The cold wind swept across the barren ridges of Butte town in the Montana Territory; Montana had already entered the bitter winter this season.
The mud on the ground had been frozen into hard clumps of earth, and riding boots stepping on them would emit a crunching sound resembling stepping on crushed glass.
On the edge of an abandoned mine pit on the eastern side of the town.
Jack, the liaison officer for Cenon Minerals, had his nose frozen red and could only try his best to tighten the heavy woolen coat on his body, raising the collar to block the cold wind.
Beside him, Dr. Evans, the chief geologist transferred from the New Jersey Central Laboratory, was kneeling on the cold rock.
Dr. Evans was holding a geological hammer in his hand.
"Clang!"
The hammer heavily smashed onto the protruding rock, splashing a streak of sparks.
Rock fragments with a grayish-brown skin peeled off.
Dr. Evans couldn't bother to wear gloves, picked up the fragments, and fished out a small glass bottle filled with nitric acid from his coat pocket.
He pulled out the cork and cautiously dripped two drops of transparent liquid onto the cross-section of the rock.
A faint fizzing sound arose, and the rock surface immediately bubbled up with a rich blue-green foam.
Dr. Evans raised his head, his spectacle lenses covered with a layer of white mist, but his eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Mr. Jack, the trend of this ore vein is even deeper than we expected."
"This is extremely high-grade chalcocite."
"Moreover, the further down we go, the higher the copper sulfide content."
"The boss was right."
"Beneath this little hill of Butte is not some silver mine at all; this is an entire underground fortress cast of pure copper."
Jack exhaled a puff of white breath and nodded.
"How many title deeds have we bought around here?"
"Over the past month, we have used cash to buy seventy-four abandoned prospecting rights and abandoned mines."
The security captain behind Jack opened a mud-stained hardcover notebook.
"However, Mr. Jack, we've run into trouble."
The security captain pointed to a wooden shack about half a mile ahead.
"That shack belongs to a local gold prospector named Marcus, and his title deed happens to be stuck right in the middle of the two large mining areas we bought."
"That is the only way through for this main ore vein."
"If we don't buy that piece of land, our future large steam excavators and mine hoists won't be able to connect into one piece."
Jack frowned.
"Didn't I ask you to take five hundred dollars to buy it yesterday?"
"Five hundred dollars is enough for him to buy a farm on the East Coast."
"He won't sell."
The security captain shook his head.
"That Marcus is an old stubborn mule."
"Seeing us wildly acquiring abandoned mines in town, he figured we must have discovered a huge gold vein."
"He sat in the shack holding a double-barreled shotgun, saying he wouldn't sign without five thousand dollars."
"Five thousand dollars?"
Jack laughed.
"Does he think the land in Montana is Manhattan's Financial District?"
Jack turned around and walked toward the carriage parked by the dirt road.
"Let's go, take the boys to the tavern in town to talk with him."
Half an hour later.
The only tavern in Butte town.
The air in the tavern was turbid, mixed with the alcoholic smell of cheap whiskey, the smell of moldy wood, and the strong body odor exuded by the miners.
The stove was burning in the corner, but it still couldn't dispel the chill in the room.
Marcus sat at the innermost spot of the bar, with a steaming cup of rye whiskey in front of him.
He was an old man in his sixties, unshaven, wearing a patch-covered fleece jacket.
That double-barreled shotgun leaned against the bar right beside his hand.
The louvered doors of the tavern were pushed open.
The cold wind poured backward in.
Jack walked in with six security guards wearing black windbreakers.
These security guards were not holding walking sticks, but rather unblushingly holding repeating rifles produced by Vanguard Arms.
The originally noisy sounds in the tavern instantly vanished.
Seeing this formation, those half-drunk miners retreated to the corners holding their wine glasses one after another.
In this lawless wilderness, the gun is the only rule.
Jack walked up to Marcus, pulled out a wooden chair, and sat down.
"Marcus, having a drink?"
Jack knocked on the bar and gestured to the bartender.
"Hello, pour this old gentleman a glass of your best bourbon here, on my tab."
Marcus glanced coldly at Jack, his palm subconsciously reaching toward the barrel of the double-barreled shotgun.
"I wouldn't drink you New Yorkers' wine."
"I said it before, without five thousand dollars in cash, that title deed will definitely not be sold."
"Even if you buy the whole mountain, you have to walk around my territory!"
The old man's attitude looked very tough.
However, Jack didn't get angry.
He pulled out a heavy cowhide envelope from the inner pocket of his coat and threw it onto the wine-stained bar.
"Marcus, my big boss built a building in New York."
"The funds he handles every day are millions of dollars, and five thousand dollars might not even be enough for him to buy cigars."
Jack leaned back against the chair, looking at the old man.
"However! The boss also has his rules."
"That is, he does not accept anyone's extortion, especially this kind of unreasonable extortion."
Jack pointed at the cowhide envelope.
"Inside here is one thousand dollars, which is the highest price I can give, and also the final price."
Marcus looked at that envelope, his mouth and tongue feeling a bit dry, but still didn't go to take it.
"Humph~ You capitalists just want to squeeze all the oil out of our bones."
"I said five thousand means five thousand!"
"If you dare to rob by force, I'll report it to the Montana sheriff!"
Marcus yelled loudly, trying to arouse the sympathy of the surrounding miners.
Jack shook his head and sighed.
He stood up and patted the dust off his clothes.
"Report to the sheriff? Marcus. Perhaps you still don't understand how this era operates."
Jack turned his head and glanced at the security captain behind him.
The security captain stepped forward, reached out to grab the barrel of Marcus's double-barreled shotgun, and exerted a sudden force.
The old man couldn't hold onto it at all, and the shotgun was snatched away directly.
The security captain skillfully unloaded the two shotgun shells from the chamber, threw the bullets on the ground, and then grabbed the shotgun with both hands and smashed it hard against the edge of the bar.
"Crack!"
The wooden stock broke directly into two halves.
The shotgun turned into a pile of scrap metal and was thrown at Marcus's feet.
Marcus was so frightened that his face turned pale, not daring to move at all.
"Listen, old man."
"One thousand dollars, take the money and sign."
"Buy a train ticket to leave Montana this afternoon and go to the East Coast to live a comfortable life."
Jack propped himself on the bar with one hand, closing in on Marcus's face.
"If you don't sign, I guarantee that starting tomorrow, not a single grocery store in town will sell you a bag of flour, nor a bartender sell you a drop of wine."
"If you dare to go to that shack of yours, you will encounter grizzly bears or a few drunk Native Americans on the way."
"Several gold prospectors die in Montana every day, and the sheriff doesn't care about one more of you."
This is the true method of Cygnus Mining's expansion in the West.
First use cash temptation exceeding the market price, and if encountering resistance, immediately turn to absolute violence and survival blockade.
Under the pitch-black muzzle and the naked death threat, Marcus's pitiful stubbornness surrendered immediately.
He carefully took the transfer agreement handed over by Jack, crookedly signed his name on it, and then pressed his finger into the red ink pad, heavily pressing a fingerprint.
Jack took back the agreement to check it, and nodded with satisfaction.
"A smart choice."
Jack pushed the cowhide envelope filled with banknotes in front of Marcus.
"Take your money and get out of Butte."
Having said that, Jack turned around and walked out of the tavern with the security team.
Returning to the evaluation office located in the center of the town, Jack immediately walked towards the soundproof telegraph room in the back.
"Connect the dedicated line immediately, send with a cipher."
Jack gave an order to the telegraph operator.
"Tell the president that the title deeds for the main ore vein of Butte town have all been cleared."
"Dr. Evans confirms that this is a super ore vein sufficient to support half of the world's copper demand."
"We have strung up barbed wire around the mining area, please have the headquarters immediately instruct the next step of the plan."
The telegraph machine issued a crisp ticking sound.
Jack looked at the snowflakes fluttering outside the window.
He knew that as long as President Miller delivered this telegram to the top floor of that ten-story building.
Before long, countless steel machines and tens of thousands of miners would pour into this desolate frozen soil like a tide.
And in this cold winter.
Felix, who received Miller's telegram, did not immediately reply to this telegram.
At this moment, he was enjoying the tranquility.
Heavy snow had been falling continuously for two days.
The entire oak forest along Fifth Avenue was blanketed in thick white snow, and deep within the woods, a villa stood unusually quiet.
A black carriage trudged heavily through the snow, plumes of white steam billowing from the horses' nostrils. Anti-skid chains were wrapped around the wheels, producing a dull, metallic clatter.
The iron gates of the estate were slowly pulled open by the guards.
The carriage drove into the forecourt and came to a steady halt under the villa's spacious porch.
Wearing a dark gray cashmere overcoat, Felix pushed open the carriage door and stepped down.
The front door was pushed open from the inside.
Hu Mei stood behind the door.
At thirty-three years old, she wore winter attire tailored from fine Jiangnan silk and trimmed with fox fur. The cut of the garment clung perfectly to her lush, mature figure, and a gentle, submissive smile rested on her face.
