February 1, 187X, New York.
West of Broadway, between Tenth and Eleventh Avenues, there used to be a wasteland of abandoned slaughterhouses and coal yards. The air was perpetually thick with the smell of moldy blood and coal dust.
But today, a massive wooden sign was hung over the gates of a freshly painted red-brick factory building.
On the sign, in bold black letters, it read: General Electric Company.
In the bottom right corner of the sign was a smaller emblem, a variant of the Argyle Family crest.
Inside the factory.
Heinrich White wore a brand-new navy blue engineer's uniform, with three differently colored drafting pens tucked into his breast pocket.
He stood in the open office area on the second floor, overlooking the workshop below, which was as busy as an anthill.
This was no longer that corner of the laboratory in New Jersey.
"Hurry up, put those blueprints away over there!"
White shouted at several young apprentices who were moving drafting tables.
"Careful with that crate! It contains optical glass imported from Germany! If you break it, I'll sell you to the cotton fields in the South!"
His voice echoed through the cavernous factory.
Behind him stood a line of people waiting for interviews.
Among them were physics students recently graduated from Columbia University, veteran technicians who had worked at the Telegraph Office for ten years, and even two machinists who had sneaked over from Philadelphia.
White turned around, pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses, and scanned the crowd.
"Hey... listen up," White began, speaking at a rapid-fire pace.
"I don't care where you've worked before or how much talent you have. At General Electric, there's only one rule: either solve the problem, or get out."
He picked up a black, brick-like object from the table.
"Can anyone tell me what this is?"
No one spoke; they all looked at each other.
"This is a piece of mica," White said coldly.
"It's used for insulation. But it's too brittle; it cracks as soon as it's heated."
"The Boss—that is, Mr. Argyle—has asked us to build an 'Electric Iron.' The core component is a heating resistor wire. The temperature will reach as high as two hundred degrees. If the insulation layer cracks, the housewife using it will get an electric shock. Then we'll be sued in court until we don't even have our underwear left."
White tossed the mica onto the table.
"Whoever can find a replacement material that is heat-resistant, non-conductive, and cheap within a month will be the head of the Resistor Department, with a monthly salary of a hundred dollars."
A hand went up in the crowd.
It was a somewhat scruffy-looking middle-aged man, his fingers stained yellow with nicotine.
"Sir," the man said, his voice raspy.
"I've worked in a ceramics factory. Maybe we could try a 'bone china' formula. By mixing in kaolin and feldspar, the insulation after sintering is very good, and it's heat-resistant."
White stared at him for a few seconds.
"Name."
"Max. Max Weber."
"Very well, you're hired, Weber."
White pointed to a nearby desk.
"Go get your badge. You are now the acting head of the Materials Group. I want to see a sample in one week."
After finishing the interviews, White returned to his office.
It was piled high with blueprints.
Hanging on the wall were five massive city maps: New York, Washington, Chicago, Boston, and Philadelphia.
Each city was marked with red circles, indicating the sites for future power plants.
There was a knock at the door.
The person who entered was the newly appointed financial director of General Electric, and also the overseer sent by Frost, named David.
"Manager White."
David held a purchase order, his expression somewhat strained.
"You're requesting to buy five tons of pure copper? And two tons of rubber? This exceeds this month's budget."
"Budgets are for people to look at, not for machines."
White didn't even look up, continuing to calculate the torque of a generator rotor on a blueprint.
"David, you need to understand one thing. We aren't running a grocery store; we're laying down blood vessels."
"If the resistance of the cables in New York is too high, power will be lost as heat during transmission. That's burning money. Using pure copper may be expensive now, but it saves money in the long run."
"But..."
"No buts."
White stood up and walked to the map of New York.
"The Boss said that what General Electric is doing isn't just business; it's infrastructure."
"Look here." White pointed to Broadway.
"The City Council just approved the streetlamp renovation plan. Five hundred Arc Lamps need to be lit up by next month."
"If the lights don't turn on then, or if the wires catch fire, the Boss will hold me accountable."
David sighed. In the face of this frenzied German engineer, financial reports seemed utterly meaningless.
"Fine, I'll apply to the Argyle Bank for a special appropriation. However, regarding the 'Electric Fan' project..."
"What about the Electric Fan?"
"Our engineers say the current DC motors are too large. The smallest is the size of a watermelon. If mounted behind the blades, the whole fan would be as heavy as a guillotine. It's impossible to put on a desk."
White frowned. This was indeed a difficult problem.
The "small, lightweight, bedside" Electric Fan that Felix had described was practically science fiction given current technological conditions.
"Why is the motor so big?" White asked himself.
"Because the magnetic field isn't strong enough. We need more coils, larger magnets."
He suddenly thought of something and rummaged through a drawer for a notebook. It contained experimental data on electromagnets he had recorded back when he was still at Siemens.
