Philadelphia.
The second floor of a hidden import-export firm on the banks of the Delaware River.
Inside the room, a brass oil lamp on the desk emitted a dim light.
Clive Cavendish sat behind the desk.
In his hand, he clutched an urgent transoceanic telegram sent from 22 Broad Street in London.
There weren't many words on the paper.
But each one pierced him to the core.
"Dividends revoked; final warning; unauthorized actions leading to failure. Any further disobedience will result in the severance of all funding authorizations."
Cavendish's gaze lingered on these few lines for a long time, and beads of cold sweat slowly seeped from his forehead.
His assistant, Bates, stood across from the desk, holding an investigation report sent from Pittsburgh.
However, seeing his boss's increasingly grim expression, he didn't dare to make a sound.
"Mr. Cavendish."
Bates swallowed hard and tentatively broke the silence.
"Is it an inquiry from London?"
Cavendish set down the telegram and leaned back against his chair, exhaling a long, heavy breath.
"No... it's not an inquiry, Bates. It's a notice."
Cavendish's voice was dry. He reached out with some discomfort and pressed his temples.
"I was still too careless, thinking that controlling nearly six million pounds in cash would allow me to call the shots in the American steel market. I forgot that this money doesn't belong to Cavendish; it belongs to Morgan."
Seeing this, Bates quickly changed the subject, not wanting to get dragged into certain matters.
"Sir. Since that Scotsman Carnegie betrayed us and went over to Argyle, we can't just swallow this. Should we hire some local gangs to go to Pittsburgh and cause trouble at his steel mill? We could smash a few blast furnaces or cut off his coal transport rail lines."
"Oh shit—that is truly a dogshit idea, Bates."
Cavendish snapped his eyes open, his gaze filled with helplessness.
"In our current situation, we are in no position to go head-to-head with Argyle."
Cavendish stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the pitch-black Delaware River.
"Do you think Old Morgan's mention of'severing funding authorizations' in the telegram was just an empty threat?"
Cavendish turned around and looked at Bates.
"Even though I come from the Cavendish family and my cousin is the Duke of Devonshire—and in London, our family's estates and hunting grounds are larger than Morgan's bank—"
"So what? His Grace only cares about his racehorses and his seat in Parliament every day. He won't go to war with the increasingly powerful and vicious financial sharks of the City of London for the sake of a distant relative who botched a business deal in America."
Cavendish walked to the desk, his finger tapping the telegram.
"Old Morgan wouldn't dare do anything to my family, as that would be a provocation against the British Empire's aristocratic system. But he can freeze all my private accounts in London without lifting a finger."
"He could even sell off the overseas rubber plantation bonds held by our branch of the family. He could turn me from a respectable investment banker into a bankrupt man who can't even afford club dues in a very short time."
Hearing this, Bates felt a chill run down his spine.
Are you finance people really this ruthless?
"Then what should we do now, sir? Carnegie is lost, and Argyle has torn a massive hole in our layout for heavy industry."
"Forget that fool, of course."
Cavendish sat back in his chair, his gaze regaining its composure.
"Old Morgan issued a strict order in the telegram: Westinghouse Electric is our only trump card for a comeback."
Cavendish opened a drawer and pulled out a blank checkbook.
"Prepare the carriage for the train station. We're going to Westinghouse Electric tonight."
The next morning.
Pennsylvania, on the outskirts of Pittsburgh.
The carriage bumped along the muddy dirt road, finally stopping before a warehouse enclosed by high walls.
This was the laboratory of George Westinghouse and Thomas Edison.
Cavendish pushed open the carriage door and stepped down.
Bates quickly followed behind.
Just as they reached the warehouse entrance, a strong smell of ozone and burnt rubber assaulted their nostrils.
They pushed open the heavy iron door.
The interior of the laboratory was in total disarray.
Copper coils, Silicon steel sheets, and barrels of pungent-smelling insulating oil were piled everywhere.
In the center of the warehouse.
Edison was hunched over a massive blueprint, rapidly revising something with a charcoal pencil. His hair was as messy as a bird's nest, and his white shirt was stained with black machine oil and ink.
George Westinghouse, with a few assistants, stood before a massive, newly assembled Transformer model. He held a wrench and was tightening the mounting bolts on the casing.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
Cavendish walked in, his leather shoes making a harsh grinding sound on the concrete floor covered in metal shavings.
