The Capitol Building.
In the office of the President of the Senate, the brass ashtray was piled high with cigar ash.
Thomas sat behind the large mahogany desk belonging to the vice president of the United States of America.
His hands, already spotted with age, were resting on a fifty-page document.
The cover of the document was stamped with the emblem of the Department of Justice.
The title was printed in bold black font: "Preliminary Assessment Report on Commercial Monopoly Activities in New York and Interstate Capital."
Thomas flipped to the last page of the report and glanced at the signature that had been signed not long ago, the ink still looking fresh: Amos Akerman, the new Attorney General.
The oak door of the office was pushed open.
The Senate Majority Leader, who was also a staunch ally of the Clark Family in Congress, walked in quickly.
"Thomas, that ungrateful fellow Akerman has been waiting outside the door for twenty minutes."
The Senator walked to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
"He is still furious that we pulled this report from the Senate Judiciary Committee's review agenda, and he's still shouting in the hallway that this is unconstitutional political interference."
Thomas let out a disdainful laugh.
He casually picked up the thick report and tossed it into the bottom drawer of his desk as if it were a dirty rag.
With a "bang," the drawer closed.
"Unconstitutional? In this country, without the appropriation from the Senate Budget Committee, Akerman wouldn't even be able to afford a train ticket back to his home in Georgia."
Thomas picked up the Cuban cigar on the table and slowly lit it with a match.
"Let him in. I will teach this jurist what exactly lubricates the gears of Washington."
The Senator nodded, stood up, and walked out the door.
A moment later.
The Attorney General, Amos Akerman, strode into the office.
Akerman was a Southern-born Republican, thin in stature, with a tuft of stubborn goatee on his chin.
His deep-set eyes revealed the stubbornness and anger characteristic of a judge.
He did not sit in the guest chair but walked directly to Thomas' desk and braced his hands heavily on the desktop.
"Mr.vice president, I need an explanation."
Akerman's voice trembled with anger.
"That monopoly assessment report was drafted under the President's direct order! It records extremely detailed evidence of commercial crimes! By what right does the Senate remove it from the hearing list? You are shielding a capital monster that is devouring the economy of the United States!"
Thomas leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag of his cigar.
Thick smoke billowed toward the ceiling
."Whoa~ perhaps you could sit down first, Amos.
Your voice is too loud.
It will make people outside think that there is a split within our Republican Party."
Although Thomas's tone was calm, it carried an unquestionable sense of authority.
However, Akerman still did not sit.
"I don't care how the reporters write it; I only care about federal law! You withheld the report; this is a compromise with New York!"
Akerman pointed at Thomas's desk.
"It is clearly written in that report! That man named Felix Argyle is using his banks and trading companies to maliciously squeeze the living space of his competitors! This is a serious violation of the basic principles of the free market!"
Thomas looked at the angry Attorney General, a flicker of pity flashing in his eyes.
"Amos, you are a good lawyer.
When you were prosecuting the KKK in the South, I was still in the Senate voting in your favor.
You have backbone, but you lack common sense."
Thomas placed the cigar on the edge of the ashtray.
"According to the information I have received, the capital monster you speak of—the enterprises under his name just subscribed to three million dollars in government bonds issued by the Treasury Department last month.
This money was used to pay for the office expenses of your Department of Justice to expand the federal courts in the South.
Moreover, the railway company under his name is continuously hauling timber and ore from the West to the East Coast, keeping factories in America busy."
Thomas stood up, pressed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward, staring down Akerman.
"Tell me, Amos.
You want to use federal law to draft a bill to tear apart this monster that pays taxes to the state, pays money to the government, and pays wages to workers? If you tear him apart, who will fill the rice bowls of tens of thousands of unemployed workers? Will you pay for their relief funds?"
Akerman gritted his teeth.
"The law is the law! Mr.vice president! Just because he has money doesn't mean he can stand above the rules! If he is not restricted, sooner or later, he will reach his hand into The White House and Congress!"
"Do we even have an anti-monopoly law to begin with? Besides...his hand has already reached in."
Thomas let out a mocking laugh.
He walked around the desk and went to Akerman's side.
"Amos. Why do you think the President suddenly asked you to draft this report? Is it because Ulysses suddenly started caring about the free market? Don't be foolish.
It's because a British lobbyist named Cavendish walked into the Oval Office with threats from London."
Thomas patted Akerman's stiff shoulder."
The British are scared; they are afraid that America's industrial power will be consolidated.
Old Morgan formed a syndicate, attempting to seize control of railways and power grids on our turf.
