Felix fell silent for a moment.
"Caesar," Felix said.
"Caesar Clark. That will make old man Thomas happy."
Felix stroked the child's head. "It also means he is the bond between the two families. He is the future king."
Anna smiled.
That smile was full of exhaustion, but also full of contentment.
"Caesar. It's a truly good name."
She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Felix stood up and tucked the covers around her.
Then he walked to the window and looked out at the pitch-black rainy night, the dome of Capitol Hill in the distance flickering in and out of view amidst the lightning.
"Do you hear that, Washington?"
Felix spoke softly to the night sky.
"A future politician has been born."
"Prepare to welcome him. Wipe your thrones clean."
His gaze became sharp and cold once more.
"Pinkerton." Felix clenched his fist. "Next, it's time for your funeral."
December 1st, Washington.
This was the third day after Anna gave birth. Felix didn't return to New York immediately but stayed in that red-brick villa.
But he wasn't idle; the villa had turned into a temporary command center.
In the study, Flynn was reporting.
"Boss, the 'Bait' plan regarding Pinkerton has been set up."
Flynn took out a map; it was the railroad map connecting Washington and Philadelphia.
"On the tenth of next month, the Treasury Department has a batch of old banknotes ready for recycling and some molds from the Mint to be transported to the Philadelphia Mint for recasting. The value is about five hundred thousand dollars."
"The Pinkerton Detective Agency has secured this escort mission. Allan Pinkerton wants to use this to showcase his strength."
"And your plan?"
Felix asked while changing the diaper for the infant named Thomas (the movements were unfamiliar but very careful). The scene was extremely bizarre.
A merchant king was doing a wet nurse's work while talking about conspiracies.
"It's still the general plan you formulated before. We won't rob the money, but rather tamper with the carriage."
"We placed a special chemical agent in the vents of the transport carriage. It was taken from Lady Catherine's laboratory. It's a high-concentration ether mixture with a delayed-release device."
"When the train passes the Delaware River Bridge, the mechanism will activate. The detectives in the entire carriage, including that arrogant Allan Pinkerton, will sleep like dead pigs."
"And then?"
"Then, our people will go up. Open the safe. We have a master key to take the molds inside. We'll leave half the money, scattering it all over the floor."
"Finally, we'll pose the Pinkerton men in various ridiculous positions. For example, hugging each other or holding wine bottles."
"We want the reporters to photograph them. This is the so-called 'Eye That Never Sleeps'."
"Not enough."
"Humiliation alone isn't enough. We need to make them criminals."
"Hide those molds in the Pinkerton office in Philadelphia, then report them anonymously to the Secret Service."
"Possessing national minting molds is a felony. Even if it doesn't send Pinkerton to prison, it will get his detective license revoked."
Flynn shuddered; this move was too vicious.
"This isn't just destroying a reputation; it's cutting off the roots."
"Understood. I'll arrange for the 'Shadow' squad to execute it."
"One more thing." Felix wiped his hands. "Regarding Carnegie's side."
"Becker sent a telegram. Pinkerton's men are guarding strictly. The railroad construction is fast; they've already laid three miles. That 'Captain Bill' is very experienced, so our sabotage efforts haven't been very effective."
Felix walked to the map.
"If the hard way doesn't work, use the soft way."
"The reason Carnegie can move so fast is because he got money. Drexel gave him four hundred thousand. But four hundred thousand won't last long against the burn rate: Pinkerton's security fees, construction material costs, and overtime pay for workers."
"I want to cut off his flow."
Felix picked up a pen and drew a circle over the city of Cleveland.
"Tell Rockefeller to go talk to the B&O Railroad. Say that Standard Oil is prepared to give the B&O a contract for transporting one million barrels of crude oil annually. There's only one condition."
"What condition?"
"The B&O Railroad must stop its support for Carnegie and refuse to connect to that branch line currently under construction."
"This is a massive piece of meat." Felix sneered.
"John Garrett is a businessman. Between one million barrels of oil and a steel mill that hasn't even started production, I think he should know how to choose."
"If the B&O betrays Carnegie, that railroad will be a dead end even if it's finished."
Flynn couldn't help but admire him; this was the playstyle of a monopolist.
An all-around encirclement and suppression.
"What about Drexel's side? What if the banker continues to inject capital?"
"Drexel is no fool. If he sees the B&O backing down, if he sees Carnegie stuck in a dead end, he will cut his losses. Bankers have no loyalty to speak of."
