In the old building on Fleet Street, Dublin, the offices of The Irishman Newspaper no longer reeked of ink and despair. A new scent, named "hope," began to subtly permeate the air.
Editor Patrick Egan stood in the center of the typesetting workshop, watching the workers carefully arrange boxes of brand-new Gaelic lead types, generously "pre-paid" by James Finley for repairs, neatly onto the type racks.
A rare smile appeared on his usually taut face, though it was quickly replaced by a deeper sense of responsibility.
"McCarthy," he said to his deputy editor, Michael McCarthy, who had a similarly complex expression, "Have you seen the first batch of manuscripts sent from New York?"
"I have."
Michael McCarthy nodded, holding a few thin sheets of paper filled with English text, transcribed from a telegram.
"The content… is very American. Full of numbers, factories, and an optimism that we have long lost here."
The manuscripts were personally written by Edward Frost and reviewed by Felix.
They contained no flowery language, only the most straightforward data and stories: how many Irish workers the Argyle Company food factory provided with stable jobs; how the school in Five Points, soon to be topped off, would change the fate of hundreds of children; and how many lives Umbrella Corporation's medicines had saved on the front lines.
"Should we publish it as is?" McCarthy asked, with a hint of doubt in his tone, "Won't it seem too much like… singing praises for that Argyle?"
"No embellishment, direct translation."
Egan's answer was unusually firm as he picked up a freshly printed proof of the newspaper.
"What our readers need is not editorials, but facts. Facts that will make them believe that across the ocean, our compatriots have truly built a new world of their own."
He walked to the window, watching a Royal Police officer below impatiently shooing away an old flower seller with his truncheon.
"We need to tell them," Egan's voice deepened, "that hope exists, even if it is still three thousand miles away."
"Go, Michael."
"Reserve the best pages for 'Voices of America.' Use the largest font to tell everyone that a new era may be dawning, initiated by our own people."
…Meanwhile, at Cobh Harbour on the southern coast of Eire.
The massive cargo hold of the pioneer was already half-empty.
Bags of grain marked with the clover project symbol, distributed orderly by Father Barry and the church volunteers he organized, flowed like a warm stream into the poorest, most hungry villages of County Cork.
James Finley stood on the dock, watching the last batch of canned goods and medicine boxes being carefully reloaded into the ship's hold—these were samples and trial products prepared for the upcoming European trip.
Beside him stood the gaunt-faced old priest.
"Father," Finley began, his voice not very clear amidst the bustling dock, "The grain has been delivered. Mr. Argyle asked me to tell you, this is just the first batch."
"I understand, my child."
Father Barry looked at his compatriots, who were receiving food with long-lost smiles on their faces, his eyes filled with gratitude.
"Please thank him again for his generosity. The people of Cork County will always remember this kindness."
"The Boss believes the best way to remember kindness is to seize hope." Finley steered the conversation towards the grander plan, "Regarding the clover project, sending those young people yearning for a new life to New York. How are you… preparing for that?"
A complex expression appeared on Father Barry's face. He led Finley to a relatively quiet corner of the dock.
"The news has quietly spread through the church's network," he whispered.
"The response… is even more enthusiastic than we imagined. Every day, dozens, even hundreds of young people, come from various counties to inquire about the 'Ship of Hope.' They are willing to give anything just to leave this island where they see no future."
"But trouble has followed."
"The landlords, the agents of the British, have smelled uneasiness. They are afraid of losing cheap tenant farmers. Officials from the county police station 'dropped by' yesterday. They didn't say it directly, but their meaning was clear—any 'incitement to emigrate' will be considered a challenge to Her Majesty's authority."
Finley listened quietly, not surprised by this.
"Father," he said to the old man, "The Boss roughly anticipated all of this before he left, so he asked me to tell you three things."
"Firstly, safety. All screening and registration of potential immigrants must be conducted in absolute secrecy. Utilize the church's network to establish a reliable list. We want strong, able-bodied young people eager to work, not lazy rascals or spies planted by the British."
"Secondly, patience. The Boss needs time to establish a comprehensive reception and resettlement system in New York. At the same time, he also needs time to open up our own stable transatlantic shipping routes. This process may take several months, or even half a year. You must reassure those eager young people and manage their expectations."
A sharp glint flashed in Finley's eyes, "Lastly, assurance. Tell those who are chosen that once they board a Argyle Company ship, their safety, work, and initial settlement in the New World will be guaranteed. This is not a flight into the unknown, but an organized journey to a new life."