"What if we don't use permanent magnets, but electromagnets instead?" White's eyes lit up.
"Using the current itself to generate a magnetic field—excitation coils!"
"This could reduce the size!"
He grabbed a drafting pen and began drawing rapidly on a piece of white paper.
"David, go call the Motor Group for a meeting! Now!" White roared excitedly.
"Tell them to stop fussing over those heavy magnets. Redesign the stator structure!"
"We're going to build a motor the size of a fist!"
David looked at the manager, who had entered a state of mania, shook his head helplessly, and turned to run out.
The entire factory was like a massive machine that had just been started, every gear screaming as it turned.
In a corner of the workshop, a batch of produced Carbon Filament Bulbs was being carefully packed into wooden crates filled with straw by workers.
Printed on the crates was a line: Dispel the darkness for just one dollar.
This was the retail price set by Felix, although it wasn't very profitable.
"Get the light bulbs into every home first," Felix had said.
"The moment they screw in that bulb, they become our slaves. Because only we sell the electricity."
White watched as the crates were loaded onto horse-drawn carriages and sent to the newly opened "General Electric Showroom."
A revolution that would change the human way of life was beginning right here, in this old, blood-scented slaughterhouse.
And on that map of Philadelphia, White drew a heavy 'X' with a red pen.
Then he picked up a primitive telephone prototype just produced in the lab, which could only communicate within the factory grounds.
"Connect me to the Boss's office," White shouted into the receiver.
After some static, Frost's calm voice came through.
"Mr. White?"
"Mr. Frost, tell the Boss."
White looked out the window at the high-voltage power towers being erected.
"The phase two expansion of the New York No. 1 Power Plant has begun. Also, the Electric Fan prototype might be ready by next week."
"Very good."
"The Boss will be very pleased. Also, the Boss asked me to remind you to maintain secrecy. Especially watch out for the remnants of Pinkerton and Carnegie's spies."
"Don't worry."
White looked down at the Vanguard Security guards patrolling with batons.
"Not even a fly can get in here unless it's wearing a badge."
Hanging up the phone, White buried himself in his blueprints once more.
In this crazy era, blueprints were battle maps, and screwdrivers were bayonets.
Baltimore, Maryland State.
The port city was shrouded in winter rain. The sea breeze from Chesapeake Bay carried a salty, fishy scent, battering the red brick building of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad headquarters.
John Garrett sat in his spacious office, the mahogany desk before him piled high with documents.
As the president of the B&O Railroad, Garrett was an old-fashioned gentleman. He wore a neatly trimmed gray beard, a sophisticated three-piece suit, and always carried a silver snuffbox in his hand.
He had managed the company for over a decade, pulling it back from the brink of bankruptcy and turning it into one of the most powerful railroad empires on the East Coast.
But at this moment, his hands were trembling with rage.
"This is a declaration of war."
Garrett slammed a document that had just arrived from Washington onto the table.
Papers flew everywhere, scattering all over the floor.
It was a draft copy of the "Railroad Safety and Standardization Act."
Standing across from him was the company's chief legal counsel, Harris.
"Harris, have you read this piece of shit yet?"
Garrett pointed at the documents on the floor, his voice cracking with agitation.
"'In consideration of national defense security and interstate trade efficiency, all federally chartered interstate railroads must unify their gauge to Standard Gauge (4 feet 8.5 inches) by January 1, 1872.'"
"This is aimed right at us!" Garrett roared.
"Only us! Only the B&O Railroad and part of the Erie Railroad are still using Broad Gauge (6 feet)! Everyone else switched long ago."
"It's not fair!"
Harris bent down to pick up the documents, pushing up his glasses helplessly.
"Mr. President, the proposer of this bill is Representative Buckley of Ohio. He's one of Argyle' men. Our friends in Congress say there's a powerful force pushing this proposal. The War Department has also expressed support, citing the delays in supplies caused by non-uniform gauges during the Civil War."
"That's an excuse!"
Garrett took a sharp pinch of snuff and sneezed.
"The Civil War ended five years ago; why didn't they say anything then? Bringing it up now is all for that damn Felix Argyle! It's still about the Carnegie Steel matter."
Garrett walked to the window, looking down at the busy station.
The B&O Railroad's locomotives were wider and heavier than those of other companies.
The Broad Gauge provided a more stable center of gravity and a greater load capacity, an advantage Garrett had always taken pride in.
"If we have to change the gauge..." Garrett muttered to himself.
"We would need to relay all the roadbeds, replace every sleeper. The wheelsets of two hundred locomotives would have to be recast. Five thousand freight cars would need modification."
"Harris, have you run the numbers?"
"I have. It's equivalent to rebuilding the entire railroad," Harris said, his face pale.
"It would cost approximately... fifteen million dollars. It would drain all our cash reserves and leave us with massive debt."
