Washington D.C., K Street.
In front of a three-story luxury mansion with white Roman columns, several four-wheeled carriages painted with family crests were parked.
In a sun-drenched living room on the second floor, Anna Clark sat on a velvet-covered chaise longue, wearing a loose silk morning gown.
In her arms, she held a boy just over a year old.
Little Caesar had the same thick black hair as Felix. He held a sterling silver rattle in his hand and was vigorously striking a heavy hardcover dictionary nearby.
With every strike, he let out a giggle, his dark eyes sparkling with an innate sense of dominance and restlessness.
"Hey~ don't hit that dictionary, Caesar. Your grandfather just sent that yesterday."
Anna gently caught her son's small hand as it waved the silver rattle. Her tone held little reproach, but rather a hint of admiration.
A soft knock came from outside the door.
"Come in." Anna didn't look up.
Her private secretary, Emily, pushed the door open and walked in, holding a small locked mahogany box.
"Madam, an encrypted telegram from New York. It came through the military private line left by Director Flynn. It was delivered directly to the back door."
Emily walked to the chaise longue and handed over the box.
Anna's expression changed instantly. She handed Little Caesar to the Irish nanny nearby.
"Take Caesar to the nursery next door. No one is allowed on the second floor without my permission," Anna ordered casually.
The nanny obediently carried the child away.
Emily also tactfully withdrew and closed the door tightly.
Anna took a thin gold chain from around her neck.
Hanging from the chain was an extremely intricate miniature key. She inserted the key into the lock of the mahogany box and gave it a gentle turn.
The box opened, revealing a piece of telegram paper covered in jumbled letters.
Anna walked to the desk and took out a codebook disguised as a Bible from a hidden compartment.
She sat down, picked up a pencil, and began to decipher the telegram from the Empire State Building word by word.
Half an hour later, a sheet of paper with fluent English appeared before her.
"Anna:
Early spring in New York is still very cold.
I hope the sunshine in Washington can make Caesar's teeth grow stronger.
Take good care of the little guy; I'll bring some good things to see him in a while.
Also... Flynn's channels are very clear.
I already know about the performance Cavendish and Conkling put on in the Oval Office. Old Morgan is trying to use the British financial club to force Grant to use the federal guillotine against me.
Grant had Amos Akerman draft a Monopoly Assessment Report. He's afraid.
His brain, blackened by cannon fire on the battlefield, has begun to worry that New York's wires will strangle Washington's neck.
Of course... I understand his fear.
But I cannot tolerate the betrayal born of that fear.
I won't come to Washington to explain anything to him. That kind of subservient drama doesn't belong to the current Argyle Family.
We are allies, not his subjects.
If he has forgotten this, then someone must remind him.
Find a suitable time to take Caesar to Capitol Hill or the Clark Manor.
Give my regards to Thomas.
Tell him exactly what happened in The White House.
Tell Thomas.
Old Morgan's capital in London is frantically attacking my defensive lines. If my hands are tied by the Antitrust Act, the cash flow in New York and Chicago will break.
At that point, the Republican Party's political contributions for next year's Midterm Elections will become a pathetic joke.
Have him go find Grant for a cigar.
Let the vice president, as a politician, settle the accounts for this soldier-president.
The threat from the British Empire only exists on paper, but if the alliance between the Argyle Family and the Clark Family withdraws its support, his cabinet will be torn to shreds by the opposition in Congress tomorrow.
Stabilize the situation at The White House.
I'll handle the rest in New York.
Felix."
Anna pondered for a while after reading the telegram word by word, then picked up the paper and walked to the fireplace.
Flames licked the edges of the paper, instantly devouring it. Anna watched the letter turn to ash, a cold, elegant smile curling her lips.
"Dominant, cold-blooded," Anna whispered to herself.
"This is the real you, Felix."
She turned and walked to the wardrobe, pulling open the door.
"Emily!" Anna called out toward the door.
The secretary immediately pushed the door open and entered.
"Prepare the carriage; we're going to the Senate. Have someone send a note to the vice president's office. Say his daughter is bringing his grandson and misses his Cuban cigars."
Two o'clock in the afternoon.
Capitol Building, vice president office.
Thomas Clark sat behind a large mahogany desk.
His hair had turned somewhat gray over the past two years, but fortunately, he was still in high spirits.
As the vice president of the United States and the President of the Senate, he was truly a perennial figure in Washington politics. He was also the core bridge connecting the Argyle Family's vast financial resources with federal political power.
