforeseen circumstances or yield rates.
Therefore, producing three million in a month was not an easy task.
A hint of worry appeared on Miller's face. While he had confidence in the factory, it was, after all, a new factory that had just started operations and had yet to be broken in. Producing enough ammunition to support a major battle within a month was an immense pressure.
After a moment of thought, Felix slowly spoke to Secretary Stanton.
"Mr. Secretary, three million rounds a month is very challenging. But since it is an urgent need from the front lines, I have no reason to refuse."
However, he then changed the subject, proposing his own conditions, "But to accomplish it, I need two things."
"You may speak."
"First, the War Department's highest priority for raw material allocation rights," Felix said. "To produce three million bullets, the factory will need to consume vast quantities of copper, lead, and zinc. I need the War Department to ensure that, for the next month, our factory's raw material supply will take precedence over any other factory in this country."
"That is certainly possible," Stanton agreed without hesitation.
"Second," Felix continued, "I need the War Department to allocate another batch of gunpowder for emergencies, and also grant me the right to independently choose gunpowder suppliers. After all, purchasing gunpowder directly from the source is more straightforward."
"That is also not a problem," Stanton replied. "Since we have chosen to hand over management to you, you can handle this matter as you see fit. We will only look at the final results."
Felix nodded, "Then, Mr. Secretary, in a month, you will see the Federal soldiers with ample ammunition to knock on Vicksburg's door."
...With this, the unprecedented cooperation between Felix and the War Department, and the news of the order for three million bullets, began to be revealed.
While Felix was still on the train returning to New York, news of the establishment of the "Federal United Ammunition Company" and the initial order for three million new brass-cased bullets had already spread from Washington through various official and unofficial channels, reaching the entire military-industrial circle on the East Coast.
No one understood the immense business opportunities behind this trend better than the keen-scented gunpowder merchants.
DuPont Company's headquarters estate, on the outskirts of Wilmington, Delaware.
This gunpowder empire, founded by descendants of French nobility, stood like an independent kingdom, serene and majestic. Its head, Henry DuPont, was looking at the encrypted telegram that had just been sent back from Washington.
"One hundred thousand rounds a day?" Mr. DuPont's brow furrowed slightly; those familiar with him knew this indicated great interest. "That means, if that new factory operates at full capacity, it will need to consume at least 1,500 tons of the highest-grade rifle propellant per year."
"Yes, sir," the assistant replied. "This is almost half of the company's total production last year. This is an… unprecedentedly huge market."
"The market won't just fall into our pockets," a confident smile appeared on DuPont's face. "But Mr. Argyle is a smart man; he should know that throughout the entire States, only our DuPont gunpowder can match his expensive new rifle."
"Go draft a supply agreement," he instructed. "Use our most professional format, and the price should be our standard rate for the Ordnance Department. Additionally, include our latest chemical experiment report. Remind him that our product's stability and residue rate are unmatched by any competitor."
...Hazardville, Connecticut.
In the president's office of Hazard Powder Company, the atmosphere was much more heated.
"Argyle! That damned Irishman again!"
The company's president, a hot-tempered fat man, was roaring at his sales manager, "He snatched the food business in New York, the rifle business in Washington! Now he wants to establish his own ammunition kingdom in Philadelphia!"
"But this is also our opportunity, sir," the sales manager quickly said. "His ammunition kingdom will require a large amount of gunpowder. We are closer to Philadelphia than DuPont's factory!"
"Then go!" The president slammed his hand on the table. "Immediately send our best sales representative to New York. Tell Argyle that if he is willing to sign an exclusive supply contract with us, our price can be five percent lower than DuPont's!"
...A similar scene was playing out at Oriental Powder Company in Maine. Everyone, like sharks smelling blood, began to bare their sharpest teeth towards New York, towards that newly born, immense market.
However, in Saugerties, New York.
In the office of Lafflin-Smith Powder Company, the atmosphere was filled with worry.
The company's president, Sylvester Lafflin, an old man with white hair and a face full of wrinkles, was sighing deeply as he looked at the same intelligence report.
His son, Lafflin Jr., who was also the company's vice president, said beside him, "Father, this is a huge opportunity. If we can secure the Argyle Company's order, we can completely escape our current predicament."
"I know that, my child," Mr. Lafflin's voice was full of weariness. "But what do we have to compete with DuPont and the others?"
"In terms of quality and technology, we may not be inferior to anyone. But in terms of scale and cost, and in terms of our network in Washington, we are simply not on the same playing field as them."
Lafflin-Smith Powder Company was the smallest of the four major companies.
