New York, the short-lived autumn sun temporarily dispelled days of continuous overcast and rainy weather.
After the meeting on the future of steel concluded at the top floor of Argyle Empire Bank, Felix did not immediately plunge into the next business game.
He spent two full days in his study with Frost, refining all the resolutions reached at the meeting into concrete, actionable directives.
Felix knew that establishing a vast steel system was far more complex than acquiring an existing railroad company.
It required patience, precise planning, and, most importantly, finding the right people to execute this arduous task, akin to forging a new path in the wilderness.
Felix handed a newly signed document to Frost, "Edward, send this authorization letter to Miller."
The document's content was simple: it formally authorized Miller to serve as the interim head of the Appalachia Project Department of the newly established "Cenon Mining Company," while also retaining his position as President of Militech.
It also empowered him to assemble a professional team responsible for the preliminary planning and development of the mine.
"Tell Miller I don't need him to immediately dig up a certain amount of ore. What I need is the most detailed, complete plan on how to 'safely, efficiently, and cost-effectively' transform the wealth in that mountain into fodder for our blast furnaces. Have him find the best geologists, mining engineers, railroad surveyors, and even people who know how to protect our interests in mountainous regions."
Frost solemnly noted this down. "People who know how to protect interests" was the Boss's euphemism for the silent members of the Operations Department.
It seemed the Appalachia Project, from the very beginning, was not just a purely commercial development.
"Also," Felix continued, "have Bank President Templeton immediately allocate one hundred thousand dollars from Argyle Bank's Industrial Development Fund as the first startup capital for 'Cenon Mining.' Every expenditure of this money must have clear records and reasonable explanations. I want to ensure that no profits are lost due to internal corruption."
After handling the initial arrangements for the mining company, Felix turned his attention to steel smelting.
He picked up another document, on which only one name was written: Lex Steel Company.
"This company is currently just a shell, Edward."
Felix slowly said, "But in the future, it will be the cornerstone of my entire industrial empire. Therefore, its first helmsman must be someone who truly understands steel and possesses sufficient ambition and foresight."
"Boss, do you already have a candidate in mind?" Frost asked curiously.
"Not yet."
"Rhys Griffiths is a brilliant metallurgist, but he is more suited to the laboratory than managing a vast factory. Frank Cole is an excellent production manager, but his understanding of steel smelting is not deep enough."
He pondered for a moment, seemingly making a difficult decision.
"I need someone who understands technology, is proficient in cost control, and can contend head-on with rivals in the future."
"Send a telegram to Mr. Cassatt in Philadelphia. Ask him to recommend the top engineer responsible for bridge construction or rail quality control within the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, or someone he knows in the Philadelphia industrial sector."
"Someone who best understands how to use steel and has an almost obsessive pursuit of steel quality. Only such a person can inject the correct soul into 'Lex Steel.'"
Frost noted down this somewhat unexpected directive... Just as Felix was meticulously selecting the first sowers for his future steel empire, Argyle Bank and Patriot Investment Company, these two massive financial machines, were also operating at high speed around this core objective.
Bank President Templeton personally took action, using his connections in Delaware—a tax haven known for its lenient corporate laws—to complete the registration of two brand-new holding companies, "Cenon Mining" and "Lex Steel," in just three days.
The complex equity structure design cleverly placed these two companies under the absolute control of Felix's private family trust fund, while also maintaining a certain legal distance from other listed companies under Argyle (such as the future railroad group) to mitigate potential future antitrust risks.
Meanwhile, Tom Hayes, like a keen-scented hound, directed his traders to quietly begin operations in the Philadelphia and Pittsburgh stock markets.
Their targets were not the large steel companies, as those were too big and easily attracted attention. Instead, they focused on small companies in the Appalachian Mountains that owned minor mining rights, or controlled certain key transportation nodes (such as small canal companies, narrow-gauge railways), and were on the verge of bankruptcy or poorly managed.
Hayes, in his top-floor office on Wall Street, gave instructions to his head trader over the phone, his voice languid.