"Sir, it's snowing heavily outside. Come in quickly and warm up."
Hu Mei spoke in fluent English, stepping forward to help Felix out of his coat and dusting the snow from his shoulders.
Stepping into the entrance hall, the warmth inside the house was abundant.
Boilers burned anthracite coal day and night, channeling heat through brass pipes into every room.
"The roads were rough, so it delayed me a bit."
Felix changed into comfortable soft-soled slippers and walked toward the living room.
Thick fruitwood burned in the living room fireplace, releasing a faint fragrance.
Liu Wanqing sat in an armchair by the fireplace, an account ledger and a pen in hand. The salt merchant's daughter still retained her sharp sense for numbers; today, she wore a plain long dress, her hair simply pinned up.
"Sir."
Seeing Felix, Liu Wanqing immediately stood up and curtsied slightly.
"Sit down," Felix said, taking a seat on the main sofa. "What are you reviewing?"
"The daily expenditure accounts for the estate this month," Liu Wanqing said, setting the ledger on the coffee table.
"The Food Company delivered a bit too much flour and vegetables—more than the storage room can hold—so I told them to cut the quota by twenty percent next month. In addition, I have verified the expenses for winter coal procurement, and everything is in order."
Felix nodded.
He had entrusted the internal management of the estate to Liu Wanqing, and as it turned out, this clever woman kept everything running in pristine order, leaving him with no worries at all.
"You've done well."
Right at that moment, footsteps came from the staircase leading to the second floor.
A middle-aged woman carrying a black medical kit walked down. She was Doctor Elena, a senior obstetrician from the hospital affiliated with Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. She visited the estate twice a week for routine medical checkups.
Seeing Felix, Doctor Elena quickened her pace, walked over to the sofa, and bowed respectfully.
"Boss, you're here."
Felix picked up the hot black tea from the coffee table and took a sip.
"How are things?"
A smile appeared on Doctor Elena's face.
"Everything is going very smoothly, Boss. I just performed thorough examinations on the ladies upstairs."
The doctor opened her medical kit and took out her record book.
"Miss Yun Yan and Miss Yun Meng are currently three months pregnant. They are young and in good health, and the fetal heartbeats are very steady. Their morning sickness is also gradually subsiding."
Doctor Elena paused for a moment and turned a page.
"In addition, Miss Su Ying's pregnancy has also been confirmed. It has just reached two months. She experiences a bit of morning sickness, but that is entirely normal. I have prescribed some Umbrella custom vitamin supplements and instructed the kitchen to adjust her diet accordingly."
Felix listened to the doctor's report, his face impassive, though the fingers holding his teacup tightened slightly.
Three women, three new lives soon to be born.
In this perilous era of capital, the continuation of the bloodline was undeniably of paramount importance for a family of vast wealth.
Even more so for descendants carrying Chinese blood.
"I understand, Doctor Elena," Felix said, setting down his teacup. "The medical equipment and medication here must be kept to the highest standard. If any emergency arises, go directly to the hospital."
"Understood, Boss. I'll take my leave now." Doctor Elena snapped her kit shut and bowed her way out of the villa.
After the doctor left.
Su Ying slowly walked down from the second floor.
At twenty years old, she looked somewhat more languid and delicate than usual. She wore a loose cotton robe and cradled a petite brass hand-warmer in her hands.
Coming downstairs with her were the twin sisters from Jiangnan, Yun Yan and Yun Meng.
The nineteen-year-old twin beauties looked almost identical, save for a tiny beauty mark at the corner of Yun Yan's eye. Their bellies were not yet visibly swollen, but their gait had already become exceptionally cautious.
"Sir."
The three young women walked over to the sofa.
Su Ying's cheeks flushed slightly, not quite daring to meet Felix's eyes.
Felix reached out his hand.
Su Ying obediently came to his side and sat on the edge of the sofa. Felix rested his large hand over the back of hers.
"I heard your appetite hasn't been good lately?"
Felix asked in a gentle tone.
"It's just some nausea when I wake up in the morning. Mother cooks bird's nest congee for me every day, so it's much better now," Su Ying answered softly, glancing at Hu Mei standing beside them.
Hu Mei nodded with a smile.
Felix turned his gaze toward Yun Yan and Yun Meng.
"What about you two? Don't stay cooped up indoors all the time. Once the snow stops, have the guards accompany you for walks around the estate. Just make sure not to slip."
"We understand, Sir," Yun Yan said softly, while Yun Meng nodded obediently beside her.
Toward these seven women from the Far East, Felix's attitude was one of complete possession.
They had no need to face the political infighting or commercial bloodbaths of the outside world.
Their sole role was to offer absolute obedience within this secluded haven and to bear children of the Argyle Family's bloodline.
And for these women...
Leaving that crumbling, storm-tossed country behind to come to this unfamiliar continent, they were kept like canaries in this estate, yet they enjoyed the era's finest medical care, the safest protection, and the most luxurious supplies.
In their worldview, such a trade-off was already an extraordinarily fortunate destiny.
"Is dinner ready?" Felix looked toward Liu Wanqing.
"It is. Aunt Shen Yue is in the kitchen watching the stove," Liu Wanqing replied.
"Let's go to the dining room." Felix stood up.
On this blizzard-swept night...
Deep inside this villa far removed from the clamor of Manhattan, an atmosphere of tranquil domestic life permeated the air.
There was no clicking of telegraph machines or disputes over contracts.
Felix savored this rare moment of peace.
Yet on the battlefield of capital, calm was always nothing more than a fleeting illusion before the storm.
After an indulgent night, early the next morning.
Just as Felix finished his black coffee in the dining room, hurried hoofbeats came from outside the estate.
Before long, Edward Frost stepped into the villa, bringing a chill from the outside.
"Boss, something happened. In Boston," Frost leaned in and lowered his voice.
"What is it? Didn't Hayes crush Calumet Mining Company earlier?" Felix frowned, setting down his coffee cup.
"He did. Those five clearing banks in Boston officially entered bankruptcy liquidation yesterday."
"However, just last night, that old-money Boston family secured a massive emergency line of credit from London through clandestine channels. Not only did they refuse to surrender the pledged shares in the copper mine, but they also mobilized all their political capital in Massachusetts to seize our three leather transit warehouses in Boston!"
Frost stared at Felix.
"Boss, it seems they refuse to back down. The old-money family has launched a counterattack, and that damn European capital has stuck its hands into this again."
Felix rose to his feet and picked up a napkin to dab his mouth.
The warmth in his eyes vanished in an instant.
"Ready the carriage. We're going back to the company."
Manhattan, the third floor of the Argyle's Building.
In the trading hall of Patriot Investment Company, dozens of stock tickers were churning out tape frantically.
Yet inside the president's office, the atmosphere was so suffocating that no one dared breathe loudly.
Felix sat behind Tom Hayes's desk, his overcoat tossed casually onto the sofa.
Hayes stood before the desk, his face livid.
The financial squeeze he took so much pride in had been forcefully shattered just as the net was closing.
"Funds from London?"
Felix flipped through the fund flow report on the desk.
"Yes, Boss," Hayes answered through gritted teeth.
"It's those old geezers in Boston behind Calumet Mining Company. Knowing domestic banks didn't dare lend them money anymore, they dispatched someone on the fastest ocean liner to Europe."
Hayes pointed at an institution's name on the report.
"Charles Sterling, Barings Bank."
Hearing that name, Felix paused. He looked up, a mocking glint flashing in his deep black eyes.
"It seems the lesson I taught him in South America wasn't harsh enough. That old bastard is practically bankrupt himself, yet he still collaborates with European syndicates to choke my neck."
"Uh... they didn't act under Barings Bank's name directly. Instead, through a Dutch shell company, they injected three million dollars in cash into Calumet Mining in the form of an advance payment purchasing their copper production share for the next three years."
Hayes clenched his fists in frustration; it was truly nauseating.
"While the money isn't a massive sum, it was just enough to pay off their debts to the bankrupt Boston banks we acquired. The court lifted the freeze on their copper mine shares this morning. Our plan to seize their high-purity copper mine at cost has failed."
Felix didn't lose his temper.
Counterattacks from adversaries were normal in commercial warfare. If those centuried Boston families didn't even possess this much resilience, they wouldn't deserve to be called old money.
"So, not only did they unfreeze their shares, but they also seized our company's leather warehouses, didn't they?" Felix leaned back against his chair.
"Yes. As you know, they control the Boston City Council. Citing failures in fire safety inspections, they locked down three of Metropolitan Trading Company's warehouses over there," Hayes replied.
Felix gave a soft chuckle.
"Ha... resorting to such petty administrative tricks? They must really be out of moves. Edward."
Felix looked toward Frost.
"Connect me to the sixth floor. Get Charles Reeves of the Mississippi and Eastern Railway Company on the line."
A minute later, the internal phone on the desk was connected.
"Boss."
Reeves's voice came through the receiver.
