Chicago, the boardroom of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company.
Charles Reeves, the company's founder and president, sat upright at the desk.
Opposite him were several of the company's old shareholders, their faces filled with anxiety and panic.
Among them, a director named Henderson, an informant for the Eastern Railroad Alliance, had an expression of undisguised triumph.
"Charles."
Henderson was the first to speak, his tone filled with false sympathy.
"We all heard about the transshipment yard incident; it truly is an unfortunate tragedy. This proves once again that our small company simply cannot compete with those giants in the East."
"Therefore," he revealed his true intentions, "I propose again that we seriously consider the acquisition plan offered by New York Central Railroad. Although their price isn't high, it will at least allow us to withdraw gracefully from this hopeless war."
"I object."
Reeves's voice was not loud, but it was exceptionally firm.
"Why do you object? Do you care about the interests of us shareholders? Our stock has been falling, and we've suffered huge losses!"
Henderson's voice rose by an octave.
"Is it because of your ridiculous ideals? Can ideals repair a burned-down signal tower? Can they pay employees' salaries next month? Charles, you need to wake up!"
"Of course, I'm not relying on ideals."
Reeves's face showed a confident smile that Henderson found unfamiliar.
"I'm relying on this."
He pushed a document to the center of the conference table.
"This is an emergency proposal I'm submitting as the company's general manager," he said slowly.
"I propose that the company conduct a targeted new share issuance totaling ten thousand dollars to raise funds for equipment repair and enhanced security."
"Issuing new shares?"
Henderson sounded as if he had heard the biggest joke.
"Charles, are you crazy? Who would buy our shares at a time like this?!"
"I will."
A calm voice came from the doorway of the conference room.
Allen, accompanied by Flynn, walked uninvited into the room.
"Mr. Williams?"
All the directors stood up in surprise.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen."
Allen smiled, nodded to everyone, and then walked directly to Reeves's side.
"Charles, it seems I'm not late."
"You've come at just the right time, Allen."
Reeves also stood up, and the two stood side by side.
"Mr. Williams... what do you intend to do?"
A hint of unease flashed in Henderson's eyes.
"Do what?" Allen looked at him and smiled. "Of course, become a new shareholder of this company, a major shareholder holding thirty percent of the shares."
He gently placed a ten-thousand-dollar bank cashier's check on top of the share issuance proposal.
"Now, I propose that the Board of Directors vote on this proposal."
Reeves continued his words with a raised voice.
Half an hour later, Henderson walked out of the conference room, his face ashen.
He knew that he and his boss behind him had made a fatal mistake.
The arson, which they had smugly thought would intimidate Reeves, had instead given Allen, an even more formidable enemy, a legitimate entry ticket.
Meanwhile, on the streets of Chicago, another silent war was entering its final stage.
In an underground tavern in the dock district.
Flynn pushed a heavy bag of silver coins toward a drunken informant.
"Tell me. Who did the job at the freight yard?"
Flynn's tone was cold and emotionless.
"I... I don't know..." the informant stammered.
"I'll give you one last chance to organize your thoughts, buddy."
Flynn plunged a dagger into the table.
"Say the name, and this money is yours. If you can't, this hand of yours stays here."
"It was... it was Kogan! 'Butcher' Kogan!" The informant completely broke down.
"He's a thug kept by a few big wholesalers in the city. He specializes in this kind of dirty work! Last night, he got drunk in another tavern and said it himself!"
"Very good."
Flynn withdrew the dagger and pushed the money bag over.
"Where is he now?"
...That night, at Chicago's most upscale restaurant, the "Golden Oak."
'Butcher' Kogan, a burly man with a scarred face, was flanked by women, enjoying caviar and French champagne with the payment he had just received from the wholesalers.
The restaurant door was pushed open.
Allen, accompanied by Flynn and O'Malley, walked slowly to his table like three gentlemen from hell.
"Mr. Kogan?"
Allen's face held a polite smile.
"Who are you? Get out! Don't disturb me while I'm eating!"
Kogan waved his hand impatiently.
Allen didn't speak, he just placed a small, heavy cloth bag next to Kogan's plate.
"A small gift," he said softly, "for your recent 'hard work.'"
Kogan heard this, glanced at the three men, and curiously opened the cloth bag.
The next second, his face instantly lost all color.
The bag contained not gold coins, but a pile of charcoal and ashes that still smelled of burning.
"You..." Kogan looked up in horror.
"Your masters, those gentlemen in New York, made a mistake."
Allen leaned down, his voice so soft that only their table could hear it.
"They thought this war could be fought from a thousand miles away, using their dirty little tricks."
"They were wrong."
"Because I am right here."
Allen's voice was like the Siberian cold wind, making Kogan feel as if he had fallen into an ice cellar.
"Don't worry, I won't do anything to you, but take a message back to your masters for me."
"Tell them that I, Allen Williams, am now a major shareholder with thirty percent of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company. What they burned was my property."
"From today, the rules of the game have changed. For every dollar of loss they inflict on me, I will take back ten dollars from them."
A cold killing intent, which Kogan would never forget, flashed in Allen's eyes.
"And tell them, next time, if any of my employees suffer even the slightest harm, it won't just be public opinion reported in the newspapers."
With that, Allen straightened up and adjusted his tie.
"Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Kogan," he smiled.
"After all, this is very likely your last meal in this city."
He turned and calmly left the restaurant with his bodyguards.
Only the man known as 'Butcher' remained, slumped in his chair, trembling uncontrollably like a sieve.