On Broadway in Lower Manhattan, the snow was crushed into black slush by hooves and wheels.
The cold wind whistled through the gaps between the brick and stone buildings, stinging the cheeks of passersby.
But on the top floor of the Argyle Empire Bank Building, winter was sealed away behind thick glass windows imported from France.
The anthracite in the conference room's fireplace burned brightly, occasionally letting out a soft crackle.
The deep luster of the massive rectangular mahogany conference table reflected the light from the newly installed chandelier above.
Felix sat at the head of the long table.
His fingers lightly tapped the tabletop, the signal for the start of the Executive Committee Board meeting.
Edward Frost, as the Secretary-General of the Executive Committee, stood to his left, holding a thick agenda.
"Gentlemen."
Felix's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a sense of oppression in the quiet room.
"1869 has passed; it was a year for sowing. Now, I want to see the harvest."
Seated on both sides of the long table were the vassals of the Argyle Empire.
First on the left was George Templeton, the president of the Argyle Bank.
He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and opened the ledger in front of him.
"Mr. Chairman," Templeton began.
"Over the past year, the Argyle Bank's balance sheet has seen explosive growth. This is thanks to three factors."
"First is the South. Through the capital recovery of the Argyle & Co. Foods and Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, our cash flow in the South has reached four hundred thousand dollars per month. Those plantation owners and the 'freed' Black laborers are essentially working for our bank."
"Second are the railroad bonds, which are the main portion. We profited handsomely from the short-selling campaign against the Erie Railroad and reinvested that money into Union Pacific bonds. Currently, the total value of Federal Government-guaranteed railroad bonds we hold exceeds five million."
"Third..."
Templeton glanced at Heinrich White, sitting opposite him (though White was not yet a board member, he was granted special permission to attend today).
"Is the recent 'electricity concept' craze. Since the lights went on at the Astor Estate, Wall Street has gone mad. Countless funds are pouring into our affiliated accounts, trying to buy even a single share of electrical-related stock."
"Even capital from Philadelphia is flowing out."
Templeton showed a smug smile.
"Deposits at Drexel's bank dropped by 15% last month. Depositors feel that keeping their money in a city still lit by gas lamps isn't safe enough."
Felix nodded.
"And the profit margin?"
"Return on equity is 28%," Templeton replied.
"Too low," Felix spat out, frowning.
Templeton's smile froze on his face.
"Boss, this is already twice the Wall Street average..."
"George, I don't want Wall Street's level." Felix leaned forward.
"I want a monopoly's level. Your lending rates in the South are too conservative. Those plantation owners have no choice; starting this year, raise the interest rates by another two points."
"But that might lead to more bankruptcies..."
"If they go bankrupt, seize the land. Land doesn't run away. Next item," Felix interrupted with a wave of his hand.
Jones, the president of the Argyle & Co. Foods, stood up.
He had gained quite a bit of weight recently, his belly straining against his vest.
"Mr. Chairman, the food sector is very stable," Jones said, flipping through his report.
"Our slaughterhouses in Chicago already control 6% of the meat supply on the East Coast. The food plants are running three shifts."
"There is just one problem." Jones hesitated.
"Regarding the backlog of 'Grade 3 meat.' That is... well, the less-than-fresh scraps. Following your instructions, we've turned them into low-priced luncheon meat and sold them to the company stores in the South."
"But there have been some complaints recently; some laborers got sick after eating it... A few even died."
The atmosphere in the conference room froze for a second.
Felix picked up the whiskey in front of him and took a sip.
"What was the cause of death?"
"The doctors say... dysentery. Or food poisoning."
"Then it's dysentery." Felix set down his glass.
"Sanitary conditions in the South are poor to begin with. What does it have to do with our canned goods? Perhaps they drank dirty water."
"Jones, listen. Those cans are for the laborers in debt. As long as it doesn't kill most of them, it's acceptable food. If someone dies, it's because their constitution is weak."
"There is no subject called 'conscience' in business. Only cost and profit. Do you understand?"
Jones nodded hastily. "Understood, chairman. I will handle the report. Also, we've added more pepper and salt to the cans to enhance the flavor."
"Good."
Felix's gaze turned to the other end of the long table.
Sitting there was Miller, the dual president of Vanguard Military Industry and Saineng Minerals. Dressed in a black tactical trench coat, he carried an air of gunpowder even in the conference room.
"Miller. Tell me about your 'toys'."
Miller stood up, his movements as efficient as a soldier's.