Their founder was also an immigrant from Irish. In that xenophobic era, they struggled to survive, earning market respect with their excellent product quality.
But facing giants like DuPont and Hazard, with their vast capital and political backing, they were always suppressed at the market's edge.
"Father, we cannot just give up," Lafflin Jr. said. "After all, Mr. Argyle is our compatriot."
"Compatriot?" Mr. Lafflin gave a bitter smile. "Child, in business, there is only profit, no compatriots. Especially not a 'compatriot' who has climbed to such a height."
Lafflin Jr. did not agree with all of his father's views, "No, Father, at least Mr. Argyle is different from others. The vast majority of employees in his companies are Irish from struggling families, and he has also received the Bishop's approval. He also plans to establish orphanages, schools, and hospitals in New York. I believe such an upright and kind person would certainly not completely ignore the identity of his compatriots."
Seeing his son's persistence, Lafflin couldn't help but sigh, feeling that he might indeed be getting old. "Alright, then let's give it a try."
...A week later, New York, Fifth Avenue mansion.
Felix's study was almost overwhelmed with various letters of intent for cooperation.
"Boss," Edward Frost meticulously arranged the documents before Felix, "the situation is as you predicted. Over the past three days, we have received letters of intent for cooperation from all gunpowder companies in the States."
"Skip the small companies, and go straight to the situation with the four major gunpowder companies," Felix waved his hand, signaling Frost to continue.
After all, cooperating with small factories was not as good as building his own, but there was no time for that now.
"Alright, Boss. Among the four major gunpowder companies, DuPont Company's quote is the most professional, but also the most arrogant," Frost introduced. "They seem to believe that we have no other choice. Hazard Company is willing to lower prices by five percent, but demands a five-year exclusive contract with very harsh terms. As for Oriental Powder Company… their factory is in Maine, too far, and transportation costs are too high."
Felix flipped through the beautifully printed business documents, his face expressionless. All of this was within his expectations.
"What about Lafflin-Smith Company?" he asked. "What did they say?"
"They did, Boss," Frost's tone became somewhat unique. "But their letter is… different."
He handed Felix a handwritten letter. The stationery was plain, and the handwriting was a bit shaky, clearly from an old man's hand.
Felix opened the letter and read it carefully.
The content of the letter did not mention any commercial terms regarding price or production capacity.
Mr. Lafflin, in a manner full of sincerity and respect, first congratulated Felix on his victory in Washington. He then used simple language to recount the difficulties and persistence experienced by his family business, also founded by Irish immigrants, over the past few decades.
"...Mr. Argyle," the letter concluded, "I may not be able to compete with DuPont on price, nor can I contend with Hazard on scale. My company is the smallest of the four major companies."
"But I can offer something they cannot: one hundred percent loyalty from Irish compatriots, and a completely open cooperative stance with no harsh conditions attached."
"I hope to have the opportunity to visit you personally in New York. Not to sell you my gunpowder, but to discuss a possibility for our two enterprises, founded by Irish immigrants, to rise together in this war and business world dominated by the Anglo-Saxon elite."
Felix slowly put down the letter.
Before his eyes, the image of a stubborn old man, diligently guarding his family business in the shadow of giants, seemed to appear.
Fragments of his memory resurfaced, recalling his past struggles in Five Points.
Felix turned his gaze to Frost.
"Edward, send a polite letter back to the other three companies. Tell them that I will carefully consider their quotes."
"Then send a telegram back to Mr. Lafflin. On Wednesday morning, I will personally await his visit at home."
On Wednesday morning, a somewhat old but immaculately clean carriage stopped promptly at the entrance of the Fifth Avenue mansion.
Sylvester Lafflin, president of Lafflin-Smith Powder Company, and his son, Lafflin Jr., stepped out of the carriage.
Mr. Lafflin wore a stiffly starched, old black suit and leaned on a smoothly polished oak cane. His son wore a more modern business jacket and carried a leather briefcase full of technical documents.
They didn't look like the confident and imposing business representatives sent by DuPont or Hazard Company.
They looked more like a respectable yet somewhat nervous father and son visiting an important relative.
Felix didn't wait in the study but personally greeted them at the mansion's entrance.
"Mr. Lafflin," Felix extended his hand first, shaking the old man's hand, "Welcome to New York."
"Mr. Argyle," Mr. Lafflin's voice was hoarse with an old man's characteristic tremor but steady, "Thank you for giving me this opportunity."
Felix led the two into the house and they sat in the parlor.