"Charles, is Boston's winter cold?" Felix asked into the cone-shaped transmitter.
On the other end of the line, Reeves was taken aback for a moment before answering, "Very cold, Boss. It has been snowing constantly in New England lately."
"Is that so? That'll do. Since it's cold, let's make it even colder for them."
Felix scratched his chin and issued his order.
"Starting this afternoon, Union Pacific, Pennsylvania Railroad, and the Mississippi and Eastern Railway will halt all shipments of anthracite coal and coke bound for Boston and the entire state of Massachusetts. Reroute all dedicated coal trains to prioritize reserves for our New Jersey steel mill and Connecticut armory."
"If Boston's coal merchants ask, tell them a catastrophic cave-in occurred in the Appalachian Mountains mining district, resulting in a production shortage."
"Understood, Boss. Not a single ton of coal will enter Boston's depots." Reeves carried out the order without hesitation.
Felix hung up the phone and looked toward Hayes.
"The copper ore mined by Calumet Mining Company in Michigan needs to be transported back to smelters near Boston for high-temperature refining. Without coal, how will they fire up their blast furnaces?"
A chilling coldness gleamed in Felix's eyes.
"If we can't crush them financially, then we'll freeze them to death physically. Bring every single one of their smelters to a complete halt. I want to see how they plan to hand over unrefined raw ore full of rock to London's Barings Bank to settle their debts."
"And if Barings Bank doesn't mind taking it, all the better—we'll strike them with another heavy blow and break their spine."
Just as Felix finished arranging the coal blockade on Boston, a knock sounded on the office door.
Heinrich White, general manager of General Electric Company, walked in accompanied by a gray-haired technician.
"Boss."
Seeing Felix, White stepped forward at once.
"It's wonderful that you're at headquarters today. This is our chief metallurgical engineer, Davis. The copper ore samples from Montana have arrived at the laboratory."
Felix stood up, walked over to the adjacent reception area, and sat on the sofa.
"How are the test results?"
Engineer Davis pulled a report from his leather bag, his expression visibly thrilled.
"Boss, this is the highest-grade copper ore I've ever seen! Even better than Michigan's! The chalcocite is remarkably pure; with just preliminary flotation and smelting, we can obtain pure copper ready for wire drawing!"
Davis set the report on the coffee table, but a troubled expression soon crossed his face.
"However, Boss, we've run into an engineering problem."
"Speak plainly."
"It comes down to cost and logistics." Davis traced a circle on the map in the report with his finger.
"Butte sits deep in the Rocky Mountains where the terrain is exceedingly rugged. If we load the raw excavated ore directly onto trains and ship it back to the East Coast, seventy percent of every ton will be useless waste rock and impurities. Not only would that tie up enormous numbers of railcars, but the freight costs over thousands of miles would swallow all the mine's profits whole!"
Davis looked at Felix and proposed a technical solution.
"Therefore, the company absolutely cannot haul raw ore. We must build a massive copper smelter locally in Montana, not far from the mining area!"
"Filter out the waste rock and ship the smelted crude copper ingots directly back to the East Coast. Only then can we guarantee that General Electric secures cheap copper wire."
Hearing this, Felix furrowed his brow slightly.
"Build a smelter in Montana? That would demand massive amounts of electricity, water, and fuel."
"Precisely, Boss!" Davis nodded.
"For fuel, we can mine local coal deposits nearby, but the greatest obstacle is water!"
Davis pointed on the map to an area roughly twenty-some miles west of the town of Butte Town.
"A smelter's cooling system requires tremendous water volume, and the water sources near Butte Town are nowhere near sufficient. I've checked the hydrological records. The closest place with water flow capable of sustaining a mega-smelter is a valley along the Clark Fork River."
"Then build the facility in the valley, and lay a branch rail line connecting the mine to it," Felix answered decisively.
"That is where the problem lies, Boss," General Manager White interjected with a rueful smile.
"That valley and the indispensable riverbank stretch aren't unclaimed land. They belong to a local prominent landowner and timber merchant named Martin, who holds the logging rights and land deeds to that river valley. What's more..."
"According to records from the Intelligence Department, this Martin is a clandestine partner of the Northern Pacific Railway Company in Montana. That Railway Company has always treated the Northwest as their exclusive domain. They will never permit us to construct a branch line and smelter belonging to the Argyle Family on their territory."
Felix's eyes narrowed slightly.
He had heard of Northern Pacific Railway.
Backed by a faction of East Coast financiers, that company had been constantly trying to push through a line reaching the Pacific Northwest coast.
"In other words, if we cannot secure that river valley, the copper ore in Montana is nothing more than an unmovable heap of worthless stone? Is that what you mean?" Felix asked in a low voice.
"From an engineering and economic standpoint, yes," Engineer Davis answered affirmatively.
Leaning back on the sofa, Felix tapped his fingers gently against the armrest.
Boston's old money was retaliating on the East Coast, while Northern Pacific Railway held a chokehold over the river out west.
Confronting the grim prospect of being utterly crushed by the Argyle's Building, these old-era capitalists were deploying every scrap of geography and influence to dig in for a last stand.
Perhaps it was a coincidence, or perhaps it wasn't.
"Boss, should we put the Montana plan on hold and concentrate our efforts on taking care of Boston first?" Hayes asked from the side.
"On hold?"
Felix raised an eyebrow and looked over at Frost.
"In the dictionary of capital expansion, the words 'on hold' do not exist. If they want to block our road, we'll crush their road along with their bones."
"Edward, notify the folks on the sixth floor. I'm going to smash a path right through Montana's frozen earth."
Chicago, the central dispatch center of the Mississippi and Eastern Railway Company.
Inside this massive rotunda, a map of the North American railway network covered an entire wall.
On the map, countless red lines spread in all directions like a spiderweb. Dozens of dispatchers wearing headsets sat before telegraph machines, frantically recording and sending train traffic data.
Charles Reeves stood on a raised platform, holding an encrypted telegram marked in red.
"All lines, heed my orders!"
Reeves raised a tin megaphone before him, his voice booming over every clicking sound in the hall.
"Halt all coal trains bound for Boston! Reallocate all three hundred empty flatcars staged at the Pittsburgh and Ohio marshalling yards!"
Reeves strode over to the map and pointed a long wooden pointer at the blank area in the upper-left corner depicting the Rocky Mountains.
"Have the Lex Steelworks load every single heavy rail from the first batch rolled last month! Ship them west along the main line of the Union Pacific Railroad all the way to Ogden, Utah! Transfer them there to the temporary northbound freight line and drive straight into Montana!"
A senior dispatcher rushed over, drenched in sweat.
"Mr. President, it is almost December. Montana is already blanketed in snow, and the temperature is twenty below zero. Building a spur line over that kind of frozen ground will make laying foundations impossible! The workers will freeze to death!"
"Then procure more winter gear, shelters, and coal."
"Remember, this order came directly from the boss! Not only must the rails be laid, but the heavy steam shovels for excavating the smelter's foundation must also be shipped there. Before the snow and ice melt next spring, that twenty-mile spur connecting the Butte Mining District to the Clark Fork Valley must be operational!"
Under Felix's absolute will, the massive industrial machine forced its way into motion against the harsh elements of nature.
...
Montana Territory, on the wilderness west of Butte.
A ferocious wind whipped heavy snowflakes into shrieking gusts through the valley. Snow on the ground had piled past knee-height, and the soil beneath was frozen solid as an iron plate.
Silas, general manager of the Southern Development Company, sat atop a tall draft horse in a thick bearskin coat.
Gripping an ice-encrusted rawhide whip, he stared coldly at the railroad bed struggling forward through the blizzard.
Felix had transferred Silas up from the South, granting him a chance to redeem himself.
For within the Argyle Family, no one understood better than Silas how to use the most cold-blooded methods to drive large-scale, bottom-rung laborers.
Along the roadbed, over three thousand laborers worked in the teeth of the blizzard.
Half of them were Chinese laborers recruited from San Francisco, while the other half were destitute new immigrants brought from the East Coast.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
Heavy sledgehammers slammed into rail spikes.
The workers wore padded cotton coats, their hands chapped and cracked into bloody gashes. Blood trickling onto the frigid steel rails froze almost instantly into dark-red crystalline Frost.
"Hurry up! Haul that tie over! Don't stop!"
Silas's overseers in black coats patrolled back and forth through the snow, carrying loaded rifles.
If someone collapsed in the snow from sheer exhaustion, the overseers would order them treated and have someone else step up to take their place.
In western railroad construction at this time, the bodies of laborers were buried under nearly every mile of track.
Yet on Silas's work site, the mortality rate was significantly lower. After all, Felix was no monster; he had brought Silas in to maintain strict oversight and expedite progress, not to rack up a high body count.
By the standards of the era, this was already remarkably humane.
"Manager Silas."
An engineer came running over, shivering uncontrollably.
"The permafrost ahead is too hard; pickaxes can't make a dent. And at these temperatures, dynamite fuses are prone to failing."