"Remember, we are not acquiring; we are picking up bargains. Don't attract anyone's attention. Buy in small batches using different accounts. What I want is control of those companies, not their stock prices."
"Also, have our research team immediately start collecting all technical data and patent information regarding 'narrow-gauge railways.' The Boss is very interested in those 'capillaries.' Perhaps we could consider directly acquiring a small locomotive manufacturing plant that possesses relevant technology."
... A few days later, deep in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania.
A small convoy consisting of three inconspicuous four-wheeled carriages was struggling along a muddy mountain road, washed by autumn rain. The convoy was escorted by ten capable men dressed in hunter's clothing, their waists bulging—all from Militech's Operations Department.
Inside one of the carriages, geologist James MacFarlane (a core member of Griffiths' team) was quietly discussing something with a white-haired, experienced local guide, poring over a hand-drawn map.
Their objective was the potential remnants of abandoned logging narrow-gauge railways mentioned in Griffiths' report.
"Just beyond that mountain pass ahead, sir," the old guide pointed to a mark on the map.
"When I was young, I hunted there and saw those iron contraptions. I heard a lumber merchant from Philadelphia built them before the Civil War. He went bankrupt later, and the tracks were just left there to rust."
MacFarlane nodded, his eyes gleaming with the light of an explorer.
He understood very well that his mission was not just to find a few sections of abandoned track.
Instead, he was searching for the first vital artery for a nascent steel empire, upon which it would depend for its survival.
New York, late autumn.
In the penthouse suite of the Astor Mansion Hotel, the double-headed eagle emblem of the Prussian flag appeared exceptionally solemn under the warm glow of the fireplace.
Outside the window, Fifth Avenue buzzed with horse-drawn carriages and pedestrians; inside, a silent contest unfolded, concerning the future of warfare and national interests.
Major Albrecht von Alvensleben once again sat at the negotiating table.
Compared to a few days ago, his usually serious face showed a hint of imperceptible fatigue, but his eyes were even more resolute.
He had received the final instructions from Chancellor Bismarck in Berlin and had initiated preliminary discussions with the United States War Department as instructed.
Argyle arrived punctually, accompanied by his assistant Frost and War Department observer Colonel Dale.
"Mr. Argyle," Alvensleben wasted no time, gesturing to the waiter to forgo pouring tea and cutting directly to the chase, "I have received the final response from Berlin. Concurrently, I had the honor of engaging in a frank exchange with your country's War Department representative, Colonel Dale, on certain sensitive issues."
Colonel Dale nodded slightly, remaining silent.
"The Kingdom of Prussia, in principle, accepts the strategic cooperation framework you proposed. However, we hope to reach a consensus on the details that is fairer and more secure for both parties."
"Please proceed, Major," Argyle replied calmly.
"First, regarding the procurement of samples: twenty vanguard 1863 gatling guns, along with one hundred thousand rounds of ammunition. We accept your proposed price of four thousand five hundred dollars per system, totaling ninety thousand dollars. This payment will be made immediately upon signing the contract."
Argyle nodded; this was an expected concession.
"Secondly, and this was particularly emphasized by the Gruson engineers," Alvensleben glanced at his companion, "we hope to simultaneously procure ten thousand 'Militech 1863' rifles and one million rounds of ammunition for a comprehensive re-equipment evaluation by the Prussian Army.
Additionally, we are also very interested in your company's field ration packs and 'iodoglycerol' disinfectant, and hope to procure fifty thousand ration packs and ten thousand bottles of iodoglycerol for research by our logistics and medical departments. These can be treated as independent commercial orders, with prices to be negotiated separately."
"No problem," Argyle immediately agreed, "for rifles, rations, and medicines, we can offer a very favorable package price. Frost, you will be responsible for drafting a detailed quotation after the meeting."
"Now, let us return to the core issue: technological cooperation."
Alvensleben's expression grew serious, "We understand and accept that core components will be exclusively supplied by your company for the next five years. We also agree that during this period, your company will dispatch a team of technical consultants to assist us in establishing rifle and machine gun assembly lines in Berlin or Essen, with related costs borne by Prussia."