"That's all for now. Go handle it."
Felix waved his hand.
Flynn withdrew.
Felix walked back to the cradle and looked at the newborn.
"Do you see clearly, Caesar?" Felix said softly.
"This world is a net. You must be the spider weaving the net, not the fly caught in it."
The door opened.
Anna, draped in a blanket and supported by a maid, walked in.
"Are you leaving?" Anna asked.
"I must." Felix turned around.
"There's a pack of jackals in New York waiting for me to feed them, and Catherine is about to give birth. I can't not be by her side."
A flash of loneliness crossed Anna's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by strength.
"Go ahead. My father and I are here. No one dares to touch us."
"Take care." Felix pointed to the cradle. "And protect yourself."
He walked over and said goodbye to Anna.
"Once I've dealt with Carnegie and Pinkerton, I'll give you a gift."
"What gift?"
"I will have Congress pass an act. It will grant children out of wedlock certain inheritance rights under specific conditions."
Anna's eyes suddenly lit up; this was what she wanted most.
"I'll wait for it."
Felix put on his hat and strode out of the villa.
The rain had stopped.
The air in Washington carried the earthy scent of mud.
Felix boarded the carriage.
"To the train station. Back to New York."
As the carriage wheels ground over the gravel road, Felix closed his eyes.
He was replaying the entire chessboard in his mind.
Pinkerton was the rook, Carnegie the knight, Drexel the bishop. And he was the one playing the game.
"Come on."
"Let the storm rage even more fiercely."
Meanwhile, at the distant construction site in Pennsylvania.
Andrew Carnegie sneezed.
He wrapped his coat tighter and looked at the tracks extending ahead, an inexplicable chill rising in his heart.
He didn't know that the man in New York had already placed the noose around his neck.
And that seemingly indestructible ally, the B&O Railroad, was about to face a massive test of temptation.
A game of betrayal and loyalty had officially begun.
December 5, 1869.
Washington D.C.
In front of the underground vault of the Treasury Department building, iron bars partitioned the corridor into dark grids.
The air was thick with the smell of old paper and moldy copper coins.
Timmy was wearing a grey jumpsuit that only a building janitor would wear, holding a broom and bowing his head to sweep away invisible dust in the corner.
His eyes stared at the heavy steel door ahead through the gap in his hat brim.
Two men were standing by the door, talking.
One was the Deputy Auditor of the Treasury Department, Harrison.
The other was a burly man with a thick Scottish beard, wearing a bowler hat and holding a sophisticated cane.
That was Allan Pinkerton.
The founder of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the man known as "The Eye That Never Sleeps."
"Mr. Pinkerton."
Harrison held a document sealed with red wax.
"This is a top-secret operation. This batch of old Greenbacks and damaged Coining Dies must be transported to the Philadelphia Mint for destruction. It's worth five hundred thousand dollars. Mr. President does not want to see any mistakes."
Pinkerton straightened his back, his voice booming with a heavy Scottish accent.
"Rest assured, Mr. Harrison. My boys are all elites retired from the Federal Army. On this railway line, no one can steal even a single copper coin from Pinkerton."
"That's good." Harrison handed him the document.
"Here are the bill of lading and the route map. Aside from you and me, only President Grant knows the specific departure time. Next Tuesday, ten o'clock at night. Baltimore-Potomac Train Station."
Pinkerton took the document and placed it solemnly into his inner coat pocket as if receiving a medal.
"I will escort it personally." Pinkerton patted his chest. "For the States."
Harrison nodded and turned to walk into the vault.
Pinkerton stood there for a moment, adjusted his bowtie, an irrepressible look of pride on his face.
Taking this job meant his detective agency would become the Federal Government's preferred security contractor.
That damned Argyle might be rich, but in tasks involving national secrets, the government still trusted an old-school detective like him more.
He turned and strode away.
In the corner, Timmy straightened up.
He leaned the broom against the wall, took a half-eaten apple from his pocket, and took a loud crunching bite.
"Escorting it personally?"
Timmy chewed the apple, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.
"That's just perfect. Saves me the trouble of looking for you."
...That evening, Baltimore.
"Old Captain's Tavern" was located in one of the filthiest alleys in the dock district. It was a gathering place for sailors, railway workers, and pickpockets.
Timmy had changed his attire.
Now he looked like a down-and-out merchant who had lost his money gambling. He sat at a corner table with a glass of low-quality rum in front of him.