"Then use more dynamite! Fill whatever craters you blow open with crushed gravel!" Silas roared without hesitation.
"But... just ahead is Martin's territory, and we haven't obtained the deeds to that river valley yet. If we force the tracks into his land, the people from the Northern Pacific Railway Company will definitely intervene with armed force," the engineer said worriedly.
"Keep laying track. Armed intervention isn't your concern." Silas patted the rifle resting against his saddle, his gaze icy.
Meanwhile.
In Boston, on the East Coast.
Inside the conference room at the headquarters of the Calumet Mining Company.
Several representatives of Boston old-money families were gathered, celebrating the lifesaver loan they had secured from London.
"That nouveau riche Argyle thought he could swallow our business with a mere financial squeeze. How naive. The European syndicates will never sit by and let him monopolize copper."
A gray-haired old man held up a glass of champagne, speaking smugly.
Their celebration did not last long, however, as the mining operations manager burst into the room looking frantic.
"Disaster, Gentlemen! Our smelters have shut down!"
"What?!"
The old man was startled so badly he nearly dropped his champagne glass.
"Haven't the loans been serviced? The banks unfroze the accounts! Why have they shut down?"
"It's not a money problem—it's coal!" the manager shouted.
"The Union Pacific, the Pennsylvania Railroad, and all freight lines running to Boston have flat-out refused to haul our anthracite!"
"They claim there were cave-ins in the Appalachian Mountains coal mines, and the blast furnaces at our smelters have gone completely cold! Without coal, the copper ore we shipped in is nothing but a heap of useless slag!"
The conference room instantly fell into a stunned, awkward silence.
These old-money scions finally realized that the man they faced was not only ruthless in finance, but a monster capable of engineering total strangulation across real-world logistics.
Tenth floor, Argyle's Building.
Felix stood before the massive solid-wood desk in his office, reviewing the report Tom Hayes had brought detailing the gradual shutdown of the Boston smelters.
"Boss. Even though their credit lines were reconnected, their blast furnaces are extinguished. Every day they bleed staggering sums in equipment depreciation and payroll. As long as we maintain the coal blockade for one month, that three-million-dollar loan of theirs will burn away completely," Hayes reported from his side.
"Perhaps not even a month."
Felix tossed the report onto the desk.
A few minutes later.
Heinrich White, general manager of General Electric, entered the office with Nikola Tesla.
Tesla carefully carried a velvet-wrapped, elongated wooden box in his hands.
"Mr. Argyle."
Tesla's hair was still as disheveled as a bird's nest, but his eyes shone like stars.
He stepped up to the desk and opened the wooden box.
Inside lay a coil of thick copper wire, smooth and gleaming with a flawless purplish-red metallic luster.
"This pure copper wire was drawn in our laboratory after electrolytic refining from the first batch of high-purity Chalcocite sent from the Butte Mining District in Montana!"
Tesla's hands trembled slightly with excitement.
"Its electrical conductivity is twelve percent higher than the best British copper on the market! Boss, with copper like this, my Alternating Current generators can handle transmissions of tens of thousands of volts! The material foundation for a true electrical era is finally here!"
Felix looked down at the cold coil of wire inside the box.
This wire was drenched in the blood of laborers braving Montana's blizzards, and steeped in the despair of Boston's old money.
He reached out, gently caressing its smooth metallic surface.
"It appears the lifeblood of our machines is ready."
Felix looked up, radiating the commanding aura of a reigning sovereign.
"Heinrich, instruct the factory to prepare for small-scale production of Alternating Current generators."
Yet at this very historic moment.
Frost walked in with a grim expression, clutching a freshly decrypted telegram.
"Boss, trouble's brewing in Montana again."
"Silas's tracks have reached the edge of the Clark Fork Valley. However, a federal land inspector sent by the Department of the Interior in Washington has suddenly surfaced in the town of Butte. He's scrutinizing the legality of all the land deeds we bought in cash. Worse still..."
"The Northern Pacific Railway Company has hired more than three hundred armed gunmen who have formed a defensive line at the valley's lumber mill. They've declared that if our tracks cross their boundary by so much as an inch, they'll open fire immediately."
Felix's fingers stopped stroking the copper wire.
He turned slowly to look out at the gray sky beyond the window.
"It seems those relics of the old era won't be pried loose without shedding some blood."
In the Montana Territory, the temperature at the edge of the Clark Fork Valley had dropped to twenty degrees below zero.
Fierce winds whipped heavy sheets of snow across people's faces like sandpaper. The snow on the ground had long risen past the knees, and the earth beneath was frozen as hard as pig iron.
At the entrance to the valley, Cenon Minerals' road-building army was forced to grind to a halt.
Over three thousand laborers bundled in cotton-padded coats huddled behind several massive steam excavators.
Black coal smoke billowed from the excavators' chimneys—the only thing in this expanse of snow that offered any warmth.
At the very head of the column:
Silas, General Manager of Southern Development Company, sat mounted on a tall black horse. Wrapped in a heavy bearskin coat with a wind-shielding fur hat on his head, he gripped a Vanguard repeating rifle, its barrel dusted with a thin sheen of frost.
Silas's gaze bore down coldly on a spot less than a hundred yards ahead.
There, a barricade constructed of thick logs and barbed wire stretched across the only path into the valley.
Behind the barricade stood roughly three hundred gunmen in heavy coats of various colors, armed with rifles and double-barreled shotguns.
Their eyes carried the hardened ferocity of men who had spent years spilling blood across the Western frontier.
Two figures stood in front of these gunmen.
One was an impeccably dressed man in a fine wool coat and a black bowler hat. His horse was stationed behind the barricade while he stood atop a cleared boulder.
The other was a bearded man with two revolvers tucked into his waistband, evidently the leader of the gunmen.
Silas squeezed the horse's flanks with his legs, urging the animal forward a few paces. Behind him, fifty security guards in black immediately raised their rifles and followed closely.
"I'll say this one last time: move the barricade."
Silas's voice sounded hoarse against the wind and snow, carrying a bone-chilling calm.
The bowler-hatted man standing on the boulder sneered, pulled a black credential stamped with the emblem of the United States of America from his coat pocket, and held it up high.
"Your name is Silas, right?"
The man's voice dripped with bureaucratic arrogance.
"I am Nathan Reed, Federal Land Inspector dispatched by the Department of the Interior in Washington to the Northwest. The land deeds your Cenon Minerals purchased in Butte Town are currently under federal legal review. We have received reports alleging your acquisition process involved violent threats and illicit funds."
Nathan Reed pointed at the steam excavators behind Silas.
"Until the findings are released, you have no right to carry out any form of construction on this land. Much less do you have the right to lay rail into Mr. Martin's private valley! In the name of the Federal Government, I order you to fall back immediately!"
Silas looked at the bureaucrat brandishing his credential and spat a mouthful of icy phlegm into the snow.
"Federal Land Inspector?" Silas ran his hand over the saddle.
"Mr. Reed, exactly how much did Martin, the sawmill boss of this valley, pay you to freeze your tail off out here in Montana in the dead of winter? Or rather, how much did the Northern Pacific Railway Company pay you?"
Reed's expression altered before he stiffened his back.
"Watch your words, Silas. You are defaming a federal official! The men behind me are lawful estate guards hired by Mr. Martin. If you dare cross that barbed wire by force, they have the right to open fire to protect private property. You are defying the laws of the United States!"
The bearded leader stepped forward as well, slapping the rifle in his hands.
"Hear that, you New York rubes? This is Northern Pacific Railway Company turf. Take your coolies and crawl back to your rathole! Otherwise, this snowfield will be your graveyard."
Silas paid no heed to the bearded man, keeping his gaze locked on Reed.
As a manager who had driven tens of thousands of Black laborers with a whip on Southern plantations, Silas knew precisely when to shoot and when not to.
Had it only been that bearded brute and three hundred gunmen on the other side, he would have already ordered the laborers to ram the barricade with the steam excavators.
And then riddled every last one of them with rifle fire.
A few hundred dead gunmen in the Western wilderness was hardly breaking news.
However, the opposition had cleverly positioned an official from the Department of the Interior at the very front.
Moreover, this man was brandishing credentials that represented national authority.
If Silas gave the order to open fire here...
The moment a bullet killed or injured this official named Reed, the entire nature of the affair would change. It would no longer be an armed clash between two enterprises squabbling over territory, but an outright assault on a federal official—an act of armed rebellion defying national authority.
Even the Argyle Family could not afford to do such a thing out in the open.
What Felix needed was to exploit legal loopholes to devour his adversaries, not to go head-to-head against the state's apparatus of violence.
"Halt! Camp where you stand. Get the fires going!"
Silas gave the order decisively, choosing not to force the issue.
Behind him, the overseers immediately brought the laborers to a stop.
Everyone began pitching makeshift tents in the snow, using the firewood they had brought to light fires for warmth.
Seeing Silas back down, Nathan Reed and the bearded leader wore gloating smiles.