"However, after the five-year term expires, the full transfer of core technologies, including the complete formula for 'prometheus alloy,' heat treatment processes, and the precision machining techniques for the core components of the bolt, must be unconditionally initiated! We are prepared to pay a fair technology transfer fee for this, but the timeline cannot be delayed any further!"
Argyle did not respond immediately; he looked at Colonel Dale.
Colonel Dale finally spoke, his voice calm, yet conveying the Federal Government's undeniable stance.
"Mr. Major, regarding the transfer of core weapon technologies, especially those involving special alloy materials and the core mechanisms of automatic weapons, the War Department has strict control regulations. Any form of transfer must undergo item-by-item evaluation and final approval by the War Department's Technical Security Committee. This process… cannot have a preset timeline."
Alvensleben's brow furrowed; this was the biggest obstacle.
"Mr. Colonel, we understand your country's security concerns. But Prussia is not a potential enemy…"
"During wartime, Major," Colonel Dale interrupted him, "there are no permanent friends, only eternal national interests. I believe Chancellor Bismarck understands this better than I do."
The atmosphere instantly grew somewhat tense.
Argyle spoke at the opportune moment, breaking the deadlock.
"Gentlemen, perhaps we can phrase it differently. After the five-year term expires, Militech will prioritize and actively submit applications for the transfer of core technologies to the Prussian side, and fully cooperate with all review processes of the War Department.
Concurrently, we can sign a supplementary agreement that specifies the exact price and payment method for the technology transfer, to be executed immediately upon approval. This respects your country's needs while also conforming to our legal procedures."
This proposal was like a clever Tai Chi push-hands, giving Prussia a clear expectation while retaining the ultimate decision-making power with the American government and Argyle himself.
Alvensleben and Gruson exchanged glances; the latter nodded almost imperceptibly.
Gruson knew that even with the blueprints, without continuous cooperation from the American side, it would be almost impossible to fully grasp those core technologies in a short time. A promise of active cooperation was more valuable than an empty timeline.
"Very well, Mr. Argyle," Alvensleben made a concession, "regarding the transfer of core technologies, we can accept your phrasing. But ammunition…"
"Rest assured, for finished ammunition, United Ammunition Company can guarantee ample supply for five years at absolutely fair prices. As for the transfer of production technology… Colonel Dale has already stated the War Department's position. This is a red line that cannot be crossed at present."
"However," he once again dangled the bait, "if the Kingdom of Prussia can genuinely fulfill its promise to provide us with conveniences in the financial and trade sectors over the next five years, then after five years, if the war ends, the level of technological control might be adjusted. At that time, technical assistance for establishing a 'basic type' metallic cartridge production line might… not be entirely impossible."
He deliberately emphasized the word "basic type."
Alvensleben knew he couldn't get more on the ammunition issue. Colonel Dale's presence and Argyle's unyielding attitude both indicated the American side's bottom line on this matter.
"Alright."
He let out a long breath, as if shedding a heavy burden.
"Mr. Argyle, I, in principle, accept your final proposal. This includes the procurement of twenty machine gun samples, ten thousand rifles and associated materials, and this five-year framework agreement on technical cooperation and ammunition supply."
"Of course, the final contract text will still need to be sent back to Berlin for personal approval by His Majesty the King and Mr. Prime Minister."
"I understand."
Argyle stood up and extended his hand to Alvensleben.
"Mr. Major, I believe this will be the beginning of a long and challenging, but ultimately fruitful, cooperative relationship."
"For the future of Prussia, Mr. Argyle," Alvensleben shook his hand firmly.
Gruson also stepped forward to shake Argyle's hand.
"I look forward to discussing with your engineers again in Essen, sir."
Berlin, Wilhelmstrasse.
The chill of autumn had silently permeated the gray stone walls of the city.
Otto von Bismarck had just seen off General Moltke, the Chief of the General Staff.