"The orders for Prussia have been shipped," Miller reported.
"Three ships of breech-loading steel cannons and five thousand Vanguard-69 Rifles. The recipient at the Port of Hamburg is Major Alvensleben. Payment was made in gold and has been deposited."
"Chancellor Bismarck wrote us a private letter. He is very interested in our 'Nitroglycerin Stabilizer' and hopes we can transfer the patent."
"Reply that we won't transfer it," Felix refused decisively.
"We can sell explosives, we can even build a factory in Berlin, but the formula must remain in our hands. That is the lifeblood of the Umbrella Chemical Laboratory."
"Understood," Miller continued.
"Domestically, the situation in Pittsburgh is more complicated."
At the mention of Pittsburgh, everyone pricked up their ears.
It was currently the empire's only sore spot.
"That shorty Carnegie is very resilient." Miller frowned.
"Although we cut off his transport via the Pennsylvania Railroad, his connection with the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad isn't completely severed. Plus, that banker Drexel is giving him a transfusion."
"They've continued to hire Pinkerton's men." Miller glanced at Felix.
"Even though Pinkerton himself has been discredited by us, those detectives do have some skill. They've built barricades on the construction sites and even set up machine guns. It's difficult for the strike teams to infiltrate and sabotage."
"Furthermore, I heard Carnegie brought in generators from Europe. He wants to run twenty-four-hour production."
Felix's fingers stopped tapping.
"He's imitating me."
Felix laughed, but there was no mirth in his eyes.
"Using my light to illuminate his path."
"What are Matthew Becker's movements?"
"Becker is executing your 'land dispute' plan. We've found dozens of so-called 'indigenous people' and 'landowners' to file lawsuits against the right-of-way for that newly built railroad. The cases are ongoing, but this only buys time."
Felix pondered for a moment.
"Relying on the law alone isn't enough. Miller, I recall Saineng Minerals controls the coal mines in that area, right?"
"Yes."
"If Carnegie wants to make steel, he needs coal. If he can't buy it locally, he'll have to transport it from West Virginia. That's B&O Railroad territory."
"I want you to form a Mine Accident Investigation Team." Felix's tone became soft.
"Go to West Virginia, to those mines supplying Carnegie, and inspect their safety facilities."
"If any hazards are found..."
Felix made an exploding gesture.
"Then help them 'rectify' it. Shut down the mines. Or have the coal-transporting bridges undergo 'maintenance'."
"Without coal, his blast furnaces are just piles of scrap metal."
Miller revealed a cruel smile.
"That's my specialty, Boss. I'll make the West Virginia coal mine owners understand that selling coal to Carnegie is just buying themselves a tombstone."
Felix looked around.
"It's not enough. We need to establish a new order. An order where all challengers are strangled in their infancy."
He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the gray sky.
"Frost, let the people for the second half in."
"Yes, sir."
The conference room doors were pushed open.
A group of new faces walked in.
They were the general managers of the various member companies, the high-ranking officials of the family.
Among them, walking at the very back, was Heinrich White, who was also the head of the Electrical Department at the Argyle Central Laboratory.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on him.
Because everyone knew that today's main event was about electricity.
Felix turned around, his back to the window.
The light from outside formed a silhouette behind him.
"Gentlemen."
"Welcome to the age of electricity."
Heinrich White sat somewhat uncomfortably on an empty chair at the end of the long table.
Sitting opposite him, Peter Jenkins, the general manager of Standard Oil Company, was sizing him up with a scrutinizing gaze.
"Mr. White."
Jenkins spoke first, breaking the silence.
"I hear 'electric lights' are going to replace all forms of lighting? What about Standard Oil's kerosene? You should know that 'Blue Can' kerosene has just captured nearly half of the United States market."
Hearing this, White froze for a moment then pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses; when it came to his professional field, his timidity vanished.
"I don't think kerosene will disappear, Mr. Jenkins."
White's voice was a bit stiff.
"But it will return to where it belongs. The huts of the poor, or as a chemical raw material. But in cities, in factories, in any place that values efficiency and civilization, electricity is the only choice."
"The only choice?" Jenkins sneered. "Quite the bold claim."
"Enough."
Felix's voice interrupted the argument before it could truly begin.
He walked back to the head seat and sat down.
"Jenkins, your vision is too narrow. If electric lights become widespread, generators will need fuel. Large amounts of fuel—coal, or perhaps oil in the future. This is an upstream and downstream relationship in the industry chain, not a hostile one."