He then slipped a heavy money bag into Father Barry's hand.
"Inside is one thousand pounds in cash."
"It is the first operating fund the Boss is providing you. Use it to help the families most in need, and use it to smooth things over with local officials who can be 'persuaded.' We need to build an invisible firewall here too."
Father Barry looked at the money bag, then at Finley.
It seemed he was no longer just a priest. He had also become the guardian of this "transatlantic bridge" on the Irish side.
"I will, my child." He nodded solemnly, "In God's name."
…That afternoon, the pioneer set sail again. This time, its destination was London at the mouth of the Thames.
captain McAllister personally steered the ship.
Finley and his core team—marketing specialists Nelson, Smith, Carter, ship's doctor Dr. Dalton, and Donovan and his silent "security consultants"—were all gathered in the captain's cabin, listening to Finley's deployment of the next phase of tasks.
"Gentlemen," Finley said, pointing to the European map spread on the table, "Our first stop is London. There, Dr. Dalton's task is the most important. You need to use the recommendation letter from Columbia University to open the doors of St. Bartholomew's Hospital and King's College Hospital, and deliver our iodoglycerol samples and Dr. Thorne's paper to the most authoritative surgeons. Remember what the Boss said, we don't talk about sales, only 'academic exchange'."
Dr. Dalton nodded.
"Nelson, Smith," he turned to the two marketing specialists, "Your task is to take our canned goods and milk chocolate and visit the high-end food stores near Piccadilly Circus. Don't push for orders, the focus is on gathering information—what flavors do the British like? What are their packaging preferences? And most importantly, who is the real 'King of Canned Goods' there?"
Then he looked at another specialist, "Carter, you go to Liverpool. That's the largest port in Britain. I need a detailed report on local warehousing, inland transportation costs, and most importantly—the rental or purchase prices of ocean-going freighters. The Boss needs to find a reliable European home port for our 'clover project' fleet."
Finally, his gaze fell on Donovan.
"Mr. Donovan, the waters of London, Paris, Berlin… are deeper than New York. I entrust the safety of myself and all our brothers to you."
Donovan said nothing, merely patted the Colt revolver hidden under his jacket at his waist.
"Alright, gentlemen." Finley concluded, "The Boss has opened the door to Europe for us. Now, it's our turn to measure this ancient and fertile land with our own feet."
He walked to the porthole, looking at the distant Atlantic, which appeared an ominous dark red in the setting sun.
"Remember, every step we take here is not just for profit."
"It is also to lay the first solid stone on that bridge spanning the Atlantic."
Late autumn in New York, a fine, cold rain washed away the last trace of summer's heat.
In the study of the Fifth Avenue mansion, the fire in the fireplace crackled warmly, and the air was filled with Felix's usual favorite blend of black tea and a faint aroma of cigar.
Felix was not immersed in the joy of the successive victories in Washington and Philadelphia a few weeks prior.
He knew that for a burgeoning massive business system, every expansion meant countless new problems and hidden crises awaiting resolution.
At this moment, he sat behind a large oak desk, in front of him were operational reports from all corners of the empire, meticulously compiled by Frost.
"Boss," Edward Frost's voice was calm and methodical; he had completely adapted to the suffocating pace of work as the Chairman's assistant, "First, news from Europe. Mr. Finley's telegram arrived three days ago via the latest submarine cable."
He picked up a translated telegram, "Mr. Finley has successfully signed a cooperation agreement with The Irishman Newspaper in Dublin. The first tranche of funds has been injected, and the newspaper's printing press is undergoing equipment upgrades. The 'Voice of America' special edition is expected to be officially released next month. At the same time, Dr. Dalton has also successfully established contact with several major hospitals in London and Dublin, and our 'iodoglycerol' samples have caused quite a stir in the local medical community."
"Nelson, our market specialist in London, reported that the competition in the UK's domestic canned food market is fierce, but the high-end market is very receptive to novel and safe foods. However, our glass bottle packaging has a relatively high breakage rate during long-distance sea transport. He suggested that future products exported to Europe might still need improved anti-corrosion processes for tin cans," Frost added.
"Have Jones and Dr. Thorne note this issue," Felix nodded, tapping his fingers lightly on the smooth mahogany tabletop.
"The seeds of the clover project have been sown; it needs time to take root. Now, let us return to the land of America."
He turned his gaze to another, thicker document.
"How is the integration work going with Hayes and Baker in Philadelphia?"
"It's a bit more... complicated than expected," Frost's wording was cautious.