Spread out on the table, besides the encrypted telegram from New York with Felix Argyle' final counter-offer, there was also a preliminary assessment report, personally signed by General Moltke, on the Vanguard Weapon System's impact on the future tactics of the Prussian Army.
The report's conclusion clearly showed that both the rifle and the formidable machine gun would completely rewrite the rules of warfare on the European continent.
The side possessing them would have an absolute advantage in crushing opposing infantry formations.
"Costly, but worth it."
Bismarck softly repeated General Moltke's parting words. He walked to the window, watching a squad of soldiers in Prussian blue uniforms march in precise goose-step down the street below.
These young lives would bleed for the unification of Germany in the future, whether in Denmark, Austria, or even on the soil of France.
And his responsibility as Mr. Prime Minister was to achieve the greatest victory at the smallest cost.
He rang the brass bell on his desk.
"Mr. Prime Minister," the chief secretary immediately pushed the door open and entered.
"Prepare the documents," Bismarck's voice was devoid of emotion, "formally approve our preliminary cooperation agreement with America's Militech in the name of His Majesty the King. This includes the procurement of twenty Gatling gun prototypes, ten thousand rifles and accompanying supplies, as well as the five-year technical cooperation framework."
"At the same time, immediately issue directives to the Prussian National Bank and the Customs Union Committee. Provide the necessary conveniences for the operations of Argyle Empire Bank, Argyle & Co. Foods, and Umbrella Corporation in Berlin. We need to demonstrate our sincerity to that young American friend."
"Yes, sir."
The secretary quickly took notes, but a hint of doubt flashed in his eyes, "But, Mr. Prime Minister... regarding the transfer of ammunition technology..."
"I know."
Bismarck interrupted him, a cold glint, understood only by himself, flashing in his eyes.
"We'll discuss it five years from now. For now, what we need is time and weapons. Let's firmly grasp what we can get our hands on."
He waved his hand, "Go do it. I want this document, stamped with His Majesty the King's seal, in Major Arnim-Boitzenburg's hands in Washington before sunset tomorrow."
...Three days later, New York, Astor Mansion Hotel.
Major Albrecht von Alvensleben finally received the long-awaited reply.
When he saw the official document bearing the bright red seal of King William I, he showed a look of relief.
"Hermann," he handed the document to Gruson, the engineer beside him, "Berlin has approved it. We... succeeded."
Gruson took the document and carefully read every clause on it.
"A good start, Major. At least, we have secured the first blood transfusion from the New World for Prussia's iron heart."
Alvensleben nodded... That afternoon, Felix's study.
Looking at the official Prussian approval document personally delivered by Major Arnim-Boitzenburg, he showed a satisfied smile.
Everything was within his expectations. Bismarck was a pragmatic politician who knew how to extract maximum strategic benefits from seemingly disadvantageous transactions.
"Mr. Major," Felix handed the document back to him, "it seems our cooperation can officially begin. Frost, immediately notify Mr. Miller and Mr. Jones. Have them start preparing the first batch of goods to be shipped to Prussia. It must be loaded within a month."
"Yes, Boss."
"As for the technical advisory team, Miller, you are personally responsible for this. Select engineers and artisans from Militech to form the first team to be stationed in Berlin. As for the team leader... how about Frank Cole?"
"Mr. Cole is the best candidate, Boss," Miller immediately replied, "he is thoroughly familiar with the production processes of rifles and machine guns, and he is steady and reliable."
"Very good." Felix nodded, then turned to Major Arnim-Boitzenburg.
"Mr. Major, to ensure the smooth progress of our cooperation, I suggest we establish a permanent liaison office between New York and Berlin. Mr. Frost and a representative designated by you will be jointly responsible for handling all daily communication and coordination matters."
"An excellent suggestion, Mr. Argyle," Alvensleben immediately agreed, "I will report to Berlin at once and determine the candidate as soon as possible."
After seeing off the satisfied Prussians, only Felix, Miller, and Frost remained in the study.
"Boss," Miller began, a hint of worry on his face, "sending Cole to Berlin... isn't that too risky? He's the most crucial person on our production line."
