The British Empire, London.
22 Broad Street.
A fine Scottish anthracite coal burned in the fireplace of the study. Mahogany bookshelves stretched all the way to the ceiling, filled with financial almanacs and tax reports from various countries, all bound in gold-stamped covers.
Old Morgan sat in a high-backed velvet armchair, a cashmere blanket covering his knees. He held a copy of The Times in his hands.
The old butler, Oliver Sterling, entered like a quiet ghost, carrying a cup of warm lemonade, which he placed on the side table next to Morgan.
"Sir, Samuel Croft is waiting outside. He has brought a transoceanic telegram that just arrived from New York."
Sterling said softly, his tone inevitably carrying a hint of worry.
After all, Samuel's expression looked truly terrible.
Morgan put down his newspaper and removed the reading glasses from the bridge of his nose.
"Then let him in."
Samuel Croft was the exclusive liaison for the Morgan family at the London Telegraph Center.
He was a young man in his thirties, wearing a crisp suit with his hair combed meticulously. He walked quickly into the study, clutching a yellow telegraph envelope in his hand.
"Mr. Morgan, this is a top-priority urgent telegram jointly sent by Mr. Cavendish and Manager Nathaniel."
Croft hurried to the front of the chair and handed over the envelope with both hands.
"It is very likely that something has happened in New York; the situation is extremely urgent."
Morgan did not show any panic.
He took the envelope and roughly tore open the wax seal with his thumb.
Unfolding the telegram paper filled with decoded text, Morgan's eyes scanned rapidly between the lines.
"48 Wall Street is facing a malicious bank run. Traders under Argyle have gathered fifty people, carrying twelve million in short-term commercial paper, blocking the main lobby. They are demanding full redemption in physical gold. Thousands of panicked retail investors have gathered on the street outside. Front desk cash is depleted, and vault reserves are critically low. Requesting instructions from London headquarters. Nathaniel."
After reading it, Morgan gently placed the telegram paper on the cashmere blanket on his knees.
He picked up the cup of lemonade, took a sip, and then closed his eyes.
Croft stood where he was, not daring to even breathe loudly.
He knew what a cash run of twelve million dollars meant.
This would be enough to give the Bank of England a headache, let alone a new bank that had been open in New York for less than two months.
For the Morgan family, this news was truly terrible.
"Heh... that damn Argyle has finally made his move, much earlier than expected. It seems that our contact with Grant has made him feel a real crisis."
Morgan muttered to himself in the darkness; his voice held no anger, but rather the sense of relief a hunter feels when seeing their prey take the bait.
"Sir? Do we need to remit funds to New York immediately? If the doors are broken down, the reputation of United Trust Bank will be completely ruined," Croft suggested anxiously.
"Remit funds? Ship over ten million in gold from London to New York? By the time the ship reaches Philadelphia, Nathaniel's bones will have been crushed by those rioting mobs."
Morgan opened his eyes and let out a mocking sneer.
He threw off the cashmere blanket and stood up.
Although his steps were somewhat unsteady, his aura remained overwhelmingly suffocating.
"Argyle thinks he has seen through my hand, thinking that United Trust Bank only has those few million in funds in its New York basement to make a show."
Morgan walked to the desk and pulled open the center drawer.
"He is a tactical genius, but too young. He still doesn't understand that at this level of the poker table, real cash is never kept in the basement. It is kept in the national treasury."
Morgan took out a document tied with a red ribbon and handed it to Sterling.
"Oliver, do you remember when Cavendish went to Washington to meet President Grant?"
"Of course, sir. Mr. Cavendish requested the President to initiate an antitrust investigation against Argyle."
The old butler answered respectfully.
"That was just the deal on the surface."
Morgan turned around and looked at the world map on the wall.
"That farmer fighting in Richmond is indecisive; he fears Argyle' power, yet he dares not completely break with the money bags of Wall Street. In the end, he will certainly keep that investigation report pressed in his drawer, siding with neither."
Morgan's eyes became extremely cold.