Anna sat in the leather chair opposite him, while Little Caesar was kept in the lounge outside by the nanny.
Thomas took a puff of his cigar, exhaling thick smoke.
"So, that fellow Ulysses is finally wary of Felix's strength."
Thomas's voice carried the weariness of one who had seen through the ups and downs of officialdom.
"Yes, Father." Anna picked up her teacup.
"Cavendish exploited British diplomatic pressure. Grant believes Felix's industrial expansion has threatened the absolute authority of the Federal Government. The newly appointed Attorney General Akerman is an uncompromising hardhead. If he really finishes that Monopoly Assessment Report, those politicians in Congress who have always been jealous of our family's wealth will immediately pounce like mad dogs."
Thomas flicked the ash from his cigar.
"What's Felix's attitude? Has he softened?"
"He refused to come to Washington."
Anna looked directly at her father. "He said that the chair he bought is one he will never kneel to. He wants you to remind Grant who his true ally is."
After hearing this, Thomas suddenly let out a low laugh.
"Hahaha... Excellent! 'The chair he bought is one he will never kneel to.' Well said."
Thomas stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray.
"Felix's backbone is even stiffer than mine was back then, but he sees things very clearly. In Washington, once you show weakness, those people will strip you of everything, with interest."
Thomas stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the magnificent Washington Monument.
"Ulysses has been overwhelmed by messes these past few years. He wants so badly to prove he's not just a general who can fight, but also a politician who can control the whole situation. But he seems to have forgotten that politics isn't won with rifles; it's built on votes and greenbacks."
Thomas turned around and looked at his daughter.
"Go back and tell Felix that I'll handle things at The White House. I'll make sure Akerman's report stays in the draft stage forever. If Akerman doesn't take the hint, I'll have a few Senate committees freeze the Department of Justice's budget for next year."
"And then... I'll go have a chat with Ulysses."
Thomas's eyes became extremely deep.
"I'll make him understand that the British Empire will only protest from across the ocean. But if he betrays an ally, the consequences will be severe."
"You just need Felix to focus on dealing with Old Morgan. The Clark Family will always be his ally."
Hearing this, Anna broke into a smile and stood up to straighten her skirt.
"Thank you, Father. With you in Washington, Felix can have a free hand in New York."
New York, the top-floor office of the Empire State Building.
The hands of the brass clock pointed to four in the afternoon; outside the window, Manhattan was beginning to be shrouded in the twilight of early spring.
Felix leaned back against his leather chair.
After receiving the secret telegram from Anna, he felt slightly relieved.
Now, his current energy should be focused on that European financial beast called "United Trust Bank."
As long as he took it down, he believed Old Morgan's group would certainly have no way to influence the White House.
At that moment, the office door was pushed open.
Tom Hayes, President of Patriot Investment Company, and George Templeton, President of Imperial Bank, walked in quickly.
Behind them followed a thin man with eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
His name was Arthur Stanton.
The chief trader of Imperial Bank and also the coldest financial manipulator under Hayes.
He had spent years fighting on the trading floor of Wall Street and knew the liquidity of various notes and bonds like the back of his hand.
Of course... there were also connections behind him.
"Boss, the man is here."
Hayes walked to the desk, gesturing for Stanton to step forward.
"Mr. Argyle."
Stanton bowed slightly, a heavy briefcase stuffed with documents clutched tightly in his hand.
Felix didn't waste words and went straight to the point.
"Stanton. Over the past half month, how has the task of absorbing United Trust Bank's notes on the secondary market been going?"
Stanton placed the briefcase on the desk.
With a click, he opened the brass buckle.
He pulled out a thick stack of note lists from inside.
"Boss. To expand United Trust Bank's influence in a short time, Morgan's agents have been lending money frantically in the market. To maintain liquidity, they issued a large number of three-month and six-month short-term commercial acceptance bills. There are also various credit vouchers guaranteed in the name of the European United Consortium."
Stanton flipped to the summary page of the list, his voice trembling slightly with excitement.
"This past half month, we used shell accounts of the Metropolitan Trading Company, as well as a dozen secret agents of Imperial Bank in Boston and Philadelphia. Without alerting the market, we have swallowed forty percent of United Trust Bank's short-term notes circulating in the market."
Stanton swallowed hard.
"Total face value: twelve million dollars. All these notes are 'payable on demand' rigid redemption vouchers."