Westinghouse stopped his work and turned his head.
"Hmm? It's Mr. Cavendish."
Westinghouse wiped his hands with a towel.
"Why have you come in person? We reported in the telegram two days ago that the five-thousand-volt step-up test has been preliminary completed."
Edison also looked up, tossed his charcoal pencil onto the desk, and walked straight toward Cavendish without any pleasantries.
"You've come at a good time, Englishman."
"I've solved the Transformer problem. The rubber insulation layer and the oil-immersion cooling system can fully withstand five thousand volts of high pressure. However, we're now stuck on the next step."
Edison pointed to the wreckage of a burnt-out motor in the corner.
"After the high-voltage Alternating Current is transmitted, we need a motor that can use Alternating Current directly. Without a motor, the factory lathes won't turn."
"Those factory owners aren't going to replace their entire power supply network just to light a few light bulbs."
"So, I need a theoretical model for the rotor."
"The existing Direct Current brush structure burns out as soon as Alternating Current is introduced, and it's also very easy to run into conflicts with General Electric."
Looking at the pile of scrap metal, Cavendish showed no impatience.
"Is that so? Then I need to know the cost of solving this problem, Mr. Edison."
"Time, materials, and money."
Edison stared at Cavendish unceremoniously and stated his requirements.
"I need to build a specialized electromagnetic mechanics test field, I need to import the highest quality copper from South America, and I need to send consultation fees to those physics professors at European universities to buy the theoretical ideas in their heads."
"We saw the news of United Trust Bank's bankruptcy in New York, and Carnegie has fled. I'm just asking you one thing. Can that boss of yours in London continue to provide funding? If the supplies are cut off, this lab will disband very quickly."
Cavendish did not get angry at Edison's questioning; after all, this man was the key player now.
Instead, he took the checkbook from his pocket, walked to a nearby table, and pulled out a fountain pen.
"Mr. Edison, Mr. Westinghouse."
Cavendish said in a steady tone as he wrote.
"The bankruptcy in New York was merely to shed some bad debt burdens. Mr. Morgan's coffers are far deeper than you can imagine."
He tore off the check and handed it to Westinghouse.
Westinghouse took it and glanced at the figure.
Two hundred thousand dollars wasn't a huge amount, but it wasn't small either.
"This is just the initial construction cost for the test field."
"Do not consider the cost. If you need copper and rubber, we will buy you the best. The Empire's merchant ships will dock directly at the Port of Philadelphia."
Cavendish looked directly at the two of them.
"Mr. Morgan has only one order: build that brush-less AC motor you mentioned. As long as that thing starts spinning, the DC cables Argyle laid in Manhattan will turn into a pile of unwanted junk."
Edison's eyes lit up as he looked at the check.
"As long as I have enough materials, three months! Give me three months, and I will definitely find the laws of magnetic field rotation."
Edison gritted his teeth and began to ramp up his intensity.
Cavendish nodded.
He has ambition!
It seemed things at Westinghouse Electric were stabilized for the time being.
He then turned and walked toward the laboratory door, with Bates following behind.
This was the core weapon to overthrow the Argyle's Empire in the future.
But a weapon alone was not enough!
He also needed to follow Old Morgan's instructions to assemble a company capable of directly blocking Argyle on the commercial battlefield.
"Bates," Cavendish said as he sat in the carriage.
"Gather all the commercial investigators immediately upon returning to Philadelphia. Carnegie's vacancy must be filled as soon as possible."
...
In the meeting room on the second floor of the secret office.
A rough industrial distribution map of the United States of America hung on the wall.
Several nodes in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Illinois were heavily marked with red pushpins.
Clive Cavendish sat at the head of the long conference table.
On both sides of the table sat six shrewd and capable commercial spies and acquisition agents.
They were the eyes and hands of the Morgan Family planted in North America.
"Gentlemen."
Cavendish crossed his hands on the table, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.
"Carnegie's defection caused us to lose a pivot point on the steel front. But Mr. Morgan's instructions are clear. There are over a hundred steel mills in America, and Argyle' Lex Steel cannot swallow all the production capacity."
Cavendish picked up a billiard cue and walked to the map.
The tip of the cue pointed to a red dot in Ohio.
"Silas."
Cavendish looked at the agent sitting in the first position on the left.
"What is the situation at the Ohio Valley Steel Mill?"
The agent named Silas immediately opened the file folder in his hand.
