The carriage's suspension springs groaned under the unbearable weight.
Ten black carriages moved slowly along Broadway and into the loading dock of the Empire State Building.
The heavy iron gate slammed shut behind the carriages, completely sealing out the clamor and cold rain of the streets outside.
Edwin Stanton jumped down from the first carriage.
His white shirt was soaked through with cold sweat at the back, clinging tightly to his skin.
George Templeton was already waiting in the loading area. He pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose as he watched the heavy canvas trunks being unloaded from the carriages.
"Twelve million dollars."
Templeton looked at Stanton, his voice echoing in the empty passageway.
"Did Nathaniel really pay it all out in physical gold?"
"He did."
Stanton loosened his tie, panting heavily.
"But he didn't take it from the United Trust Bank vault. He tapped into the emergency discount window of the federal branch. George, that guy slapped us in the face with Treasury Department gold bars right in front of everyone."
Templeton's pupils constricted sharply.
Two security team members lifted a canvas trunk together and walked over to the two men.
Stanton opened the trunk and lifted the rough leather covering.
Under the dim gaslight, perfectly cast gold bars were stacked together.
The surfaces of the gold bars bore no stamps from European banks; instead, they were imprinted with the bald eagle emblem of the United States of America Treasury Department, with the words "Federal Reserve Gold" engraved beside it.
Templeton reached out and touched the cold metal surface.
"Take these up."
Templeton withdrew his hand and turned to give instructions to the security captain.
"Take them directly to the boss's office; he is still waiting for our news."
Five minutes later, in the top-floor office.
Three open canvas trunks were lined up in front of the massive walnut desk.
The golden light cast a dazzling reflection on the office carpet.
Felix sat in a leather chair, holding a glass of bourbon without ice. His gaze crossed the rim of the glass as he calmly watched the gold bars with the eagle emblem in the trunks.
Stanton and Templeton stood before the desk like two soldiers awaiting judgment.
"Boss."
Stanton broke the silence, his tone filled with deep frustration.
"I'm sorry, the bank run plan failed. We did push them to the brink, and their front-desk cash was completely exhausted. But Nathaniel produced a special memorandum from the Treasury Department. They used those commercial notes to mortgage for this gold directly from the federal branch in New York. When the retail investors outside saw the federal gold bars, their panic instantly turned into fanatical trust."
Felix did not speak immediately. He simply stood up and walked over to the trunks.
He bent down and picked up a gold bar.
The four-hundred-ounce weight required even him to exert some effort to lift it.
"This is not your fault, Stanton."
Felix looked at the eagle pattern on the gold bar, rubbing his thumb gently over the groove of the eagle's beak.
"You did well. Exchanging twelve million in worthless paper for real hard currency—this deal is profitable any way you calculate it."
"But the United Trust Bank has used this opportunity to firmly establish itself on Wall Street!" Stanton gritted his teeth.
"They have now become a super bank backed by the United States Treasury. Tomorrow morning, countless deposits will flood through their doors."
"Established? Just because of a few gold bars?"
Felix let out a cold laugh.
He threw the gold bar heavily back into the trunk, producing a dull thud.
"This is New York, not London. Old Morgan thinks that by securing a special channel from the Treasury Department, he can rule supreme on my turf? He forgets that even the strongest tiger must prostrate itself before a dragon. We possess the most comprehensive logistics network, the largest telegraph system, and the densest client contracts in America. Even if he holds the keys to the treasury, he cannot find the door to unlock. Besides, he cannot hold onto this key firmly!"
Felix turned around and walked back to sit behind his desk.
There was no anger in his eyes, only extreme coldness after being betrayed by an insider.
"What I am dissatisfied with now is not Old Morgan's methods." Felix downed the whiskey in his hand.
"George." Felix looked at Templeton.
"The current federal Secretary of the Treasury. George Boutwell. When he took that position, how much sponsorship money did we pour into him through the Senate Finance Committee?"
Templeton didn't even open the ledger in his hand; he didn't need to turn pages, as the numbers were already engraved in his mind.
"Over two years, through various legal channels, we have funneled a total of four hundred and fifty thousand dollars into Mr. Boutwell's family trust and political funds. He also owes Imperial Bank an interest-free, unsecured loan of one hundred thousand dollars. The maturity date for this loan is 1875."
"Four hundred and fifty thousand in cash, plus one hundred thousand in debt."
Felix repeated these numbers coldly.
"I spent over five hundred thousand dollars keeping a watchdog in Washington. Now, not only does this dog not wag its tail at me, but it has secretly handed the key to my vault's back door to the robbers on the other side."