"I didn't ask you here today to argue, but to announce a new personnel appointment and structural reorganization. Edward."
Frost placed a document sealed with red wax in the center of the table.
"According to the resolution of the chairman of the executive committee," Felix announced, "effective immediately, General Electric Company is established."
"General," Felix repeated the word.
"This means it does not serve one person. It serves everyone, just like air and water."
"This company will be independent from the 'Argyle Central Laboratory Electrical Department' and will be on the same level as Federal Real Estate and News Media."
"The first manager will be Heinrich White."
White snapped his head up, his eyes full of shock.
He hadn't expected what Frost said earlier to be true.
This meant he was no longer just a high-level employee, but had entered the management of the Argyle system.
Although he had been high-ranking in the laboratory before, an independent company was different.
He would have company shares and dividends, and the power to mobilize resources.
"White," Felix stared at him.
"Don't get happy too soon. I'm giving you power because the task is arduous."
Felix pointed to a map of the United States hanging on the wall, marked with several red dots.
"New York, Washington, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia."
"These are the first batch of target cities."
"I want you to establish large-scale thermal power plants in these five cities within a year. The scale must be ten times larger than the Pearl Street Station No. 1."
"Ten times?" White sucked in a breath of cold air.
"That would require massive funding and land. You know land in major city centers is more expensive than gold."
"The funding will be provided by the Argyle Bank."
Felix pointed at Templeton.
"The land will be negotiated by Federal Real Estate. If they can't reach an agreement, let the family's 'friends' in various places handle the negotiations."
"Your main task is to lay down the power grid."
"Not just for streetlights."
Felix stood up, walked behind White, and pressed his hands on his shoulders.
"White, I want you to design civilian products."
"Currently, our electricity is only supplied to the wealthy like Astor. But that won't make big money; the real big money is in the hands of the middle class."
"I want light bulbs that can enter thousands of households. I want the middle class to feel that lighting a candle is a disgrace."
"Also, electricity isn't just for light. It can do other things. I've thought of a term: 'home appliances'."
"For example, fans—can we try installing a motor?"
"And electric irons. Using the principle of resistance heating, can we make an iron that doesn't need charcoal?"
White's eyes lit up, the light of an engineer seeing a new continent.
"Boss, theoretically, it's all possible. We just need to solve the problem of miniaturizing the motors."
"Then solve it," Felix patted his shoulder.
"General Electric Company is meant to make electricity serve all purposes."
"Yes, Boss!" White stood up excitedly.
"I guarantee that by this time next year, summers in New York will be cool, and housewives' irons will no longer smoke!"
"Good, you've got spirit."
Felix turned around and looked at the others at the conference table.
"General Electric is our new engine, but that doesn't mean other companies can slack off."
"Coleman."
Felix called the president of Lex Steel Company.
"Present."
"The steel plants need to expand production. White needs a lot of steel to build power plants—generators, transmission towers, and boilers. I don't want to let others earn this money, especially not Carnegie."
"Understood," Coleman nodded. "The No. 3 blast furnace in New Jersey can be fired up next month."
"Sholes."
Felix looked at the general manager of Standard Commercial Company.
Christopher Sholes, the man who invented the typewriter.
"How are the typewriters and stock tickers selling?"
"Very well, chairman," Sholes reported.
"Standard typewriters have entered 8% of law firms and government agencies across the country. Though some people have been complaining about the keyboard layout."
"It's fine, habit is monopoly," Felix smiled.
"Once they become proficient with this fingering, they'll never be able to use anyone else's machines again."
"However, Sholes, your product line is too narrow. Relying solely on typewriters and stock tickers isn't enough to uphold the'Standard Commercial' name."
Felix pulled a brass key from his pocket and tossed it to Frost.
"Take them to the showroom next door and show Sholes something. A new toy from the Acoustics Department."
Everyone looked at each other.
"Acoustics Department?"
That was the most inconspicuous corner of the laboratory. It was said to be full of madmen who spent all day shouting at tin cans.
"Let's go," Felix led the way out of the conference room.
The group walked through a corridor covered in thick carpet and came to a room without windows.
In the center of the room, a strange machine sat on a table.
It had a huge brass horn connected to a cylinder wrapped in tin foil, with a hand crank on the side.
Standing next to that machine was a young man.
He looked to be only in his early twenties, with hair as messy as a bird's nest, his shirt buttons misaligned, and his hands covered in grease and graphite.
But his eyes were frighteningly bright.
It was the look unique to a genius.
He was Thomas Edison.