"Mr. Cavendish, the Ohio Valley Steel Mill has three old-fashioned blast furnaces. Their primary business is producing wrought iron for construction and agricultural iron tools. Last month, Lex Steel's sales representatives entered the Cincinnati market and used structural steel priced fifteen percent below cost to directly snatch away nearly half of their orders. This mill's cash flow is currently struggling, and they are considering suspending operations and laying off workers."
Cavendish nodded, and the billiard cue moved to another red dot in Pennsylvania.
"Then what about the Susquehanna Iron Works? Garrick, this is your target."
Garrick pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"Heh... this mill is even worse off. They originally supplied rail accessories to the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. But since the Argyle Family took a controlling stake in the Pennsylvania Railroad two years ago, they directly canceled their procurement contracts and replaced everything with Lex Steel rails. Things have gone from bad to worse over the last two years. Their owner is now as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, borrowing money everywhere in hopes of pivoting to shipbuilding steel plates. But according to my investigation, no bank currently dares to lend to them."
Cavendish put down the cue and walked back to sit at the head of the table.
"Is that so? It seems they are all being driven to a dead end by Argyle."
As he spoke, a smile tugged at the corner of Cavendish's mouth.
"This is exactly the state we need. Despair... Desperate merchants are the most likely to accept a devil's bargain."
Cavendish began to issue specific acquisition orders.
"Silas, Garrick. You two will go and approach the owners of these two nearly bankrupt independent steel mills separately."
"But remember, you must absolutely not reveal the background of the Morgan Family and British capital. Argyle' intelligence network spans the East Coast. If he catches our scent, he will certainly use his connections in Washington to seize these transactions in the name of the Foreign Capital Restriction Act."
Cavendish pointed to a pile of registration documents on the table.
"Register two completely independent shell companies in Delaware and New Jersey, and have local lawyers represent you in the negotiations."
"Tell them we will provide a low-interest debt-to-equity swap."
Cavendish threw out the strategy devised by Old Morgan.
"Use this money to help them clear their high-interest loans, and we will also help them purchase the latest Bessemer converter equipment from Europe. We'll even provide the funds to poach senior engineers from Lex Steel."
"The condition is that these three steel mills must be restructured into the 'Federal Steel Company.' The factory price of their steel must be five percent lower than that of Lex Steel."
Silas frowned in confusion.
"Sir, constantly injecting capital to let them fight a price war isn't much different from what Carnegie did before. Isn't that just burning money for nothing?"
"The money burned buys the bloodletting of Argyle."
"You must realize that Lex Steel is the foundation of the Argyle's Empire. As long as the Federal Steel Company seizes the market, Lex's profit margins will drop significantly."
Cavendish looked at him coldly.
He didn't think there was anything wrong with Old Morgan's strategy; after all, even if the two merged and introduced the latest equipment, it would be impossible to catch up with Lex Steel immediately.
There was certainly no problem with using low prices to seize the market first.
Once they occupied the market, they could completely raise prices after developing better steel in the future.
The agents suddenly understood; it was a typical war of capital attrition.
"Alright, that's it for the steel industry."
Cavendish turned his gaze to the other end of the conference table.
"Now, let's talk about guns and cannons."
Cavendish took out a thick defense report.
"Pioneer Military Industry, this is the Argyle Family's private armory. They hold the patents for the gatling gun and repeating rifles. They also have a monopoly on procurement contracts from the Department of the Army in Washington."
Cavendish looked at the agent responsible for military intelligence.
"Colt, Winchester, Remington—what is the current situation of these three established American firearm manufacturers?"
The agent immediately reported.
"Quite bad, Mr. Cavendish."
The agent opened his notebook.
"Colt in Hartford. Since Samuel Colt's death, his widow Elizabeth has been struggling to keep it going. To be honest, revolvers are selling well. But in the Army rifle bidding, they were soundly defeated by Pioneer Military Industry's breech-loading rifles. They lack the funds to develop new types of repeating firearms."
"As for the Winchester Family in New Haven. Although they have the patents for lever-action rifles, their machine tools are too outdated. Pioneer Military Industry previously used steam-powered assembly lines to drive down production costs. Winchester's manual workshop model simply cannot compete. Their guns are sold very expensively in the West, and only bounty hunters can afford them, so they can't get the big orders from the military."