"Precisely because he is crucial, he must be sent," Felix replied calmly.
"The Prussians are not fools; they will try every possible means to extract technology from the people we send. Only Cole can hold that last line of defense. And this is also a rare opportunity for him to see firsthand how much of a gap still exists between the best factories in Europe and us."
"As for production, after Cole leaves, the daily management of Militech will temporarily be jointly overseen by you and Mr. Griffiths. Your primary task now is to complete the formation and training of those one hundred 'Tactical Support Teams' as required by the War Department."
"Yes, Boss," Miller immediately accepted the order.
Having dealt with military and diplomatic affairs, Felix turned his attention to the other veins of the empire.
"Edward," he asked, "any news from Mr. Cassatt in Philadelphia? About the helmsman of that 'Lex Steel'."
"Yes, Boss," Frost opened his notebook, "Mr. Cassatt has replied. He recommended a candidate, William Coleman. He is a chief engineer who worked for the Pennsylvania Railroad Company for fifteen years, specializing in bridge steel structure design and material testing. It is said that his demands for steel quality are almost harsh, and he even had several intense disputes with Mr. Thomson because of it."
"Coleman..." Felix murmured the name, "arrange it. I need to go to Philadelphia again next week. To meet this gentleman."
"Oh, right. Also, Bill in Chicago, what exactly is the trouble on the prairie?"
Frost's expression, for the first time, became somewhat grave.
"Boss," he reported, "Mr. Bill said in the telegram... the team we sent to Nebraska to acquire ranches has gone missing."
In the study of a mansion on Fifth Avenue in New York, the crackling fire in the fireplace illuminated Felix's face, which had instantly turned serious.
"Missing?" Felix's voice was low, and he looked at Frost, confirming that he hadn't misheard.
"What do you mean, missing? Bill's men, along with the security team we sent, a total of twelve people, just... vanished on the Nebraska prairie?"
"Yes, Boss."
Frost's expression was equally grim, and he placed an urgent telegram from Chicago in front of Felix.
"This was sent by Mr. Bill three hours ago. He said that according to the planned schedule, the team that went to the southern Omaha region to investigate and acquire ranches should have submitted a routine report to the Chicago headquarters last Friday via the newly laid telegraph lines there. But until this morning, they are still nowhere to be found."
"Bill has already sent a second team to search along their planned route and has reported the case to the federal garrison in Omaha and the local sheriff. But..." Frost paused, "Nebraska... it's too vast there, Boss. And conflicts between Native American tribes and some lawless pioneers occur frequently, so the federal army's control there is very weak. The local sheriff's reply was... they would do their best, but not to hold out too much hope."
Felix picked up the telegram, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the cold paper.
Bill, the butcher who had fought his way up with him from the New York slaughterhouses, was now anxiously waiting in the reception room downstairs. As soon as he heard the news, he jumped on the fastest train and rushed over from Chicago overnight.
"Send him up," Felix said.
A moment later, Bill's burly figure appeared at the study door.
Unlike his usual rough and straightforward demeanor, his face was now filled with anxiety and a suppressed anger. He didn't even bother to take off his overcoat, which was still covered in travel dust and coal ash.
"Felix!" As soon as he entered, his voice was a low growl like a wounded bull, "Something's happened! Tommy and the others... something must have happened to them!"
Tommy O'Donnell was one of Bill's deputies and the leader of this westward expedition team. A clever and loyal young man who had also climbed up from the bottom of Five Points.
"Sit down, Bill, and tell me."
Felix gestured to the nearby sofa, his voice calm, which helped to slightly soothe Bill's agitated emotions.
"Tell me everything you know, in detail, again," Felix looked at him, "Don't miss any details."
Bill took a few rough breaths, trying to recall.
"Tommy and the others set off three weeks ago. Their destination was the fertile lands along the Platte River, south of Omaha. According to our plan, they first approached several small ranch owners in the area under the guise of 'Eastern land investors' to explore the possibility of acquisition. At the same time, the six bodyguards you sent were responsible for surveying the surrounding terrain and... security conditions."