They couldn't beat Argyle in business, so they ran to Washington to blackmail the President by threatening to stop underwriting American railway bonds."
"And you, my upright Attorney General.
This righteous report you painstakingly stayed up all night to write is actually just a cheap knife used by the British to destroy America's domestic industry." Akerman was stunned.
His pupils contracted slightly; he was a pure legal man and did not know about the dirty interest exchanges happening in The White House.
"Oh no...that's impossible...
The President told me this was to maintain the authority of the federal government..."Akerman's voice lowered, revealing a trace of wavering.
"So what? Ulysses is a soldier.
He understands tactics, but he doesn't understand capital.
He was scared by the British financial stick."
Thomas walked back to his seat, pulled open that bottom drawer, took the report out again, and threw it on the desk.
Leaving this report in my drawer is the best outcome for you, for the Department of Justice, and for the entire United States."
Thomas looked at Akerman and delivered the final verdict.
"Amos. Take your men and go catch those rebels in the South.
Go investigate those swindlers who are reselling shoddy railroad ties on the railways.
Do not touch Argyle.
If you insist on submitting this report to the Supreme Court, I promise you."
Thomas' voice was as cold as ice.
"In next year's fiscal budget, the Department of Justice won't get a single cent of investigation funding.
Your subordinates won't even have money to buy horse feed and will have to walk to the South to handle cases."
Akerman stared fixedly at the report on the table.
His fists were clenched tight, his knuckles turning white.
In this office filled with power and the smell of cigars, he felt the pain of his ideals being crushed by reality.
Without arguing further, he turned around and walked out of the vice president's office without a word.
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him.
Thomas picked up the report and threw it back into the drawer.
He locked it.
He picked up the silver pocket watch on the table and took a look.
Three o'clock in the afternoon.
"Get ready," Thomas shouted to the secretary outside the door."
We're going to The White House; I need to have a good talk with that stubborn old soldier."
The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel on Pennsylvania Avenue.
Thomas Clark sat in the carriage, eyes closed, resting.
In his mind, he repeatedly rehearsed the impending confrontation with President Grant.
He knew Ulysses S.Grant all too well.
This general, who had rolled out of the cannon fire at Vicksburg and Richmond, had a character as hard and brittle as pig iron.
The carriage pulled up at the side entrance of The White House.
Thomas had brought no entourage.
Leaning on an ebony cane, he walked alone down the familiar corridor to the president's private study on the second floor.
The door to the Oval Office was ajar.
Thomas pushed the door open and entered.
Ulysses S.
Grant was standing by the window.
Today, he was wearing a dark gray wool coat, holding a glass of whiskey without ice.
Outside the window, early spring in Washington was still somewhat desolate.
Hearing the door open, Grant turned his head.
"Thomas, you've come." Grant did not look surprised.
He knew that after the Department of Justice's report was withheld by the Senate, this vice president would definitely come to find him.
Grant walked to the liquor cabinet by the desk and picked up an empty glass.
"Care for a drink? Bourbon, neat."
"Hmph, no thanks, Ulysses.
My stomach can barely handle strong liquor anymore."
Thomas walked to the sofa, leaned his cane against the armrest, and sat down.
Grant, holding his own glass, sat in the armchair opposite Thomas.
Between the two was a low coffee table, on which sat a box of unopened cigars.
"You've locked Ackerman's report in your drawer."
Grant took a sip of his drink, cutting straight to the point.
"Ackerman just sent word to me earlier, saying the Senate is interfering with judicial independence."
Thomas picked up the cigar box from the coffee table, pulled one out, and sniffed it.
"That report is just a pile of wastepaper wrapped in legal jargon that doesn't even exist yet, Ulysses." Thomas struck a match.
"I locked it up to clean up your mess.
To keep you from being used as a pawn by those bankers in London, and ending up with a ruined reputation in America."
Hearing this, Grant's expression darkened.
He set his glass down heavily on the coffee table.
"Watch your language, Thomas.
I am the president of the United States, and I don't need others to make decisions for me."
Grant's voice carried suppressed anger.
"Yes, that's right, you are the president.
But you're also an outsider being played for a fool by that bastard Old Morgan."
Thomas did not back down, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke.
"Do you think that Englishman named Cavendish came running to The White House because he truly cares about America's free market?"
Thomas leaned forward, staring at Grant.
"Fuck... Ulysses, use your damn war-fighting brain and think about it.
How has the British Empire dealt with the European continent for these past few centuries? They practice offshore balancing.