Felix braced his hands on the desktop, his eyes like knives.
"Old Morgan must have used his connections to get the British Foreign Office to apply pressure and obtained the President's tacit approval at The White House. But the person who specifically signed this special memorandum could only be the Secretary of the Treasury. Before signing, Boutwell didn't even send a tentative telegram to the Empire State Building. This time... he betrayed us."
Templeton pushed up his glasses.
"Boss, Boutwell is a politician after all. Politicians only look at which way the wind blows. President Grant is having an antitrust investigation report drafted against us, and the air in Washington is tense. Boutwell must feel that The White House is about to move against the Argyle Family, so he is eager to cut ties with us and turn to curry favor with the Morgan family, who represent British capital."
"A fence-sitter," Felix commented.
"Go to the telegraph room, Edward."
Felix gave instructions to the assistant in the corner.
"Use my personal codebook to send a telegram directly to the office of the Secretary of the Treasury."
Frost immediately took out paper and pen, ready to record.
"Tell Boutwell: In consideration of our past cooperation, I am giving him one last chance to save face."
Felix began dictating the telegram.
"Demand that he immediately and unilaterally cancel all emergency discount privileges of the United Trust Bank at the federal branch. Freeze their channel for mortgaging commercial notes for gold."
"If he has not signed the cancellation order by sunset tomorrow."
"The Imperial Bank Legal Department will, on the morning of the day after tomorrow, deliver a copy of that one-hundred-thousand-dollar unsecured loan agreement to the desks of The Washington Post and the Congressional Ethics Committee."
Felix's tone was filled with undisguised disgust.
"Tell him: If he wants to switch masters, I guarantee he won't be able to afford even a train ticket from Washington back to Massachusetts. He might even spend the rest of his life in a federal prison wearing a prison uniform."
Frost wrote furiously, noting down every word.
"I will send the telegram immediately, Boss." Frost closed his notebook.
"Go. Have the people in the hall move these gold bars into our underground vault. By the way... Stanton, take some men and audit the accounts. Don't let a single ounce of gold dust flow into private pockets."
Several people exited the office, and the canvas trunks were lifted away by security personnel.
The office returned to silence.
Felix walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window.
Night had fallen over Manhattan; on several streets in the distance, the arc lamps of General Electric emitted a cold white light, like blades of light cutting through the darkness.
He knew that intimidating Boutwell was only the first step.
Even if that watchdog were scared enough to wet its pants and revoked the authorization, it would not solve the fundamental problem.
The real source of the disease was in The White House.
In that veteran who sat in the Oval Office, smoking a cigar, filled with suspicion and fear toward the Argyle Family.
Ulysses S. Grant.
Felix looked at his own reflection in the glass window.
He was contemplating whether he really had to take the step of completely breaking with this President of the United States.
The telegraph room of the Empire State Building is located on the fourth floor.
This is the central nervous system of the entire Argyle business empire.
The telegraph operator's fingers danced frantically on the brass keys, and the telegram regarding the Secretary of the Treasury, Boutwell, had already flown along the copper wires toward Washington.
Felix walked down from upstairs and pushed open the door to the telegraph room.
He had already made up his mind...
The few clerks in the room immediately stood up.
"It's fine, sit down and continue working."
Felix gestured for them to sit.
Then, he walked to a dedicated telegraph machine in the far corner.
This machine was connected to a top-secret military line left by the Intelligence Department, leading directly to the highest levels in Washington.
"Clear this machine; I need to send a private letter."
Felix said to the telegraph operator in charge of the dedicated line.
Hearing the big boss's instructions, the telegraph operator dared not hesitate, quickly taking out a stack of blank cipher paper and gripping his pencil tightly.
Felix pulled over a chair and sat beside the telegraph machine.
He remained silent for a full five minutes, his mind still running through countless ways to engage in verbal sparring with Grant.
His friend, Thomas Clark, had already had a row with Grant in The White House.
The vice president and President of the Senate had used political contributions and votes as leverage, which should have temporarily suppressed that anti-monopoly investigation report.
But Felix knew very well that this was only a physical suppression.
The thorn in Grant's side was still there.
But now...
Old Morgan had kidnapped the federal treasury with British capital.
In Felix's view, the nature of this matter had far exceeded ordinary commercial competition.
Felix closed his eyes and sorted out his thoughts.
"Record," Felix said.
The telegraph operator's pencil landed on the paper.
"To the President of the United States of America, Ulysses S. Grant. Sender: Felix Argyle."