"Fifteen million." Garrett felt a wave of dizziness.
It wasn't just a matter of money.
During the process, the railroad's transport capacity would drop by half. For the B&O, which was currently competing with the Pennsylvania Railroad, this would be fatal.
"What does Argyle want?"
Garrett turned around, his eyes fierce.
"Does he want to buy the railroad? Or does he want to destroy it?"
"I think..." Harris hesitated.
"He wants you to cut ties with Carnegie."
Garrett fell silent.
It was true.
Although Carnegie's steel mill hadn't started production yet, once it did, the B&O would be its only transport line.
Argyle didn't want to see that line operational.
"But Carnegie gave me shares," Garrett said, gritting his teeth.
"That Scotsman has great potential. Once his new steel mill starts working, it could bring me two million in freight revenue every year."
Harris replied with some helplessness upon hearing this.
"But right now, for the sake of that two million in the future, are you going to sacrifice fifteen million in the present?"
Garrett fell into a struggle.
It was a brutal choice.
Should he stick to his principles to protect an ally and be dragged down by that act?
Or should he bow to Argyle, betray Carnegie, and trade it for survival?
"No." Garrett suddenly slapped the table.
"I will never bow. The B&O Railroad was America's first railroad! When Charles Carroll (a signer of the Declaration of Independence) shoveled the first spade of dirt, Argyle' grandfather was still digging potatoes in Ireland!"
"Harris, prepare the carriage! I'm going to Washington!"
"We're going to fight back. This is no longer a normal business competition; this is a constitutional issue. The Federal Government has no right to interfere with the technical standards of private enterprises!"
"Contact all the Senators from Maryland State, and those from Virginia! Tell them that if this bill passes, the B&O Railroad will go bankrupt, and the economies of these states will collapse. Have them block it for me in Congress!"
"And!" A flash of cunning crossed Garrett's eyes.
"Contact the newspapers—not the big ones bought off by Argyle. Find those local papers. Tell the public that Broad Gauge is safer and smoother. Tell them Argyle wants to cram everyone into narrow 'Standard Gauge' tin cans just to save money and turn the railroads into his own backyard!"
"We need to muddy the waters."
Seeing his Boss's determined attitude, Harris nodded.
"Understood, President. But... Argyle controls the House Railroad Committee. Our chances of winning there are slim."
"Then we go to the Senate!" Garrett roared.
"Those old guys in the Senate still care about state rights; they don't like parvenus from New York telling them what to do."
"Also, send a telegram to Carnegie."
Garrett paused for a moment.
"Tell him I'm still holding on. But tell him to use his head too. Drexel has some connections in Philadelphia; have him mobilize all those bankers."
"If we lose this battle, we all die together."
...
Three hours later, Washington D.C.
The lobby of the Willard Hotel—this was the true center of power brokering in Washington.
Garrett's lobbyists were scurrying about, their hands full of envelopes stuffed with cash.
In a second-floor suite of the hotel, Anna was holding Caesar, listening to her subordinate's report.
"Garrett has gone mad," the subordinate said.
"He's promising the Senators that if the bill is defeated, the B&O Railroad will build free branch lines for their constituencies."
Anna teased the infant in her arms. Caesar grabbed his mother's finger and giggled.
"He's making a desperate final struggle," Anna said calmly.
"Free branch lines? Those are empty promises. By the time he actually spends the money on lobbying, he won't have the funds to build roads."
"However, the Senate is indeed a problem. Those Southern Senators have always been wary of the expansion of federal power."
Anna looked up, her gaze becoming sharp.
"Release the news."
"What news?"
"About an accident on the B&O Railroad."
Anna spoke softly, as if telling a bedtime story.
"Find some witnesses to fabricate a story. Say that last week in Maryland State, a B&O Broad Gauge train derailed while turning because the gauge was too wide. Although no one died... you could say a few cows were killed. Or a shipment of milk was spilled."
"Focus the reports on how unstable the broad gauge is, that it's an outdated technology that kills people."
"Have Fowler's newspapers publish it tomorrow."
"And."
Anna handed Caesar to the nanny and stood up to straighten her skirt.
"I'm going to see Secretary Stanton of the War Department. Regarding that 'National Defense Security Report,' I think it needs a little more seasoning."
"Add what?"
"Add a clause: if another rebellion occurs, railroads with different gauges will prevent the Federal Army from mobilizing quickly. This is a vote for 'patriotism.' Anyone who opposes Standard Gauge is a potential traitor."
Anna walked to the mirror, looking at her still-beautiful face. A hint of the ruthlessness belonging to the Clark Family flashed in her eyes.
"Garrett wants to play politics? Then I'll show him what real politics looks like."
"In Washington, truth isn't important. What matters is whose voice is louder and whose labels are heavier."