"Did they carry enough cash with them?" Felix asked.
"They did," Bill nodded, "but not much. As you instructed, large transactions are handled by wire transfer through banks in Chicago. They only had about two thousand dollars for expenses and... weapons for self-defense."
"Six well-trained Operations Department members, plus Tommy and the others, who are all veterans of fights on the docks. Twelve people, equipped with our latest rifles and revolvers."
Miller had also walked in at some point; he had rushed over immediately after hearing the news.
"Unless they encountered an organized cavalry unit, or... a premeditated ambush. Otherwise, ordinary Native American tribes or small groups of bandits couldn't prevent them from sending out any message."
"Ambush..." Felix's gaze sharpened, "Bill, think carefully. Who would least want to see us extend our reach into Nebraska with Tommy and the others acquiring ranches this time?"
Bill paused, his usually straightforward mind starting to race. He subconsciously thought of his old rival but immediately shook his head.
"Armour? No... it shouldn't be him." Bill's tone was puzzled, "Although we're still competing in Chicago behind the scenes, openly... at least in terms of live cattle supply, we're partners now. He has no reason to break the rules in this way at this time. It wouldn't benefit him."
"Then who else?" Felix pressed.
"The railway companies!"
President Templeton also walked in, apparently having received the news and already pondering the issue.
"Boss, don't forget the Union Pacific Railroad. Their main line planning happens to pass through the Platte River Valley. Congress granted them extensive land grant rights along the line. Our people going there to acquire ranches is equivalent to competing with them for territory. Those railway companies have quite a few professionals on their payroll to handle 'obstacles.'"
"Exactly!"
Bill suddenly remembered something.
"Tommy mentioned it to me before he left. He said some local ranch owners mentioned that people from the Union Pacific Railroad had also been approaching them recently, offering very low prices, and their attitude... was very aggressive. Some who were unwilling to sell their land reportedly encountered some trouble at night."
President Templeton added again, "Besides the railway companies, the local forces in Nebraska should not be underestimated. There are some large family ranch owners who have been operating for decades, they regard the Platte River Valley as their territory and are extremely resistant to 'invaders' like us from the East. Tommy and his team carrying large sums of cash to acquire land likely touched a nerve with them."
Silence fell in the study. Railway companies? Local ranch owners? Or even a collusion between the two? The clues pointed to a larger and more hidden opponent.
"We can't wait any longer," Felix said, making a decision.
"Bill, return to Chicago immediately. Use all the resources of the Metropolitan Trading Company to investigate for me! Specifically, find out who the Union Pacific Railroad's agents are in Omaha? What exploration teams or security companies have they hired recently? Also, the backgrounds of the largest local ranch owners in the Platte River Valley, and whether there are any shady dealings between them and the railway companies?"
"No problem!"
Felix then turned to the President of Militech, "Miller, pick twenty more of the most capable men from the Operations Department. Disguise them as a caravan or hunters, and leave for Omaha immediately."
Felix emphasized, "Go find them. I want them alive, or their bodies. If... if something truly unforeseen has happened, I want to know who did it, and why. Focus on the railway company's camps and the areas around those large ranches."
He looked at Miller and added the last sentence, his voice as cold as the approaching winter.
"Tell them to exercise restraint until they find conclusive evidence. But if anyone dares to obstruct or destroy evidence..."
"Use any necessary means."
Miller nodded, not asking further. He knew what "any necessary means" implied.
After Bill and Miller had both hurried away with their new assignments, only Felix and Frost remained in the study.
"Boss," Frost looked at Felix's calm yet unfathomable face, like the sea before a storm, and asked in a low voice, "Is there still a chance that Tommy and the others are alive?"
Felix walked to the window, looking at the orderly street below, dampened by the autumn rain.
"I don't know, Edward."
After a long pause, he spoke slowly, with a hint of imperceptible weariness in his voice.
"But any stone that tries to block the progress of my wheels, no matter how deeply it's hidden..."
"Must be crushed."