Currently, he was just a researcher in the Acoustics Department of the Argyle Central Laboratory.
Seeing these big shots enter, Edison rubbed his hands together nervously.
"Boss, this is the... that thing you wanted."
Felix walked over, looking at the primitive machine.
"This is the Phonograph?"
"Yes, sir," Edison swallowed hard.
"I call it the 'talking machine'."
A soft ripple of laughter went through the room.
A talking machine? It sounded like a circus trick.
Felix didn't laugh; he raised his hand to signal silence.
"Demonstrate it, Tom."
Edison took a deep breath and walked to the machine.
He put his mouth close to the brass horn, and with one hand on the crank, he began to turn it at a steady speed.
The cylinder wrapped in tin foil began to rotate.
A thin needle pressed against the foil.
Edison shouted into the horn:
"Mary had a little lamb! Its fleece was white as snow!"
After shouting, he stopped.
He reset the needle to the starting point.
Everyone stared at him as if looking at a fool.
Then, Edison turned the crank again.
Rustle... rustle... a harsh scratching sound came from the horn.
Immediately after.
"...Mary had a little lamb... its fleece was white as snow..."
The voice was somewhat distorted and high-pitched, with a metallic quality.
But it was a human voice—it was Edison's voice.
The smiles of those who had wanted to laugh just moments ago froze on their faces.
The cigar in Jones's hand fell to the floor, and White's hand, which was pushing up his glasses, froze in mid-air.
This was even more shocking than the electric light.
The electric light merely imitated the sun.
But this machine imitated man; it captured time.
"My God..."
Sholes murmured to himself.
"This is... the voice of a ghost."
Felix looked at this group of elites and showed a satisfied smile.
He patted the brass horn of the machine.
"Wrong. This is the sound of money."
In the room, the lingering rustling sound remained after the machine stopped spinning.
Felix's palm pressed against the tinfoil-covered cylinder, feeling the subtle indentations on it.
That was the physical shape of sound, the first time in human history that invisible sound waves had been solidified into tangible matter.
"Sholes," Felix called out.
Christopher Latham Sholes, the general manager of Standard Commercial Company, snapped back to his senses as if waking from a nightmare.
He looked at the machine with a complex expression—one of both pleasant surprise and greed.
"chairman... I'm here."
"How much do you think this thing can sell for?" Felix asked.
Sholes was a shrewd businessman; he quickly adjusted his state of mind and began to examine the object through the lens of business logic.
"If you're asking about its value as a circus exhibit, it's priceless," Sholes said cautiously.
"But as a commodity... to be honest, who would buy it? Buy it to listen to themselves talk?"
"You lack imagination," Felix said, shaking his head.
He paced around the machine.
"To you right now, it is indeed a toy. But for the business world, it is a revolutionary tool."
Felix pointed at the executives who were still in shock.
"Use your brains and imagine. In our offices, how many documents need to be drafted every day? How many letters need to be replied to? The current process is: the Boss dictates, the stenographer records, and then it's handed over to the typist."
"Stenographers are expensive, they make mistakes, and they leak secrets."
"But if we have this machine..."
Felix patted the brass horn.
"The Boss can speak directly into it. Record instructions, letters, and draft contracts. Then hand this tinfoil cylinder to the typist."
"This is called an 'Office Dictation Machine'."
Sholes's eyes lit up.
He was in the Typewriter business and understood office needs perfectly.
"If it could be sold as a set with the Typewriter... that wouldn't be bad at all."
Sholes murmured to himself.
"We could sell them to lawyers, judges, and even doctors for recording medical records."
Felix nodded. "You see, that's the first step. Commercial use."
"But that's not all."
Felix looked at the disheveled Edison.
"Tom, can this tinfoil cylinder of yours be duplicated?"
"Duplicated?" Edison was stunned, not quite understanding.
"The current process isn't there yet; every recording is one-time use. Plus, the tinfoil is fragile; it wears down after being played a few times."
"Then go improve it," Felix ordered.
"Talk to the people in the Chemistry Department to change the material. Try wax or hard rubber. I want a material that can be mass-pressed."
"Once the duplication problem is solved," Felix's gaze became profound.
"We can sell'sound' itself."
"When that time comes, we can hire the best opera singers to record, or have the President give a speech. We can even hire the best orchestras to perform."
"Then we sell these cylinders to every household, just like selling canned goods."
"People won't need to go to the theater to hear the songs of Broadway in their own living rooms."
"This is called the 'Entertainment Industry'."