The flickering flames in the fireplace and three steaming cups of Irish black tea seemed perfectly fitting.
"I'm from County Cork," Felix didn't talk business but chatted casually, "Although New York's winter isn't as damp as Irish's, it lacks the warmth that whiskey brings to the bones."
This opening, full of hometown sentiment, immediately brought them closer. A genuine smile appeared on Mr. Lafflin's usually tense face.
"My grandfather was from Dublin," he replied, "He established that small powder workshop in Saugerties, which allowed our family to gain a foothold in this new continent."
They talked about the arduous struggle of Irish immigrants in America, from initially toiling on canal construction sites to later surviving amidst waves of xenophobia. Felix could see an indomitable spirit in the old man's eyes.
"Alright, Father," Lafflin Jr., the more pragmatic company heir, timely brought the conversation back on track, "Mr. Argyle's time is precious."
He opened his briefcase and spread out documents filled with chemical formulas and test data on the table.
"Mr. Argyle," Lafflin Jr.'s tone was very confident, "I know that DuPont Company can offer you better gunpowder, and Hazard Company can offer you greater production capacity and better prices. But I can guarantee that neither of them can offer you more stable gunpowder than us."
He pointed to a report.
"This is our company's unique 'low-temperature slow nitration' process. It maximizes the stability of nitroglycerin molecules. Bullets made with our propellant, when stored long-term and in extreme temperature differences, have a ballistic performance degradation rate that is at least ten percent lower than DuPont's products."
"This means that the bullets used by Federal soldiers a year from now will be as accurate as when they first left the factory. DuPont cannot achieve this."
Felix listened quietly. He didn't look at the complex data but focused on Mr. Lafflin's rough, large hands, which were somewhat yellowed from years of contact with chemicals.
"Mr. Lafflin," Felix asked a question unrelated to technology, "I heard that your company's factory has never had a single explosion accident resulting in worker fatalities in the past two decades. Is that true?"
Mr. Lafflin was stunned for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes, safety is our family's primary creed. Every worker who enters the factory is like a member of our family."
"Very good." A satisfied smile appeared on Felix's face.
Felix wasn't just looking for a supplier. He was looking for a trustworthy partner.
"Gentlemen," Felix looked at the father and son, "I have also received offers from DuPont and Hazard. Frankly, from a purely commercial perspective, their terms are more attractive."
The Lafflins' hearts sank.
"However," Felix changed the subject, "since I invited you here today, it's not to discuss a simple procurement deal with you."
He turned to Frost. His assistant handed a pre-drafted document to the Lafflins.
It wasn't a procurement contract.
Instead, it was a... letter of intent for investment.
"My Patriot Investment Company," Felix slowly said, "is preparing to make a comprehensive strategic investment in Lafflin-Smith Powder Company."
"We will acquire forty percent of your company's shares at market price."
"In return, I will provide your company with an interest-free loan sufficient to fully upgrade your production lines."
"I will also use my rail and shipping networks to open up new channels for you to the Western and Southern markets, so your products will no longer be subject to the blockade of the Eastern Railroad Alliance."
"Most importantly," Felix looked at them, "Federal United Ammunition Company will sign a ten-year exclusive gunpowder supply contract with you."
The Lafflins stared blankly at the document in their hands.
They could hardly believe it. They had expected a difficult negotiation, where they would have to humble themselves to fight for scraps. Instead, the other party had laid an entire feast before them.
"Mr. Argyle... why... why would you do this?" Mr. Lafflin's voice trembled slightly.
Felix stood up and walked to the study window.
He looked out at the New York landscape, "Because my current enemies are DuPont, and the Anglo-Saxon old money elites like Hazard who are entrenched in the industrial heartland of this country."
"And my friends," he turned around and looked at them, "are all compatriots like us, who have struggled to survive in this land with their own hands and wisdom."
"I don't need a mercenary supplier," Felix looked at them and stated his true purpose, "I need a loyal ally who can stand with me and challenge that old world together."
"I plan to support a powerful proxy, entirely from our own camp, in the heartland of DuPont and their ilk. The Irish must hold important positions in the States."
"And you," Felix's eyes were filled with admiration and expectation, "are the best choice."
Mr. Lafflin looked at Felix, tears of excitement flowing from his cloudy eyes.
His decades-long dream of Irish businesses truly rising had finally seen the hope of realization today.
After all, the military industry is the most crucial position in a country. As long as the military industry is controlled, the Irish will surely have a place in the States.
He trembled as he stood up and bowed deeply to Felix.
"Mr. Argyle, from today on, the Lafflin family will be your most loyal friends."