They assumed these capitalist lackeys from New York had been cowed by the federal badge.
Silas dismounted and tossed his reins to a subordinate.
He stepped into the heavy canvas tent that had just been erected, where a coal stove provided a slight reprieve from the freezing cold.
"Fetch the telegraph operator."
Silas unbuttoned his coat and instructed his deputy.
A few minutes later, the telegraph operator came in carrying a portable telegraph set. The wire had already been tapped into the nearest train station node.
"Patch through to the New York headquarters dedicated line. Use top-level encryption." Silas's face looked grim.
Being halted in the snow by a petty bureaucrat from Washington choked him with frustration.
The telegraph machine began to clatter.
"Telegram: Encountered armed Northern Pacific Railway obstruction, three hundred men. Opposing party holds Department of the Interior Federal Land Inspector credentials, issued work-stoppage order citing deed legitimacy review. Opposition occupies valley entrance. Direct assault will inevitably harm federal official. Awaiting Boss's instructions."
Silas finished dictating, watching the operator tap out each character.
He walked over to the coal stove, stretching out his frostbitten, purplish hands toward the heat.
Once this telegram reached that three-hundred-foot-tall steel skyscraper, the boss behind that black walnut desk would surely crush that credential-waving bureaucrat in ways that rough men like them could never even imagine.
Inside the office.
Felix took the telegram, his eyes quickly scanning the words on the paper.
After reading it, he set the telegram down gently on his desk, a cold sneer tugging at the corners of his lips.
"A land verification commissioner from the Department of the Interior." Felix tapped the name with his finger.
"The people at the Northern Pacific Railway Company certainly know how to leverage government resources. Knowing they can't match us in force, they found a Washington bureaucrat to act as a human shield. The moment Silas dares to fire a shot, they will clamor in Congress that we are rebels murdering federal officials."
"Boss, doesn't President Clark come from the Department of the Interior? Couldn't we just have the White House issue an order to recall this commissioner named Nathan Reed?" Frost suggested.
"No," Felix shook his head.
"The election just ended. Even though Thomas won reelection, the Liberals and congressmen from the agricultural states are watching his every move. If Thomas issues an executive order right now to interfere with a low-level commissioner's routine verification, he'll be handing those politicians leverage on a silver platter. They'll demand the formation of an investigative committee all over again."
Felix walked behind the desk and sat down, his dark eyes glinting with calculation.
"Since they want to play with the law and procedure, we'll crush them using the very rules they love so much."
Felix pressed the intercom on his desk.
"Connect me to the fourth floor. Have Gregory Finch from the legal department come up."
Less than three minutes later, Finch walked in carrying a briefcase, his hair combed impeccably.
"Boss."
Felix pushed the telegram across the desk toward Finch.
"Finch. Officials from the Department of the Interior have blocked our construction route in Montana under the pretext of reviewing land deeds. Crucially, I cannot have the White House intervene directly, so I need you to resolve this in a New York court."
Finch picked up the telegram, read through it, and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Boss, the Department of the Interior does possess the authority to review the legality of land transactions. Issuing a stop-work order during the review period is completely sound from an administrative standpoint. If we file an appeal in Washington, the case will drag on for at least three months."
"I can't wait three months; I don't even want to wait three days." Felix's tone left no room for negotiation.
"The Montana copper mine is critical to General Electric's mass production plan for next spring. If we can't build that smelter, the land deeds we bought at great expense are nothing more than scrap paper."
Felix looked at Finch, proposing a shrewd legal angle.
"Can we focus on that lumber merchant named Martin, as well as the Northern Pacific Railway Company? After all, the Department of the Interior is merely reviewing our land deed, but by what right do they hire three hundred armed gunmen to blockade a public river valley?"
Finch's eyes lit up as his roguishly astute mind shifted into high gear.
"I understand, Boss. A river valley is not a private bedroom; it is a natural waterway and public thoroughfare."
Finch quickly scribbled several legal terms on a sheet of paper.
"There is no need to go to Washington. We can directly petition a judge in the New York federal court—one who has received substantial political contributions from us in the past—for an 'Emergency Interstate Trade Protection Injunction'!"
Finch grew increasingly excited as he spoke.
"Our argument will be that the Northern Pacific Railway Company hired an illegal armed force to maliciously blockade the transport corridor for a vital national strategic resource: copper. This constitutes a severe violation of the interstate free trade acts. We will demand that the federal court immediately issue an order to dismantle that private armed roadblock!"
Felix nodded in satisfaction.
"A sound strategy. The Department of the Interior can conduct its deed review, and the court will dismantle the roadblock—neither interferes with the other. As long as those three hundred gunmen are forced to withdraw, that verification commissioner named Reed will be nothing more than a lone man shivering in the snow."
"How long will it take to secure the injunction?" Felix asked.
"Before the court closes this afternoon. A telegraphic copy of the injunction will be delivered into the hands of the local sheriff in Montana. The physical original will be dispatched via a special express train escorted by men from Gold Shield Security," Finch guaranteed with utmost confidence.
"Then see to it immediately."
Having resolved this predicament, Felix glanced at the wall clock.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon.
He stood, walked over to the coat rack, and took down his dark gray cashmere overcoat.
"Edward, cancel the afternoon meetings. If any urgent telegrams arrive regarding Europe, have someone deliver them to the villa on Fifth Avenue."
Felix slipped on his overcoat and put on his hat.
"Are you not returning to Long Island?"
Frost was somewhat surprised; today was not the weekend.
"No," Felix replied, his tone softening slightly.
"I'll be staying over at Fifth Avenue for the next two days."
Felix took the lift down to the first floor, where his bulletproof carriage was already waiting outside.
The carriage rolled through the bustling streets of Manhattan, heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge.
Over an hour later.
The carriage drove into a snow-covered oak grove and pulled up beneath the portico of the secluded estate.
When Felix entered the villa, warm air and the faint aroma of Chinese tea greeted him. It was a complete departure from the cigar smoke and scheming tension of his tenth-floor office.
There were no power struggles here, only the atmosphere of a traditional, submissive domestic life.
In the foyer.
Hu Mei, who was in her thirties, was holding a silk cloak.
Seeing Felix walk in, a gentle, welcoming smile immediately surfaced on her face.
"Sir, why have you returned so early today? It's cold outside; I'll have Wan Qing bring some hot tea."
Hu Mei stepped forward and deftly helped Felix out of his overcoat.
"I wrapped up a few things and came to check in."
Felix changed into soft-soled slippers, casting his gaze toward the staircase leading to the second floor.
"How is Su Ying feeling? And Yun Yan and Yun Meng?"
"They are all doing very well."
Hu Mei kept her head lowered, her voice soft and tender.
As Su Ying's mother, she felt a complex sense of gratitude and relief that her daughter was carrying the child of the master of this colossal empire.
"Su Ying's morning sickness is much better. Yun Yan and Yun Meng have had healthy appetites these past couple of days; I've had the kitchen stew chicken broth for them every day."
Felix nodded and strode up toward the second floor.
In this estate insulated by the snow and wind, he was not the oligarch feared across Wall Street.
He was the sole protector of these Eastern women, the absolute sovereign of this household.
This sense of control provided him with a visceral satisfaction far greater than defeating any adversary in a court of law.
Thick carpeting lined the second-floor hallway of the manor, muffling footsteps into near-total silence.
A delicate scent of sandalwood drifted through the air—a premium incense shipped from the Qing Empire. It seemed somewhat unusual in this Western-style manor, but it was precisely this uniqueness that turned the space into a completely secluded Eastern gilded cage.
Felix walked up to the spacious bedroom at the end of the corridor and pushed open the door.
The fireplace inside was roaring warmly.
Heavy velvet curtains covered half of every window, shielding the room from the biting draft outside.
Su Ying reclined on a soft chaise lounge near the hearth.
Today, she wore an exceptionally loose moon-white satin gown, her hair falling loosely across her shoulders.
Two months into her pregnancy, her cheeks had gained a fuller glow, and beneath the generous folds of her robe, her naturally voluptuous figure took on an alluring languor.
On the other side of the room,
the twin sisters from Jiangnan, Yun Yan and Yun Meng, sat on chairs cushioned with fox fur. An exquisitely crafted red sandalwood embroidery frame stood before them, and the two spoke in hushed voices as they worked with fine silver needles.
Upon seeing Felix enter,
the three women immediately stopped what they were doing.
"Sir."
Su Ying tried to rise from the chaise lounge, while Yun Yan and Yun Meng hurriedly put down their needlework, standing with their hands folded respectfully before them.
"Stay seated, no need to get up."
Felix's voice was gentle as he walked over to the chaise lounge and sat down beside Su Ying.
Su Ying obediently leaned back against the cushions.
Felix reached out, naturally resting his hand on Su Ying's abdomen.
Although no movement could be felt yet, such physical intimacy was the most direct declaration of ownership and comfort.
"How are you feeling today? Your mother said your morning sickness has eased up?" Felix asked, looking into Su Ying's clear, dark eyes.