"But the real purpose of me sending Cavendish to The White House was never that doomed investigation report."
"It was to use the political threat of the British Empire ceasing to underwrite railway bonds to force Grant to make concessions to me in another extremely secret area."
Morgan's fingers tapped on the document tied with the red ribbon.
"This is Grant's concession: a special memorandum secretly signed by the United States of America Treasury Secretary, George Boutwell."
Croft leaned forward to take a look at the document and gasped.
"My God. Mr. Morgan... this is... emergency discount authorization from the Federal Treasury?"
"That's right."
Morgan grinned, revealing the fangs of a top-tier predator.
"I used the British Empire's railway investments as collateral, forcing the Washington Treasury Department to open the emergency discount window of the 'New York Federal Branch' to United Trust Bank."
"Argyle is using twelve million in waste paper to slam Nathaniel's counter. He thinks he is running on me. But he doesn't know that the vault key in Nathaniel's hand is connected to the Federal Treasury at the other end of Wall Street."
Morgan turned his head to look at Croft.
"Go send a reply telegram; tell Nathaniel not to close the doors. Open them wide."
"Tell him to take those notes and go through the back door to the Federal Branch. Use this special memorandum to mortgage the notes directly to the Treasury Department of the United States of America. Exchange them for gold bars."
"Let those lackeys of Argyle open their eyes and watch. United Trust Bank can not only produce gold, but every gold bar we bring out will have the federal eagle emblem of the Treasury Department of the United States of America stamped on it."
Morgan sat back down in the high-backed chair.
"I want Argyle not only to fail to drain my blood but also to lift a rock only to crush his own feet."
"Go. Let the drama on the other side of the ocean play out even more spectacularly."
48 Wall Street, United Trust Bank.
2:10 PM.
The atmosphere in the main banking hall was stretched to the brink of explosion.
Arthur Stanton, with fifty men in black trench coats, stood like a black iron wall, firmly blocking the six counters.
Ten enormous canvas trunks stood open, filled with commercial acceptance drafts of staggering value.
Outside on the street, the news had already spread.
Newsboys from The New York Daily News were frantically hawking their papers on the street.
Hundreds of retail investors, businessmen, and ordinary citizens who had their savings stored there, having heard the rumors, swarmed toward the bank entrance like madmen.
"Exchange my money! Give me back my money!"
"I heard the British are bankrupt! Bring out the gold coins!"
The glass doors creaked under the pressure of the crowd.
Several security guards held the doors shut, sweating profusely.
Inside the hall.
Stanton stood before counter number one.
He held a promissory note with a face value of one hundred thousand dollars, tapping it lightly against the brass counter.
On the other side of the glass.
Manager Nathaniel Thorne was frantically wiping cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, the back of his suit completely soaked through.
"Mr. Nathaniel, you have been verifying the accounts for a full forty minutes."
Stanton's voice was not loud, but it carried clearly throughout the entire hall.
"Twelve million dollars in notes; all signatures and seals are authentic. These are your demand notes. Now, bring out the gold."
Stanton pointed to the angry crowd outside the door.
"Good God—listen to the noise outside. If you don't hang that 'Gold Reserves Sufficient' sign soon, I guarantee those angry citizens will rush in within ten minutes and tear this grand counter into firewood."
Nathaniel's hands were trembling.
He certainly knew these notes were genuine.
But he knew even better that there was less than four million dollars in physical gold left in the underground vault.
Even if all the greenbacks were added to it, it would absolutely not be enough to fill this terrifying hole.
Just as he was in despair and preparing to order the iron gates lowered and declare a suspension of business.
A rush of hurried leather boot steps echoed from the inner corridor at the back of the hall.
A senior clerk, clutching a telegram that had just been decoded, scrambled into the counter area.
"Manager, a reply from London! A reply from Mr. Morgan!" The clerk shoved the telegram into Nathaniel's hand.
Nathaniel, as if clutching a lifeline, stared fixedly at the text on the telegram.