"As for Remington, it's even worse; they've even started imitating General Electric's Typewriters and sewing machines just to keep the armory running."
Cavendish nodded with satisfaction after listening.
These once-famous military industries were now losers trodden under Argyle' feet.
But that didn't matter; their brands were still there.
Their heritage was also still there, and more importantly, they must be filled with resentment toward Pioneer Military Industry.
"Send people to contact Elizabeth Colt and Oliver Winchester."
Facing Cavendish's instructions, the agent was somewhat worried.
"But these gunsmiths have an extremely strong sense of family honor; I'm afraid they might be hard to approach..."
Cavendish's expression remained unchanged upon hearing this.
"Approach them first to talk..."
"I know they are afraid of being annexed, so remove their names."
"It doesn't matter. We can specify in the contract that they will still manage the company, and they only need to cooperate when necessary."
"Also, clearly state that we are willing to provide millions of dollars in low-interest debt-for-equity swaps. Let them purchase the most advanced German milling machines and lathes to establish steam-powered assembly lines just like Pioneer Military Industry."
"We can even use our connections to help them sell their guns to South America and Africa, bypassing the American domestic market controlled by Argyle."
Cavendish tapped his fingers heavily on the desktop.
"I just need these old-school gun manufacturers to come back to life, so they can compete with Argyle' agents for every military contract in the lobbies of Washington."
"As long as the American military industry is no longer dominated by a single entity, Argyle' political influence in Washington will be weakened."
The atmosphere in the conference room became solemn.
The torrent of capital amassed by Old Morgan was being re-planned.
From steel to military industry.
The wealth of the Morgan Family would turn into countless hidden weapons, stabbing at the massive body of the Argyle Family from all sides.
But Cavendish's layout was not yet finished.
The last two business agents sat opposite him.
Their task concerned that Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company, which was controlled by a woman but raking in wealth in America.
"Umbrella."
Cavendish read out the name, his tone tinged with a hint of disdain, mixed with undeniable apprehension.
"Catherine O'Brien. This woman has turned Iodine Glycerin, carbolic acid disinfectant, and laudanum into highly profitable commodities. Their medicine bottles are on the counters of almost every clinic in America."
Putting down his teacup, Cavendish looked at the agents.
"The report submitted yesterday mentioned that Umbrella's monopoly is being challenged, right?"
Agent Davis nodded and opened the file.
"Yes, sir. Due to loopholes in America's current patent laws, two highly aggressive competitors have appeared on the market."
Davis pointed to the information in the file.
"The 'Sterling Chemical Brotherhood' in Boston and 'Apotech United Pharmaceuticals' in New Jersey."
"I have to say, the leaders of these two companies are smart. They didn't set up any R&D laboratories at all; instead, they spent heavy money to bribe low-level compounders in Umbrella's factories, directly stealing the rough formulas for carbolic acid and anesthetics."
"Then they added some insignificant peppermint essential oil or pigments to the formulas, and then brazenly launched them for sale under the guise of new drugs."
Davis looked up, his expression playful.
"The key is that their selling price is 20% to 30% lower than Umbrella's. Many pharmacists and hospitals, trying to save money, have started purchasing their generic drugs in large quantities. This has caused Umbrella's sales to drop significantly over the past two months."
After listening, Cavendish leaned back in his chair and let out a pleasant chuckle.
"Theft, plagiarism, and then using a price war to destroy the original creator."
"Although this is the most despicable business tactic, one must admit that it is the most effective and cheapest weapon for dealing with a monopolist."
"By the way, didn't Umbrella sue them?" Cavendish asked curiously.
"Of course they did, and they filed patent infringement lawsuits in both Boston and New Jersey simultaneously."
Another agent replied.
"But lawsuits involving chemical formulas are extremely difficult to fight. The Sterling Chemical Brotherhood hired the most cunning lawyers in Boston. They talked at length in court about the differences in chemical synthesis, and the judge was left dizzy by all the technical jargon. The case has become bogged down."
"Of course, many state newspapers have been reporting on the actions of these two companies recently. This must be the work of the News Media Company under Argyle, but it hasn't been of much use."
As he listened, Cavendish tapped his fingers lightly on the mahogany desktop.
He didn't care about the reputation of the two companies.
After all, Old Morgan's strategic intent was very clear.
Do not create new enemies, but arm Argyle' existing enemies.
"Davis."
Cavendish stopped tapping and sat up straight.