"Yes, sir. The pills prescribed by Doctor Elena have been very helpful. I've been able to eat quite a bit these past few days."
Su Ying's voice was soft, carrying the sweet and delicate cadence typical of Jiangnan women. Reading Felix's expression, she ventured tentatively, "You don't look as tired today, sir. Are things outside going smoothly?"
Felix let out a soft chuckle.
He withdrew his hand and leaned back against the armrest of the chaise lounge.
"Things outside never go smoothly. There are always blind fools trying to stand in my way."
Felix never bothered hiding his business dealings from them.
These women could not grasp complex commercial maneuvers, but he enjoyed displaying his absolute mastery and dominance before them.
"Snow is falling heavily out in Montana. My men are opening mines and laying railroad tracks there, but a few politicians and rivals sent gunmen to block the way," Felix said casually, as though mentioning an insignificant trifle.
At the mention of "gunmen," the faces of Yun Yan and Yun Meng paled slightly.
In their traditional worldview, anything involving knives and guns was terrifying.
"Sir... could there be danger?" Yun Yan asked with concern.
"Danger? Only for them."
Felix turned his head to look at the twin sisters.
"Back in my office, I already had my lawyer secure a lawful court order. Once that piece of paper reaches Montana, my men can clear away everyone in our path with complete justification. No one can stop the Argyle Family's trains."
Felix's voice resonated with unrivaled arrogance.
"You have no need to worry about the storm outside. In this manor, as long as I live, no one can ever harm you. The heating here will never cease, and the finest provisions from the Food Company will be brought to the kitchen daily. Your only task is to bear this child in complete peace of mind."
To Su Ying and the others, these words were far more reassuring than any sweet nothings.
For they were acutely aware of their station.
They had been offered up and were now this man's personal property.
Yet this man possessed wealth and power far more terrifying than any high-ranking official of the Qing Empire they had ever witnessed.
As long as they could bear his child, their place in this New World would remain forever secure.
"We understand, sir. We know nothing of worldly affairs; we only know to obey your wishes." Su Ying lowered her head slightly, a blush tinting her cheeks.
A gentle knock came at the bedroom door.
Liu Wanqing stepped inside, carrying a mahogany tray.
On the tray rested several exquisite blue-and-white porcelain teacups and a steaming Yixing clay teapot.
"Sir, this is freshly arrived black tea from Mount Wuyi. Drink some hot tea to drive away the chill." Liu Wanqing moved gracefully to the tea table and poured Felix a cup.
Felix picked up the teacup and inhaled the rich aroma.
"Wan Qing, you have managed this manor very well," Felix said, sipping the tea as he looked at the clever woman.
"Yesterday, Bill from the Metropolitan Trading Company delivered a shipment of the latest goods from the Qing Empire. Your father's procurement network in the Jiangnan region of the Qing Empire is expanding remarkably fast. Armed with the repeating rifles sent by Leon, he has secured a firm foothold in Shanghai and across Jiangsu and Zhejiang. Now, even the foreign trading firms think twice before provoking him."
Hearing word of her father, an unmistakable flicker of excitement flashed in Liu Wanqing's eyes.
"This is all thanks to your grace, sir. Had it not been for your protection and those weapons, the corrupt officials and British merchants would have destroyed my family long ago." Liu Wanqing bowed deeply.
"This is no act of grace; it is a transaction." Felix set down the teacup.
"He gathers antiques, raw silk, and tea for me in the Far East, while I provide him with weapons and an umbrella of protection. So long as he remains loyal, there will always be a share of the Argyle Family's profits reserved for him."
In this spring-like, tea-scented room,
Felix relished the absolute submission and serenity these Eastern women gave him.
Yet his mind had never left that frozen battlefield thousands of miles away.
The court injunction applied for by Lawyer Finch was likely coursing along the telegraph wires right now. Tomorrow morning, when the sun rose, there would inevitably be a bloody conflict in that Montana river valley.
He used force and law to preserve the tranquility of this manor, and in the same vein, he would use force and law to rip apart any enemy who dared hinder his copper mining.
In this ruthless world of capital, a cozy hearth was forever built atop the frozen bones and spilled blood of those crushed outside.
Early the next morning, the wind and snow in the Clark Fork Valley had abated slightly, but the temperature remained low enough to crack human skin.
The sky remained ashen gray.
Silas walked out of the warm canvas tent, exhaled a large breath of white vapor, and looked at the barbed wire barricade a hundred yards ahead.
The three hundred gunmen hired by the Northern Pacific Railway Company were still guarding there, and they had lit dozens of bonfires behind the barricade.
That land inspection commissioner of the Department of the Interior, Nathan Reed, was currently sitting on a folding chair drinking hot coffee, looking very leisurely.
A security team member ran quickly to Silas's side, holding a piece of paper that had just been delivered.
"General Manager, sent from the telegraph office. An emergency cross-state trade protection injunction from the New York court! The sheriff just signed and confirmed it!" The security team member's voice was filled with irrepressible joy.
They could finally finish the work earlier.
Silas took the paper and glanced at it quickly.
The corners of his mouth split into a ferocious arc.
The legal team over in New York really was a bunch of monsters who ate people without spitting out their bones. This piece of paper was a legal license to kill.
"Fill up the coal in the excavators, and let the boilers burn the pressure to the maximum!" Silas turned around and roared at the supervisors behind him.
"All security team members, chamber your rifle bullets! Push those two tarpaulin-covered carriages to the very front!"
As the order was given,
the two huge steam excavators behind the three thousand laborers began to emit a deafening roar.
Black smoke billowed straight into the clouds.
With the crowd making way, a dozen security team members pushed two heavy four-wheeled carriages to the very front of the procession.
The tarpaulins on the carriages were torn away.
Two gatling guns emitting a cold brass luster suddenly appeared, their thick multi-barreled bodies looking extremely terrifying in the snow.
The gunners quickly shook the ammunition feed hopper, locking the long canvas ammunition belt into the machine gun's feed port.
Behind the opposite barricade, the gunmen who had originally been drinking coffee to keep warm heard the roar of the machines and stood up one after another.
Nathan Reed also stood up from his folding chair, frowning as he looked at those New Yorkers approaching ahead.
Silas held the court injunction in his hand and strode to a place less than ten yards from the barbed wire.
His voice, like a giant bell, echoed in the cold valley.
"Listen up, on the other side!"
"This is an emergency injunction jointly issued by the New York Federal Court and the Montana Sheriff!"
Silas held the paper high up.
"The court has determined that your establishment of a barricade here constitutes an illegal armed blockade of cross-state trade routes! I demand that you immediately dismantle the barbed wire, lay down your weapons, and get out of the valley. If you dare to obstruct, we have the right to assist law enforcement and take all necessary means to clear the obstacles!"
Hearing this, Nathan Reed's expression changed instantly.
He hadn't expected that the people of the Argyle Family could actually bypass the Department of the Interior and directly get a court injunction.
However, as a bureaucrat who had mixed in Washington for many years, he was not scared away by this piece of paper.
"Stop using the scrap paper of the local court to order me!"
Reed walked up to the barbed wire and cursed, pointing at Silas's nose.
"I am a commissioner of the Federal Department of the Interior, and the federal land inspection right is higher than your commercial injunctions! Before my review is over, no one can touch this land!"
Reed turned his head and looked at the bearded gunman leader behind him.
"Don't retreat, they wouldn't dare shoot. If they dare to harm a federal official, the entire Argyle Family will face charges of treason!"
The bearded leader sneered, raised the Winchester rifle in his hand, pulled the bolt, and chambered a round.
"Brothers, raise your guns! Whoever dares to cross the barbed wire by even a step, blow his head off for me! The boss of the Northern Pacific Railway Company said, everyone who guards this place gets an extra one hundred dollars!"
The three hundred gunmen immediately scattered behind the barricade and found cover, their pitch-black gun muzzles all aimed at Silas.
In their view, although the opponent had thousands of laborers, those coolies had no combat effectiveness at all.
There were only a dozen security team members with real guns.
Even if the opponent rolled out two strange things that looked like artillery, on the snowfield without cover, as long as there was one round of salvo, the people opposite would all fall.
Silas looked at those gun muzzles pointed at him.
Without any hesitation,
he slowly folded the court injunction and stuffed it into the pocket of his heavy coat.
Anyway, the final legal declaration procedure had been completed.
Now, all blockers were armed thugs violating the court injunction.
"Fuck! Giving you face and you don't want it."
Silas turned around and strode back toward his position.
As he walked, he raised his right hand and then swung it down fiercely in mid-air.
"Clean up the trash! Fire!"
"Da-da-da-da-da-da!!!"
The moment the order was given,
the two gatling guns erupted with a terrifying roar like tearing heavy canvas.
The two gunners frantically shook the handles on the side.
Driven by the pure mechanical power of the steam age, the heavy.45-caliber bullets at a rate of up to four hundred rounds per minute swept toward the fragile barbed wire and wooden barricade ahead like an airtight metal storm.