A cold glint flashed in Felix's eyes.
Twelve million dollars in short-term liquid liabilities, all held in his hands alone.
He turned to look at President Templeton.
"George, give me an assessment. How much physical gold is actually in the vault of United Trust Bank's main branch at 48 Wall Street in New York?"
Templeton adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses; he had already conducted an extremely detailed simulation.
"Boss. Morgan claims to have injected eight million pounds, roughly forty million dollars, in reserves. But that's just a boast for credit endorsement. Believe me... such a massive amount of capital couldn't possibly all be kept in a New York basement in the form of gold bars. That would require an entire fleet to transport, wouldn't it?"
Templeton took out an actuarial report.
"According to our informants' monitoring of the weight of their armored cars and their transactions at the New York Clearing House, I swear to God, their physical gold and high-liquidity Greenbacks in the New York main branch vault definitely do not exceed six million dollars. The rest of the funds are either still on the books in London or have already been lent out to Carnegie's steel mills and Westinghouse Electric's suppliers."
Felix smiled. It was the cruel smile of a hunter seeing his prey walk into a trap.
"Twelve million in maturing notes to smash a vault with only six million in cash."
Felix tapped his finger heavily on the desk.
"This is the consequence of financial leverage backfiring. They spread themselves too thin, and the capital chain is stretched too tight."
Felix stood up and walked over to his three subordinates.
"Now, it's time for us to prepare a perfect Friday funeral for Mr. Morgan."
Felix looked at Stanton.
"Stanton. The day after tomorrow, at 1:30 PM on Friday. That's the period of extreme fatigue when those Wall Street banks are preparing to settle their accounts and are only two and a half hours away from closing for the weekend."
"I want you to mobilize fifty of the most capable traders, each carrying a leather suitcase filled with United Trust Bank notes. They will travel in ten horse-drawn carriages."
"At exactly 1:30 PM, the ten carriages must simultaneously block the entrance of United Trust Bank at 48 Wall Street. Leave no gaps."
Felix's speaking speed slowed down, but each word was like a heavy hammer.
"These fifty people will rush into their business hall together. Smash all twelve million dollars' worth of notes onto their counters. Demand that they redeem them immediately, in full, and in physical gold. Not a single cent in Greenbacks; only gold bars."
Stanton felt his blood beginning to boil.
He understood very well what the boss was doing.
A malicious bank run of this scale had rarely occurred on Wall Street.
But coincidentally, two of those times were related to his boss...
"What if they can't produce the gold, or try to stall for time to verify the accounts?" President Stanton asked curiously.
"Regardless of whether they can produce it or not, they will definitely stall."
"That's when the News Media Company comes in."
Felix turned to Hayes, hinting clearly.
"Tom, go and notify Fowler later. After the work is done on Friday afternoon, have the News Media Company hire a hundred of the loudest newsboys. With freshly printed urgent extras, they will sell them frantically on Wall Street and Broadway."
"The headline will read: 'European Syndicate's Capital Chain Broken! United Trust Bank Refuses Redemption! Morgan's North American Scam Goes Bankrupt!'"
"At the same time, have all the suppliers of Metropolitan Trading Company in San Francisco and Chicago begin to dump all acceptance bills related to Carnegie Steel and Westinghouse Electric on the market. Create total panic."
Felix walked back behind his desk, leaning his hands on it.
"When those ordinary depositors and retail customers see the newspapers and see fifty of you demanding gold at the counter, they will go crazy. Fear will spread like a plague. Within half an hour, thousands of frantic rioters waving their bankbooks and demanding withdrawals will gather outside the doors of 48 Wall Street."
"Before the bank closes at 4:00 PM on Friday afternoon, if United Trust Bank's vault isn't drained by the run, their doors will be smashed by the rioters. Regardless of the outcome, when the sun rises on Monday morning, this European financial monster will be nothing but a skeleton."
Templeton took a slow, deep breath upon hearing this.
"Boss, this isn't just about taking down a bank; this is destroying the entire credit system the Morgan family just established in North America. Can it succeed? Someone like Old Morgan, who has spent most of his life in the financial field..."
"This is war, George. In business, I do not accept failure."
Felix interrupted Templeton and picked up a cigar from the desk to toy with.
"Go and prepare, Gentlemen. Fill your suitcases and feed your horses. I want all of Wall Street to hear the sound of Imperial Bank counting its spoils of war."