Whoever is strong, they unite with others to strike them down."
"Now, the situation in Europe has been shattered by the Prussians."
"The British are afraid."
"They must ensure that North America, this vast source of raw materials and dumping ground for their goods, never sees the emergence of an overlord capable of consolidating all industrial power."
"Since they can't handle things in Europe right now, they run to your study.
They try to intimidate you by threatening to stop underwriting railway bonds.
They want you to go after Felix.
If you actually initiate an antitrust investigation and break up General Electric and the Metropolitan Trading Company, guess who will be the happiest? Not to mention that we don't even have any so-called antitrust laws!"
Thomas pointed out the window with the hand holding his cigar.
"That old man at 22 Broad Street in London will laugh so hard his false teeth fall out.
Because that Westinghouse Electric they invested in, along with Carnegie's steel mills, will be able to use European capital without restraint to swallow up all of America's infrastructure projects."
"You are using federal power to help the British clear the obstacles to occupying the United States' economy! Bullshit!" Grant's brows furrowed tightly.
He picked up his glass and took another large gulp.
Thomas's words hit his heart like a heavy hammer.
He was indeed angry at the British threats, but to be honest, he was even more wary of Argyle.
"I admit what you say makes sense, Thomas.
Cavendish and the people behind him are indeed son-of-a-bitch British swindlers."
Grant gritted his teeth and cursed.
But he immediately raised his head, staring at the vice president with burning eyes.
"But...this doesn't change one fact, Thomas."
Grant stood up and paced back and forth by the sofa.
"Your Clark Family, and Felix Argyle's Family. You have crossed the line.
Your tentacles have stretched too far."
Grant walked behind the desk, picked up a document he had prepared long ago, walked back, and threw it on the coffee table.
"Look at this, Thomas. This isn't that legal wastepaper Ackerman wrote.
This is internal data jointly submitted by the Department of the Interior and the Treasury Department."
Grant's breathing became heavy.
He pointed to the numbers on the document, beginning to vent his long-suppressed fear.
"Two years ago, we sat at the same table, drinking, talking about how to drive the Southern Democratic Party out of power.
At that time, Felix was just a merchant who bought railway companies, sold canned goods and medicine, and ran an arms company.
I was very grateful for the campaign funds he provided."
"But look at what he's done in these two years!"
Grant's voice rose sharply, echoing in the study."
He sent that bastard named Silas to the South, and the Southern Development Company has now bought up nearly half of the large plantations in Georgia and South Carolina!"
"He controls the cotton lifeline of the entire New England textile industry!"
"Those black people and bankrupt white people in the South don't pay federal taxes anymore; they are paying rent to Argyle' 'company stores'!"
Thomas smoked his cigar in silence, not interrupting Grant's accusation.
Grant continued, flipping a page.
"And the railways! The Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company.
Through the loan methods of his own bank, he has turned all those railway bosses building in the Midwest into his debtors."
"The rails were laid by him, and the locomotives use parts from his factories."
"With just one word from him, the freight lines from Chicago to New York could be paralyzed by tomorrow!"
Grant became more and more agitated as he spoke.
"And the cities! The Federal Real Estate Company, established just over a year ago, has bought up tracts of commercial buildings and land in the core districts of Boston, Philadelphia, and even Washington D.C.!"
"Even the development of the West..."
"The shovels, kerosene, and canned goods used by those pioneers are all hauled there by the Metropolitan Trading Company in train cars! He's even building warehouses on the West Coast that are larger than the Federal Army's arsenals!"
Grant stopped, clenched his hands into fists, and stared fixedly at Thomas.
"Thomas, you tell me. Is this called business?"
Grant's eyes were bloodshot.
"Clothing, food, housing, transportation, railways, communications—every aspect.
The shadow of the Argyle Family is already in every pore of this country.
The gold he controls might even exceed that of the national treasury.
Now, he could even cut off the electricity and food supply of an entire city at any moment."
"We won the Civil War to free the slaves, to stitch this divided country back together! Not to clear out the slaveholders in Washington, only to raise an invisible 'royal family' in New York!"
Grant straightened up, as if using all his strength to shout the last sentence.
"If I, Ulysses S.
Grant, during my presidential term, watch helplessly as a commercial king not controlled by votes is crowned on the soil of this country, that will be the greatest shame and stain of my life! I wouldn't even be able to get into Arlington National Cemetery after I die!"
The study fell into a deathly silence once again.
Only Grant's heavy breathing and the occasional crackle of firewood in the fireplace remained.