This was the unilateral slaughter of industrial civilization.
"Ah!!!"
"My leg!"
The three hundred gunmen on the opposite side didn't even have time to pull the triggers.
Under the continuous strikes of the thick bullets, the wooden barricade shattered like confetti.
The gunmen hiding behind even had their screams drowned out by the roar of the machine guns.
Blood mist instantly burst open on the white snow.
The bearded leader was hit in the chest by four or five bullets in succession, and his whole body was knocked flying backward, heavily smashing into the snow pit.
Those mercenaries who originally thought they could easily get a one-hundred-dollar bounty fell in batches in front of these two monsters.
Nathan Reed was completely scared silly.
He stood frozen in place.
If he hadn't retreated behind a large rock to avoid the wind and snow just now, he might have already been beaten into pulp.
He looked at everything in front of him in horror.
He thought that the federal credentials in his hand were a protective guarantee.
But he was wrong.
In the dictionary of the Argyle Family, as long as the legal department got the procedures done, the flesh blocking in front was no different from the stones on the snow.
The machine gun strafing lasted for less than two minutes.
The barbed wire was completely shredded.
Behind the barricade, there were hardly any people left standing.
The snow was stained a large, extremely dazzling dark red by blood.
The remaining dozens of gunmen who weren't killed dropped their weapons and scrambled for their lives deep into the valley.
The gunners stopped shaking the handles.
The gun barrels emitted astonishing high heat due to intense friction, puffing out bursts of white smoke in the cold air.
Silas pulled out the revolver from his waist, stepped on the snow stained red with blood, and walked behind the large rock.
He grabbed the collar of the still-shivering Nathan Reed, lifting this federal official up like a little chick.
"Commissioner Reed."
Silas patted the other's pale cheek with the muzzle of his gun.
"You saw the court injunction; we are legally clearing trade barriers. As for your title review..."
Silas pulled out several blood-stained papers from his pocket.
"Now, take out your pen. Sign this damned review approval document, and then roll back to Washington. Tell the people of the Northern Pacific Railway Company that if they dare to send people again, I will push the machine guns right to the door of their headquarters."
Reed trembled all over, and under the threat of the gun muzzle, signed his name humiliatingly.
Silas put away the documents and shoved Reed down into the snow.
He turned his head to look at the two steam excavators spewing black smoke behind him.
"The road is open, start the machines! Dig up this damned frozen soil for me!"
Silas's roar echoed in the valley.
The huge steel bucket smashed violently against the hard ground, making a deafening roar.
In this ice-and-snow-covered Montana valley,
the Argyle Family used absolute firepower and ruthless law to forcibly smash open a bloody path leading to the electrical age.
A large-scale copper smelting plant was about to rise from this blood-stained land.
And the delusions of those old-money families on the East Coast trying to choke them off were ground into powder.
A cold wind blew across Lake Erie, sweeping over what had once been a desolate riverbank in Cleveland.
Now, the area was completely covered in a dense sprawl of oil storage tanks, distillation towers, and towering chimneys.
The air hung heavy with the smell of sulfur and the nauseatingly sweet stench of evaporating crude oil.
This was the core refining district of Ohio Standard Oil Company.
John D. Rockefeller sat inside a two-story brick-and-wood office building at the edge of the refining district.
The office was unadorned, lacking expensive carpets or oil paintings. There was only a cast-iron coal stove, a broad oak desk, and several wooden filing cabinets stuffed with ledgers and shipping invoices.
Holding a dip pen, Rockefeller was reviewing the previous month's shipping ledgers from the Cleveland refinery.
He audited with meticulous precision, circling in red ink even if the cooperage had consumed a few extra pounds of iron nails.
The office door swung open.
Standard Oil Company General Manager Peter Jenkins walked in. Having just arrived by train from the Pennsylvania oil fields, his dark coat was smudged with coal dust, and the edges of his leather shoes were coated in mud.
"Junior, the smell of Cleveland is as unbearable as ever." Peter walked over to the coal stove and rubbed his frozen hands together.
Although Peter was the general manager of Standard Oil by rank—technically Rockefeller's direct superior—
in this corporate structure, Rockefeller wielded monopoly control over refining throughout the Midwest, making their conversations feel more like those of equal partners.
After all, Rockefeller was also a shareholder in the branch company.
Rockefeller set down his pen and closed the ledger.
"Peter, if you were to stay in this refining area for a month, you'd find this sulfur smell more captivating than any perfume. It's the smell of US dollars." Rockefeller's voice was even, marked by Puritan austerity.
He rose, walked over to a nearby wooden shelf, poured two cups of hot water, and handed one to Peter.
"You didn't travel all the way from Pennsylvania just to complain about the air here. I received your telegram yesterday saying there was a document from the New York headquarters that we needed to discuss in person. What's this about?"
Peter took the cup and took a sip, soothing his dry throat.
He walked over to Rockefeller's desk, pulled several internal briefings from his briefcase, and laid them on the desk.
"Junior, take a look at these. This is top-secret intelligence sent the day before yesterday via our private line by our liaison on the sixth floor of the New York Building."
Rockefeller picked up the briefings.
The first was a progress report regarding Cenon Minerals acquiring abandoned mine pits on a massive scale in Butte Town, Montana Territory, forcibly laying railroad spurs, and constructing an enormous copper smelter.
The second briefing was a technical memorandum from General Electric Company regarding successful prototype tests of Alternating Current electric motors and high-voltage Transformers in the Argyle University laboratories.
Rockefeller read slowly.
His grayish-blue eyes lingered over the words for a long time.
Though he did not understand complex physics formulas, he possessed a formidable intuition for any information capable of altering the commercial landscape.
After a dozen minutes, Rockefeller placed the briefings back onto the desk.
"The boss is looking for copper. Pure copper—in massive, cheap quantities."
Rockefeller sat back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. "All for that thing called Alternating Current."
"Yes."
Peter pulled out the chair across from the desk and sat down, his expression grave.
"I went to several chemistry professors we sponsor at universities to ask about Alternating Current. Junior, this thing is entirely different from the Direct Current arc lamps that occasionally flicker on the streets of New York. Direct Current has a very short transmission distance and costs an absurd amount of money; it's merely a toy for a few wealthy neighborhoods in Manhattan. But Alternating Current is different."
Peter's voice carried deep apprehension.
"Those professors told me that if General Electric's design can be mass-produced, this Alternating Current can use Transformers to transmit high-voltage current tens or even hundreds of miles away. Then, at the end of the line, the voltage drops down and feeds straight into ordinary homes. Paired with electric lights, an entire city won't need a single flame at night."
Rockefeller said nothing, listening in silence.
He was already calculating the potential blow this technological shift would deal to Standard Oil Company.
"Junior, what is our core profit driver at Standard Oil right now? It's our 'Blue Can' brand illuminating kerosene!" Peter emphasized, tapping his fingers against the desk.
"We poured so much effort into consolidating the refineries in Cleveland and Pennsylvania. We forced the Railway Company to give us rebates, and we squeezed the production cost of every gallon of kerosene down to mere cents."
"Now our kerosene is sold in every grocery store across the East Coast, supplied to Southern plantations, and Metropolitan Trading Company freighters are even shipping our kerosene to Europe and the Qing Empire!"
Growing increasingly agitated as he spoke, Peter rose and paced across the office.
"It is no exaggeration to say that across so much of the globe, the night is illuminated by our kerosene lamps! That is also the fundamental reason Standard Oil can channel millions of dollars in cash flow to Argyle Imperial Bank every single month!"
Peter turned around, his gaze locked onto Rockefeller.
"Yet right now, what is the boss doing? He's using the money this company earned to dig for copper in Montana! He's funding those mad scientists to tinker with Alternating Current! If Alternating Current truly takes over, all someone has to do is run a copper wire along the wall and flip a switch. The room will light up ten times brighter than a kerosene lamp, without any black smoke or foul smell!"
"Ten years! No, maybe not even ten years!"
Peter planted both hands firmly on Rockefeller's desk.
"The moment General Electric's power grid reaches across the cities of the East Coast, our kerosene will be driven completely out of the lighting market. Aside from isolated farmsteads where power lines can't reach, who would still buy our kerosene? When that happens, all these refineries where we inhale toxic fumes and scrape by penny by penny in Cleveland will be reduced to scrap iron!"
Watching the agitated Peter, Rockefeller's eyes remained calm.
"Peter, you're panicking."
"How can I not panic, Junior?! We are personally helping feed a monster that will tear us apart! Standard Oil is the foundation that gives us a voice in the Executive Committee. If our kerosene stops selling, what value do we still hold in the boss's eyes?"
Rockefeller stood up and walked over to the window.
Outside, workers in the refining area were rolling barrels of kerosene stenciled with the 'Blue Can' emblem onto horse carriages.
In the sunlight, those wooden barrels exuded the distinct, heavy gravity of the petroleum industry.