A young man sat opposite him.
The man wore a conductor's uniform, his hat askew, his eyes darting around.
He was a dispatcher for the Baltimore Railroad Bureau named Jack. He also had another identity.
A low-level plant for the Intelligence Department.
"Is the stuff in?" Timmy asked in a low voice.
"It's in."
Jack was a bit nervous, his hands rubbing together incessantly under the table.
"As you ordered. I installed a double-layered tin box in the ventilation duct of that special escort carriage. The interface is connected to the heater's flue."
"Did anyone notice?"
"No, that carriage was just moved into the maintenance shed yesterday. I was the only maintenance worker on duty; everyone else thought I was cleaning out the soot."
Timmy took an envelope from his coat and pushed it across the table. The envelope was thick, filled with brand-new dollars.
"This is half. You'll get the other half once it's done."
Jack grabbed the envelope and swallowed hard.
"Sir, what exactly is in that box? Explosives? I don't want to kill anyone. My colleagues are on that train too."
"Relax, pal, it's not explosives." Timmy looked at him with some amusement.
"It's a sleep aid. Your colleagues will have a good night's sleep. When they wake up, they'll have nothing but a slight headache."
"Phew... that's good."
Jack's nervous expression relaxed immediately, and he stuffed the envelope into his pants.
"One more thing, Pinkerton's men came to inspect the carriage today."
Timmy's gaze sharpened instantly.
"Did they find anything?"
"No." Jack shook his head.
"The lead detective was very arrogant. He only checked the door locks and the window bars, never even looking at the ceiling. He even kicked me, complaining I was working too slowly."
"That's certainly a bad habit." Timmy picked up his glass and drained it in one gulp. "Arrogance is the best anesthetic."
...Philadelphia, Chestnut Street.
Pinkerton Detective Agency Headquarters.
It was like a massive military barracks.
The walls were covered with wanted posters, handcuffs, and rifles.
The telegraph machine clicked incessantly, recording crime reports from all over the country.
Allan Pinkerton sat in his office, assigning tasks to his son, William Pinkerton.
"William, this isn't just an escort mission."
Old Pinkerton pointed to the railway line on the map.
"This is a war. That upstart Argyle wants to get his hands into Washington. My friends say he's lobbying Congress to limit our powers. If we complete this mission perfectly, President Grant will sign that executive order, establishing our official status."
William was younger and more cautious than his father.
"But Father, I can't help feeling something is wrong." William frowned.
"This line is B&O Railroad territory, and Argyle is competing with B&O. Will he let us pass so smoothly?"
"What can he do? This isn't his railroad."
Old Pinkerton snorted dismissively.
"Does he dare hijack Federal gold? That's treason! Even Argyle wouldn't have the guts to pull something like that at a time like this."
"And..."
Pinkerton pulled a brand-new Colt Revolver from his drawer.
"This time I'm taking twenty men, each armed with dual pistols. Plus, there are two Vanguard Gatling guns mounted at both ends of the carriage. Even if an army comes, we can hold out for half an hour."
"But..."
"Enough, William, no 'buts'." Old Pinkerton stood up.
"Prepare to depart. Let that upstart see what professional looks like."
...Three days later.
New York, Williams Estate.
Felix was in the study teaching Karen how to write.
Flynn stood nearby, watching this heartwarming yet eerie scene.
"Has the fish taken the bait?" Felix asked, his eyes never leaving the child.
"Hook, line, and sinker. Timmy has everything arranged," Flynn replied.
"Pinkerton treats this mission as his coronation; he's deployed his most elite men. But he's made a fatal mistake."
"What mistake?"
"He trusts his guns." Flynn smiled.
"He thinks the enemy will storm through the carriage doors. But the old man doesn't know that the enemy is in the air."
"Perhaps he's just used to it."
Felix let go of the child's fingers and straightened up. The expression of a loving father vanished instantly, replaced by a chilling indifference.
"Notify the Shadow Squad; proceed as planned."
"Remember my requirements."
Felix walked up to Flynn and helped him adjust his tie.
"I don't want corpses. Dead men can speak; they become martyrs. I want them alive. I want filthy, ridiculous, incompetent living people."
"I want everyone in the States to see Pinkerton's old face and think not of a master detective, but of a 'clown'."
"Understood." Flynn bowed his head in respect.
"Go and see who is stronger, you or Pinkerton."
Felix patted Flynn's shoulder.