"Go to Boston and contact the core partners of the Sterling Chemical Brotherhood."
Cavendish's eyes flashed with the malice unique to capital.
"Tell them we are willing to cover all their legal costs. Let them just keep dragging it out in court with Umbrella. Hire the best lawyers in the country and drag this lawsuit out for three or five years. Let Umbrella's Legal Department get bogged down in the quagmire."
"In addition, offer a million-dollar debt-for-equity agreement."
Cavendish looked at the agent.
"Let them build larger chemical plants and continue to expand the production of carbolic acid and laudanum. It would be best to drive the price down by another 15%."
Davis was stunned for a moment.
"Drive it down by another 15%? Sir. In that case, the Sterling Chemical Brotherhood's own profits will also decrease."
"It doesn't matter. I think that people who could come up with stealing formulas, counterfeiting, and proactively lowering prices will understand what I mean."
Cavendish said indifferently.
"Just like with steel and military industry. As long as the cash flow that Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company prides itself on is crushed by these cheap generic drugs, its high R&D costs will become a noose around Argyle' neck."
"Also go to New Jersey and offer the same terms to that Apotech United Pharmaceuticals. As long as they can snatch Umbrella's orders, money is not an issue."
"Understood, sir."
The two agents closed their files and took their leave.
Cavendish looked at the continuous rain outside.
Steel, military industry, medicine, electricity.
Cavendish reviewed these four battlefronts in his mind.
The millions of dollars from the early stages of the Morgan Family were spreading across the United States through various channels.
He picked up a copy of the New York Tribune on the table.
The headline on the front page read: "Argyle's Building Groundbreaking: Manhattan Will Soon Welcome a Twenty-Story Steel Miracle".
Looking at the spirited black-and-white photo of Felix on the newspaper.
"You must feel like you're standing on top of the mountain now, Argyle."
Cavendish whispered.
"After all, you are enjoying the praise of the whole country."
Cavendish threw the newspaper into the wastebasket next to him.
"Go ahead and be proud. Because you will soon discover that those independent steel mills, down-and-out gunsmiths, and rogue drug merchants who were once squeezed to the brink of survival, suddenly have countless dollars and the most advanced machines in their hands."
"When you find that battlefronts on all sides are burning money at the same time, steel mills can't get orders, pharmaceutical companies can't sell drugs, and Westinghouse's Alternating Current lights up the night sky in Pittsburgh."
In Cavendish's eyes, a hint of inquiry appeared.
"I'd like to see if that twenty-story steel building you're constructing will turn into Manhattan's largest unfinished project due to a strained capital chain."
Long Island at night, Argyle Manor.
The dining room was brightly lit, and a three-tier cake covered in cream and strawberry jam sat in the center of a massive oak table.
Six slender, burning candles were stuck on top.
No Wall Street bankers or politicians had been invited today.
It was just a simple family dinner.
Five-year-old Finn would be six after tonight.
He was standing on a chair, hands propped on the table. He took a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out like a ball.
"Phew—"
The six candles were blown out in one breath, and light applause rang out in the dining room.
"Well done, lad. Your lung capacity is much greater than last year."
Felix sat in the head seat, picking up the sparkling wine at his side and raising a glass to his son.
Catherine sat on the other side, holding the year-old Elizabeth in her arms.
The little girl was waving her chubby arms, trying to grab the silver dinner knife on the table.
Catherine quickly moved the knife away and handed her a wooden rattle.
"Let's cut the cake, and don't get cream everywhere."
Catherine instructed the maid nearby.
Having finished his juice, Finn jumped off the chair and ran to Felix's side, looking up.
"Dad, where's my birthday present? You said that as long as I learned to ride that Shetland pony, you'd give me a real revolver."
Hearing this, Felix put down his glass and looked into his son's expectant eyes.
"Of course... I never go back on my word, but for now, you can only have a model gun without a firing pin."
Felix beckoned the housekeeper forward, who handed over a heavy walnut box.
The box was opened.
Inside lay a Vanguard revolver custom-made for a child's hand, its grip inlaid with ivory.
"I've removed the hammer of this gun. When you're ten, I'll personally teach you how to load gunpowder."
Felix pushed the box in front of Finn.
"In America, a man must know how to fire a gun. But more importantly, you must know when you absolutely must not fire."
Finn excitedly grabbed the cold iron piece and toyed with it in his hands.