His pupils dilated instantly, and then, the near-death despair vanished, replaced by ecstasy and a regained sense of arrogance.
"Thank God... thank you, Mr. Morgan."
Nathaniel let out a long breath.
He straightened his back and tidied his slightly disheveled tie.
He turned and walked toward the bulletproof glass.
"I believe there is no problem, Mr. Stanton. The verification is complete. Twelve million dollars, down to the last cent."
Nathaniel's tone became extremely calm, even carrying a hint of mockery.
Stanton keenly sensed the change in the other party's attitude and could not help but frown.
"Since the verification is complete, where is the gold?"
"Please wait a moment. The amount is too large; the vault needs time to allocate it."
Nathaniel turned his head and gave instructions to the senior clerks behind him.
"Take all the original notes, go through the back tunnel to the federal branch vault, and find Supervisor Charles. Tell him to initiate the highest-level special memorandum. Bring the gold bricks over."
The clerks immediately loaded the notes from the canvas trunks into iron trunks and pushed the carts toward the back door.
Stanton's heart sank sharply.
Federal branch vault?
Why were they going to the Treasury Department's vault?
Less than twenty minutes later.
The sound of heavy wheels and the neighing of horses came from the rear freight passage of United Trust Bank.
The two heavy iron-clad double doors on the side of the hall were slowly pulled open.
A squad of fully armed guards, wearing the uniforms of the United States Treasury Department, holding Vanguard Model 65 rifles, marched in with precise steps.
Escorted by the guards, a dozen specially made heavy flatbed carts were pushed into the hall.
On the carts were stacked wooden crates secured with cast-iron straps.
"Bang!"
The first cart stopped in the open space in front of the counter.
The Treasury Department officer leading the squad stepped forward and violently pried open the lid of the wooden crate with an iron crowbar.
A dazzling golden light instantly illuminated the somewhat dim banking hall.
It was not ordinary gold dust, nor was it loose Double Eagle gold coins.
It was federal reserve gold bricks, extremely uniformly cast, each weighing four hundred ounces.
What was even more lethal was that on the front of each gold brick, the soaring bald eagle emblem of the United States of America was clearly stamped.
The entire hall was deathly silent.
Even the frantic crowd outside, seeing this scene through the glass, instantly fell silent.
Nathaniel walked out from behind the counter.
He walked with his hands behind his back to the pile of gold bricks, looking at the ashen-faced Stanton.
"Mr. Stanton, here is twelve million dollars worth of federal reserve gold bricks. Each one is endorsed by the Treasury Department—absolute hard currency."
Nathaniel extended his hand in a gesture of invitation.
"Your notes have been redeemed. Now, please take your trunks and move this heavy metal out of my bank. The doors of United Trust Bank are always open; we welcome Imperial Bank to test our liquidity at any time."
Stanton stood where he was, feeling his limbs go stiff.
He understood; he completely understood.
Old Morgan had never shipped forty million dollars in cash to New York.
He had used the political chips of the British Empire to open a back door in Washington, obtaining emergency discount authorization from the federal treasury.
They were not running on a foreign bank at all.
In reality, they were using twelve million dollars in notes to assault the entire vault of the United States of America Treasury Department.
This was impossible to win...
Stanton gritted his teeth.
It seemed that today, not only had they failed to destroy United Trust Bank, but they had actually provided free advertising for the other party's immense financial strength through this massive bank run.
When those retail investors outside saw the federal gold bricks being wheeled out cart by cart, their trust in United Trust Bank would reach an unprecedented height.
"Move it."
Stanton squeezed the word out through his teeth.
Fifty men stepped forward in silence and began loading the heavy federal gold bricks into the trunks they had brought.
Half an hour later.
Stanton sat in the carriage returning to the Empire State Building.
Although the carriage was filled with gold bricks.
He felt no joy of victory, only deep confusion.
He had to return immediately to report to Felix.
On the poker table of Wall Street, Old Morgan had played a trump card. The rules of the game had changed again.