"Mr. Hayes stated in his telegram that although we have gained absolute control on the board, old directors like Patterson have been forced to 'gracefully' resign from all their positions. However, Thomson's network of relationships, which has been entrenched in the company's middle and lower management for decades, still exists."
"The new General Manager, Mr. Cassatt, is an outstanding engineer, but he is still inexperienced in handling these... office politics," Frost continued, "Several of his proposals for optimizing the dispatch system and replacing old equipment have been delayed by various departments under various 'compliance' excuses."
"Rats are always most active in the dark," Felix's tone betrayed no emotion, "It seems that merely cutting off the head is not enough; a thorough internal cleansing is also needed."
"But Boss," Frost reminded him, "forcibly dismissing all middle managers could lead to a temporary paralysis of company operations and even trigger a backlash from local forces in Philadelphia. Chairman Becker also expressed similar concerns in our last call."
"Of course, I wouldn't do that," Felix shook his head, "Cleansing also requires art."
He pondered for a moment, quickly outlining a plan in his mind.
"Reply to Hayes."
"Tell him to suspend all further pressure at the board level. Have Chairman Becker, in the name of 'stability above all else,' temporarily appease those restless old-timers."
"Then," a cold smile touched Felix's lips, "Have Mr. Cassatt compile all his delayed proposals for improving efficiency and upgrading equipment into a detailed report, along with quantifiable estimates of the economic losses caused by these delays. I want a 'waste List' that any shareholder can understand."
"Boss, you mean..."
"Exactly," Felix nodded, "Since they like to play with rules and procedures, I will use rules to defeat them. When the next quarterly financial report comes out, and all shareholders see how this company, which should be profitable, continues to lose money due to some people's 'inaction,' do you think I will still need to act personally?"
"Let performance speak, and let numbers be the knife of cleansing."
Frost immediately understood his Boss's intention; this was far more brilliant than direct dismissal and would win more hearts.
"As for the restart of the westward line, we cannot wait. Have Mr. Hoffman, legal counsel for Argyle Bank, and the engineering team sent by Mr. Reeves, move directly into Philadelphia. Bypass those middle managers and report directly to Chairman Becker under the name of a 'Special Project Team.' I want the surveying work for that railway to begin immediately."
Having resolved Philadelphia's "intestinal obstruction," Felix turned his attention to another cornerstone of the empire—steel.
"How is the progress of mineral exploration on Miller's side?"
"Mr. Griffiths and his geological team returned to Connecticut last month."
"They brought back hundreds of ore samples and detailed exploration data. The preliminary conclusions are very optimistic; the limonite in that valley is of extremely high grade, and the accompanying coking coal seam is astonishingly thick. Mr. Griffiths submitted a preliminary budget for mine development and railway spur line construction, totaling... possibly over five hundred thousand dollars."
"Tell him that budget is not an issue," Felix's reply was still decisive, "What I need is a comprehensive plan that ensures we have a stable, cheap, and uncontrolled supply of steel raw materials for the next twenty years. Have him, Mr. Reeves, and our Argyle Bank's agricultural credit department work together to produce this plan as soon as possible."
The late autumn sun in New York streamed through the massive arched windows of the Argyle Empire Bank's top-floor conference room, casting bright patches of light on the floor.
Felix sat at the head of the long table, before him an exploration report personally submitted by Militech's President Miller, a culmination of weeks of effort by Rhys Griffiths and his geological team, along with several ore samples glittering with metallic luster.
Around the conference table sat the core pillars of his imperial domain: Imperial Bank President George Templeton, responsible for legal and finance.
Patriot Investment President Tom Hayes, who commanded Felix's private capital blade.
Charles Reeves, President of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company, represented the artery of transportation.
Miller, President of Militech, had just submitted the report and was awaiting further instructions.
Catherine was unable to attend in person due to her busy schedule with Umbrella Corporation, and Edward Frost, Assistant to the Chairman, recorded the proceedings on her behalf.
"Gentlemen," Felix began, his gaze sweeping over the ore samples before finally resting on Templeton and Hayes, "you've all seen the discovery Miller and Mr. Griffiths made in the Pennsylvania mountains. High-grade limonite, accompanied by excellent coking coal. God has provided everything we need to build the furnace. Now, it's our turn to lay the first cornerstone for this furnace."
President Templeton adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and spoke first from a legal and financial perspective.