Seeing this, Catherine frowned.
"He's only six, Felix. It's too early for him to handle weapons; Finn should spend more time on Latin and math."
"Math will let him calculate his ledgers, but a gun will ensure no one dares to snatch them away."
Felix leaned back in his chair, his tone flat but carrying an air of unquestionable authority.
Just then, the dining room doors were pushed open.
Frost walked in quickly and went straight to Felix.
He leaned down slightly and whispered in Felix's ear.
"Boss, Timmy is here. He has top-secret encrypted intelligence and is waiting outside your study."
Felix's eyes narrowed slightly.
Timmy rarely came to the Long Island manor on a day off unless things had reached a critical juncture.
"Let him wait."
Felix took a napkin, wiped his hands, stood up, and said.
"Catherine, you all continue eating. I have some work to handle."
Catherine sensed something was up, but she didn't ask further, merely signaling the nanny to bring the sliced cake to Finn.
Felix turned and walked out of the dining room.
He walked through the long corridor and pushed open the heavy wooden door of the study.
The lights in the study were not on.
Only the fire in the fireplace flickered.
Timmy followed him in and stood by the desk, immediately opening his briefcase.
"Has something happened, Timmy?"
Felix walked behind the desk, sat down, and pulled out a cigar.
Timmy struck a match and lit it for Felix.
"Boss, Cavendish has made his move."
Timmy's voice sounded exceptionally low in the dim study.
"Our moles in Philadelphia and the interception center of the Western Union Telegraph Company have compiled intelligence simultaneously."
Timmy took out a stack of papers with transcribed telegraph codes and spread them on the desk.
"First is the telegraph; Cavendish received an urgent dispatch from Broad Street, London, late last night. We control the main lines on the East Coast, and our telegraph operator copied the secret message for decryption. Old Morgan issued a final warning in the telegram, demanding he stop all private actions and commit all resources to the plan against you."
Felix took a puff of his cigar and exhaled smoke.
"Ha~ It seems Old Morgan is getting anxious. That fool Cavendish drove Carnegie away and ruined his original plan. Go on, what did Cavendish do today?"
"First, he went to the Westinghouse Electric laboratory in Pittsburgh."
Timmy pointed at the first report.
"Our informant bribed a delivery coachman on the outskirts of the lab. Cavendish wrote a check for two hundred thousand dollars to George Westinghouse on the spot. He also promised an unlimited supply of copper wire and rubber. I heard Edison said he would build an AC motor within three months."
"Expected, but..."
Felix flicked the ash.
"As long as Alternating Current hasn't left the lab, it poses no real threat. What else?"
Timmy steadied his emotions.
"This next part is the most lethal, Boss. After returning to Philadelphia, Cavendish immediately summoned all of the Morgan Family's senior industrial spies in North America."
Timmy flipped to the second report.
"They've split into three fronts. The first front targets steel. Agents Silas and Garrick are prepared to take shell companies and lawyers to approach the Ohio Valley Steel Mill and the Susquehanna Iron Works. They'll provide funding to help them settle debts and import European converter equipment. The condition is a merger into 'Federal Steel Corporation' to fight Lex Steel's prices to the death."
Felix's brow slowly furrowed.
"The second front targets Pioneer Military Industry," Timmy continued his report.
"They also plan to send people to Hartford and New Haven to contact Colt's widow and the Winchester family. They're prepared to provide millions in low-interest loans to help them upgrade to steam assembly lines, and even use British overseas channels to help them smuggle arms."
Cold sweat broke out on Timmy's forehead as he picked up the final report.
"Finally, targeting the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company. Their agent, Davis, has arrived in Boston and is prepared to cover the full legal costs for the Sterling Chemical Brotherhood. He also wants to give them a million to build a factory, demanding they slash the prices of carbolic acid and anesthetics even further."
The study fell silent, save for the crackling of firewood in the fireplace.
Felix's hand, holding the cigar, froze in mid-air.
Steel, military industry, pharmaceuticals, and electricity.
Four fronts, firing simultaneously.
Old Morgan intends to use a massive flow of cash to forcibly hammer out a total encirclement.
He wisely chose not to break through at a single point, but instead used his deep pool of capital in Europe to arm all of his competitors in America.
"Total war."
Felix whispered those four characters.
In the depths of his eyes, the fire usually suppressed by reason was beginning to ignite, bit by bit.