"Everything you've pointed out, I already calculated the moment I laid eyes on the briefings." Rockefeller kept his back to Peter, his voice flat and steady.
"The advent of Alternating Current will indeed directly shatter our monopoly over urban lighting fuel. In business terms, this is called internal substitution. But the boss is no fool; he understands how to calculate profit better than any of us. Since he has chosen to push forward with Alternating Current with full force, it means he believes the future profits brought by an electrical grid will far exceed our current kerosene revenues."
"Then what are we supposed to do? Sit here and wait to die? Watch the Food Company and the military industrial companies take all the resources?" Peter demanded, unwilling to resign himself.
Rockefeller turned around, his eyes showing the hard edge of a businessman determined to defend his own interests.
"Of course not. The boss surveys everything from the pinnacle of the empire. But we are the managers of Standard Oil. Protecting the profits of kerosene and the livelihoods of tens of thousands of refinery workers is our responsibility."
Rockefeller walked to the coat rack and took down his black overcoat.
"As advanced as Alternating Current may be, building a nationwide power grid requires colossal capital and time. There will be a long transition period. We must go to New York to see the boss."
"To convince him to halt the development of Alternating Current?" Peter asked.
"Of course not. Once the boss makes up his mind, no one can stop him." Rockefeller slipped on his overcoat and put on his hat.
"We are going to present Standard Oil's ledgers to him. We need him to see that during the next decade or more before the electrical grid is fully constructed, kerosene will remain the most powerful cash cow for the entire Argyle Family. Perhaps we can persuade the boss to slow General Electric's expansion and reallocate the resources."
Rockefeller looked at Peter, his tone solemn.
"Don't look at me like that. This isn't betrayal; it's simply fulfilling our duties as company managers. If we don't even dare to speak up when our own interests are threatened, then we truly don't deserve a seat at the conference table on the tenth floor."
"Let's go. To the train station."
An express passenger train originating from Chicago and passing through Cleveland was roaring toward New York on the East Coast, spitting sparks into the heavy night.
Inside a luxury compartment of the train.
Peter Jenkins and John D. Rockefeller sat facing each other.
The gas lamp in the compartment emitted a dim yellow light, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of the wheels crushing against the tracks.
The table was covered with the detailed financial statements of the Standard Oil Company for the past three quarters, production estimates from refineries everywhere, and overseas kerosene sales data fed back by the Metropolitan Trading Company.
"Junior. After arriving in New York, you should let me speak first." Peter looked at the data in his hand and said in a low voice.
"As the general manager, it is more proper for me to raise questions about the expansion of General Electric. You are responsible for using these specific data to support our arguments. You are clearer at calculating accounts than I am, and the boss values concrete numbers the most."
Rockefeller nodded, picked up a form, and gestured on it with his fingers.
"Peter, we must make the boss understand that the grid construction of Alternating Current is an unfillable bottomless pit. Laying thousands of miles of high-purity copper wire and building power stations one after another requires extremely huge preliminary hardware investment. And what about our Standard Oil Company?"
Absolute confidence flickered in Rockefeller's grayish-blue eyes.
"We don't need to build roads for customers; customers will bring their own oil drums to buy our kerosene. We pack them in wooden barrels and place them on the grocery store counter to exchange for real gold and silver."
"In terms of return on investment, our current profits are realized immediately. As for Alternating Current, we have to wait at least five or even ten years to see any return. Why take a goose that lays golden eggs and feed it to a monster that doesn't even know if it can grow up?"
"That's right, this is our trump card." Peter took a deep breath.
Noon the next day.
The train slowly pulled into the New York Central Terminal.
Peter and Rockefeller walked out of the station carrying briefcases and got into a hackney carriage.
When the carriage drove into Wall Street, Rockefeller looked through the carriage window and saw the legendary Argyle's Building at such close range for the first time.
This was a behemoth supported entirely by a steel skeleton.
The height of ten stories appeared extremely oppressive among the surrounding low brick and stone buildings.
The huge bald eagle emblem clutching lightning and wheat ears on the exterior wall reflected light under the winter sun.
The carriage stopped in front of the building's porch.
Rockefeller got off the carriage and looked up at the giant tower.
As someone who made his fortune by careful calculation in an industrial city like Cleveland, he could see the suffocating financial strength and industrial integration capability behind this building.
"Every time I stand under this building, I feel that the little money we earn may really not count for much in the boss's eyes." Peter stood aside and said with a wry smile.
"Don't be intimidated by these appearances, Peter. No matter how high the building is built, part of it is supported by the profits we earn barrel by barrel of kerosene. Let's go." Rockefeller withdrew his gaze and strode up the steps.
The two presented their identification documents and took the smooth steam elevator directly to the tenth floor of the building.
The office on the tenth floor still had that unobstructed, open layout.
Felix was standing in front of that huge conference table.
Placed in front of him was a detailed city map of the East Coast of America.
Secretary Edward Frost was making marks on the map with a red pencil beside him.
Hearing the sound of the elevator door opening.
Felix turned his head and saw Peter and Rockefeller walking over.
"Peter, Junior. You actually didn't stop at the liaison office on the sixth floor, but ran straight to the tenth floor to find me." Felix casually put the pointer on the desktop.
Peter and Rockefeller walked to the conference table.
"Boss. We have important matters that must be reported to you in person." Peter took a deep breath, resisted Felix's invisible sense of oppression, and cut to the chase.
"It is about Cygnus Mining's copper mine project in Montana, and the expansion plan of General Electric's Alternating Current."
Felix walked to the main seat and sat down, leaning against the back of the leather chair.
"Oh? Then speak. Do you have any objections to this plan?"
Peter glanced at Rockefeller, and then said: "Boss, we have read the headquarters' bulletin. We believe that currently tilting a large amount of funds and industrial resources toward the Alternating Current grid poses a serious threat to the family's existing core industries. To be precise, it is threatening the survival of Standard Oil Company."
Felix did not interrupt him, but slightly raised his chin to signal him to continue.
Encouraged, Peter continued.
"The goal of Alternating Current is to replace the existing lighting methods. And currently dominating the global lighting market is the kerosene produced by our Standard Oil Company. We have invested heavily in Cleveland and Pennsylvania to build refineries, and even acquired barrel factories and pipeline transportation companies. The company has just completed a monopoly on this industry. If we vigorously promote electric lights now, it is equivalent to stabbing ourselves in the chest!"
"Boss, this is killing our own cash cow. Taking resources to subsidize a competitor that will destroy our own profits makes no sense in business logic." Peter said it very directly.
Felix was not angry after listening to Peter's statement, but instead looked at Rockefeller, who had been silent all along.
"Junior. Is that what you think too? Do you also think I am doing a losing business?"
Rockefeller stepped forward, lowered his head to open the heavy briefcase in his hand, took out the financial summary sheet, and laid it flat in front of Felix.
"Boss, this is the profit settlement statement of Standard Oil for last month, as well as the profit forecast for the next five years."
"In the past month, we sold 2.8 million barrels of kerosene. Deducting the costs of crude oil procurement, refining, barrel manufacturing, transportation, and loss, Standard Oil Company contributed a net profit of exactly 2.1 million US dollars to the Argyle Imperial Bank account."
Rockefeller pointed to an upward curve on the form.
"With our penetration into the southern market and the opening of overseas routes by the Metropolitan Trading Company, our kerosene sales volume will increase at a rate of 30 percent per year within the next five years."
"Kerosene can be said to be the sector with the highest profit rate, the fastest payback speed, and the largest cash flow among all industries of the Argyle Family at present. Without exception."
Rockefeller looked straight into Felix's eyes.
"If you want to lay the Alternating Current grid in the major cities of the East Coast, then those urban residents with the strongest purchasing power will quickly abandon kerosene lamps. Our sales in the East will drop by 60 percent within three years, and not only that."
Rockefeller turned a page of paper.
"In order to lay the power grid, General Electric needs to purchase a large amount of pure copper, and Lex Steel needs to produce a large amount of steel to build substations. All this money is drawn from the headquarters' capital pool. This will directly cause Standard Oil Company to be unable to obtain sufficient funds to expand new refineries and oil pipelines."
"Boss. We are taking resources that can immediately generate huge profits and investing them in an unknown, expensive bottomless pit that will destroy our core business."
Rockefeller lowered his head again and made a request.
"Peter and I, on behalf of Standard Oil Company, request you to slow down the expansion speed of Alternating Current. Lock the Alternating Current technology in the laboratory first. Continue to use Direct Current or use it merely as an expensive luxury provided to a very small number of rich areas. Do not build a nationwide power grid. Let us continue to use kerosene to put the wealth of the whole world into the pockets of the Argyle Family."
A quiet atmosphere fell over the office.
Edward Frost stood aside, knowing that the concerns of Peter and Rockefeller were very real.
This was a typical internal conflict of interest.
In many large companies, this contradiction between new and old departments often leads to fierce infighting.
I don't know how the boss will handle this joint request from the industrial faction.