"Boss, I've reviewed the budget Mr. Griffiths submitted. Five hundred thousand dollars... This is merely the initial investment for mine development and the construction of that critical railway spur. If we establish a large-scale smelter later, the total investment will likely be several times that amount. This is a decision that requires extremely careful assessment."
"Careful?"
Hayes chuckled from the side; his speculator's keen sense had long detected the immense opportunity behind this.
"George, my old friend, you only see the risk. I see the monopoly. Think about it, once we have a complete chain from ore to finished steel, what does that mean? It means Militech's weapon costs will be significantly reduced, it means Reeves's rails will no longer be dependent on others, it means the entire industrial landscape of the East Coast could change as a result."
Reeves pointed out the most critical challenge, "But the prerequisite is that we need to open up those 'last fifteen miles.' Boss, as you know, building a new railway spur in Pennsylvania requires approval from the State Assembly. And we don't have many friends in Harrisburg. Although Thomson has fallen, those old forces..."
"I know."
Felix interrupted him, showing no surprise.
"So, our first step isn't to immediately build the railway, but to assemble a team, secure funding, and start making our voices heard."
He looked at Templeton, "George, I need you to immediately register two brand new, independent holding companies in Delaware."
"One, named Cygnus Mining Company. In the future, all our mining rights for iron, coal, copper, and even the potential oil and precious metals in the West, will be uniformly held and managed by this company. 'Appalachian Mining' will exist as its first project department. Miller will temporarily serve as the head of this project department, responsible for initial team building and more detailed mine development planning."
"The other will be named 'LexCorp Steel.' It will be the flagship of our future steel empire. But for now, it's just a blueprint, a seed that needs to be patiently watered with money and time. Hayes, you will be responsible for formulating the initial financing plan and equity structure design for this future company."
Templeton and Hayes both nodded solemnly, understanding the Boss's intention. First establishing the legal and financial framework, and clarifying the responsible entities, is the first step in all grand projects.
"For the initial startup capital," Felix looked at Templeton, "I will allocate five hundred thousand dollars from Patriot Investment's profits as an initial injection into these two new companies. Argyle Bank will be responsible for oversight, ensuring every penny is used effectively."
"As for that railway spur..." Felix's gaze shifted back to Hayes, "Tom, the 'voice' from Philadelphia needs to be sent out."
"Understood, Boss."
Hayes responded immediately, clearly already having a plan.
"I've instructed our representative in Philadelphia to begin contacting the new 'Financial Advisor' of The Philadelphia Public Chronicle. It's time for them to publish some articles about the 'economic potential of the Western Pennsylvania mountains.' I'll ensure that, subtly, it's revealed how crucial building a new railway spur is to unlocking this immense wealth."
"Alright, but at the same time, have Frost coordinate so that Chairman Becker, on behalf of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, submits a proposal to the State Assembly at an opportune time 'regarding the assessment of the feasibility of constructing a new railway spur in the Allegheny Mountains.' The posture must be strong, making it appear as if this is for the economic development of the entire state of Pennsylvania, not for the private gain of a single company."
"We need to transform the construction of this railway from a unilateral business need of ours into a public issue concerning the future well-being of the entire state of Pennsylvania. We need to make dissenting voices sound like they are obstructing 'progress.'"
Reeves looked at Felix, his engineer's mind for the first time so clearly feeling the power of public opinion and politics.
He said sincerely, "Boss, your move... it's even more powerful than a steam engine."
"This is just preparation, Charles."
Felix reminded him, "Public opinion building and political lobbying both take time. And our ore cannot remain dormant underground indefinitely."
He looked at Hayes and Templeton.
"Before the railway spur is completed, I need you to find a temporary alternative for Cygnus Mining Company to transport the first batch of ore and coal out. Mr. Griffiths mentioned in his report that there seem to be some abandoned narrow-gauge railways in that mountainous area, used for logging in earlier years. Immediately send people to conduct an on-site survey to assess the possibility and cost of repairing and extending these old railways."
Felix looked at the mountainous area representing wealth, "We need to use these 'capillaries' to first extract the first 'blood' from the mines and transport it to Reeves's main artery. Even if it's only a few hundred tons, we need our LexCorp Steel project to see the first batch of raw materials from Cygnus Mining as soon as possible."
Everyone in the conference room was ignited by the Boss's imaginative yet incredibly pragmatic plan.
A massive steel furnace was slowly moving from blueprint to reality under the will of Felix Argyle.
Assembling a team, securing funding, leading with public opinion, finding alternative solutions... each step was clear and precise.
And each of them would be a key hand, adding fuel to the fire beside this furnace.