Felix spoke very slowly, ensuring that every letter could accurately convey his will.
"Ulysses, Thomas has already conveyed to me your concerns in the study. You said you were afraid of nurturing an invisible royal family in New York. You also said you were worried that the power of General Electric and the Imperial Bank had exceeded the borders of the federal government."
"I understand a commander's instinctive fear of losing control. But I must say you have used the wrong shield for defense and chosen the wrong weapon for attack."
Felix watched the telegraph operator write down this line and continued dictating.
"You had Ackerman draft the monopoly investigation. You even acquiesced to Boutwell opening the Treasury Department's discount window to the United Trust Bank. You thought this was introducing a competitor to balance the forces on Wall Street. Most ridiculously, you thought that British lobbyist named Cavendish brought a cure to suppress the Argyle Family."
"I must say you are wrong, Ulysses. And you are wrong in a very unreliable way."
Felix's tone became extremely stern, as if he were the one standing behind the desk in The White House issuing orders.
"You should know that Old Morgan has consolidated mines, shipping, and nearly ten million pounds in cash in London. The syndicate he established is not for so-called free trade at all. Rather, it is using the geopolitical panic following the British Empire's loss of European hegemony to carry out a silent financial colonization of America."
"The most critical point is... in order to guard against a domestic ally who pays taxes to the federal government on time, provided you with rifles during the Civil War, and even provided you with dollars during the election, you actually opened the doors of the federal treasury to a foreign consortium that is ready at any moment to buy out the lifeblood of America's railways with pounds sterling."
Felix organized the words in his mind that would most sting Grant.
"Today, Nathaniel, at a counter in New York, used 12 million in commercial waste paper to move the federal eagle-embossed gold bricks from the national Treasury Department. Tomorrow, Old Morgan can use this gold, backed by the United States government, to issue 50 million pounds in trust bonds in London."
"Ulysses, this is not balancing at all. Instead, you are using the gold of American taxpayers to provide free guarantees for the capital expansion of the British Empire. As the President of the United States, you actually want to let the country become an ATM and blood bank for London bankers."
"I admit that the Argyle Family does control the power grid on the East Coast and has taken over the cotton fields in the South. But those factories are on American soil, and those workers are paid in greenbacks. The meat stays in the pot."
Felix took a deep breath.
"But if the United Trust Bank organized by Old Morgan takes root in North America, ten years from now, from the rails in the Midwest to the coal mines in Pennsylvania, all dividends and profits will turn into pounds sterling, flowing continuously back to Broad Street in London. By then, even if you send ten thousand Ackermans to draft anti-monopoly laws, you won't be able to reclaim this country's economic sovereignty."
"Because you were afraid of a so-called invisible royal family that didn't even exist, you opened the city gates and welcomed in a real foreign emperor."
"This is not a plea to you, because we are equals! I will not stop my actions on Wall Street either. The Imperial Bank will use every means to crush the bones of the United Trust Bank."
"If you insist on using federal power to protect those British bandits, then I can only regretfully say... our alliance is falling apart."
"We were supposed to be allies; we shouldn't let outsiders laugh at us."
"Felix."
After the dictation was finished, the telegraph room was deathly silent.
The telegraph operator's forehead was covered in cold sweat.
He had sent countless commercial secret telegrams in his life, but never had a telegram dared to use such a lecture-like or even reprimanding tone to accuse the incumbent President of the United States.
"Alright, send it out."
Felix stood up without looking at the terrified telegraph operator.
"Boss... if this telegram gets out..."
The telegraph operator swallowed, feeling somewhat afraid.
"Don't worry, this is a dead line. No one will see it except for the recipient in the confidential room of The White House."
Felix patted the telegraph operator on the shoulder.
"Tap it into the cable; it's time to let Washington hear the voice of New York."
The telegraph operator gritted his teeth and placed his fingers on the sending key.
Tick. Tick.
The current flowed along the copper wire, crossing the plains of New Jersey, crossing the Delaware River, and heading all the way south, straight to that white building symbolizing the highest power.
Felix walked out of the telegraph room.
He knew this telegram was a strong medicine.
It would completely tear away the fig leaf in Grant's heart.
Either Grant would wake up, see Old Morgan's true purpose, and revoke the Treasury Department's authorization.
Or... Grant's self-esteem would be completely enraged, and he would desperately mobilize the state apparatus to destroy the Argyle Family.
Regardless of the outcome.
Felix was already prepared to turn all of North America upside down.
Compromise cannot buy honor.