The people in the room were instantly enlightened; so this was what the Boss had planned.
And to be fair, as business magnates...
Those present actually lacked entertainment; thinking about being able to hear opera in the office sounded quite nice.
If the electric light was meant to conquer the night, then this machine was meant to conquer loneliness.
"Sholes," Felix commanded.
"The production and sales rights for this machine will be given to your Standard Commercial Company. Give it a good name when the time comes."
"We will think of a good name."
Sholes's hands were trembling with excitement once he understood the potential uses.
"But I'll need Mr. Edison's technical support."
"Of course." Felix looked at Edison.
"Tom, you've done very well."
Felix pulled a check from his pocket, which he had prepared long ago.
"This five thousand dollars is your bonus."
Edison took the check, his eyes widening.
He had never seen so much money in his life.
"Furthermore, you can establish a specialized 'Phonograph R&D Team' affiliated with Standard Commercial. Ask Sholes for whatever equipment you need."
"But remember one thing."
Felix's voice became stern.
"The patent rights belong to the company; you only have the right to credit and profit-sharing. If you dare leak this technology to anyone else... like Siemens, or Bell (the inventor of the telephone, who was still a competitor at this time)..."
"Trust me, it won't end well for you."
Edison nodded frantically, his brow twitching.
"Understood, Boss. I only want to invent. The equipment here is the best in the world; I'm not going anywhere."
"Very well."
Felix waved his hand, signaling Frost to record the cashing of the check.
"Gentlemen."
Felix returned to the conference table.
"Look at the cards in our hands."
He extended his fingers, counting them one by one.
"We have 'General Electric', controlling light and power."
"We have 'Standard Oil', controlling fuel."
"We have 'Lex Steel', controlling the skeleton."
"We have 'Argyle Bank', controlling the blood."
"We have the 'Mississippi Railroad', 'Union Pacific', and several other railroad companies controlling the blood vessels."
"Now, with the Phonograph and the Typewriter, we are beginning to control the recording and dissemination of information."
"This is a closed loop. A perfect closed loop."
"In this closed loop, even if a fly passes through, it has to pay a tax to the Argyle Family."
All the directors and managers stood up.
The same fire burned in their eyes—a fanatical worship of monopoly.
"For the Empire." Templeton raised his glass.
"For the Empire," everyone echoed in unison.
Felix raised his glass, looking at the amber liquid within.
But he knew in his heart that in this seemingly impenetrable closed loop, there were still gaps.
"Alright, meeting adjourned." Felix put down his glass.
"By the way, Miller, you stay behind."
The crowd dispersed.
Only Felix, Miller, and Frost remained in the conference room.
"Besides causing mining accidents in Pittsburgh, has there been any other progress?" Felix asked.
"Yes." Miller pulled a piece of intelligence from his coat.
"Our informant inside the B&O Railroad reports that although Garrett refused Carnegie's request for expansion, he didn't completely cut off transport. Because Carnegie gave him shares, the B&O Railroad is now a secret shareholder in Carnegie Steel."
"As long as the B&O Railroad is still running, Carnegie can keep breathing."
Felix narrowed his eyes, feeling somewhat displeased.
"Garrett, that old stubborn fool; it seems he's determined to go against me."
"Since the soft approach won't work, we'll use force."
Felix walked to the map and stared at the location of Baltimore.
"Frost."
"At your service."
"Notify our friends in Congress, especially that Representative Buckley. Have him submit a bill regarding the 'Railroad Safety and Standardization Act'."
"What will it entail?"
"Hmm, let me think... It should mandate that all railroads operating across state lines must unify their track gauge to 'Standard Gauge' (4 feet 8.5 inches). The reason being the needs of wartime national defense transport."
"But the B&O Railroad uses Broad Gauge."
Miller reacted immediately, knowing that the B&O was one of the earliest railroads in America and had always used a unique Broad Gauge.
"Exactly."
Felix sneered; if it weren't, he wouldn't have to go to such trouble.
"If the bill passes, Garrett will have to replace all his tracks and locomotive wheelsets. That's a massive expense that will drain his cash flow."
"When the time comes, in order to survive, perhaps he'll sell off his non-core assets. Like... his shares in Carnegie Steel? Plus, the replacement period will also stall Carnegie's momentum."
"That indeed seems to be the case," Miller praised.
"Alright, go take care of it."
The snow stopped.
The lights of New York began to flicker on.
"Andrew."
Felix softly spoke the name.
"It seems you've learned well."