Philadelphia, the birthplace of America, with its ancient red brick buildings, looked particularly solemn in the rain. Inside the Union League Club on Walnut Street, lights shone brightly.
This was the stronghold of the Republican Party and a gathering place for Northern industrial capitalists.
Felix sat in a private box on the second floor.
The box was luxuriously decorated with dark oak wainscoting, heavy velvet curtains, and a flickering fire in the fireplace.
He held a glass of Bordeaux red wine, looking out at the carriages on the street through the French windows.
"Boss, he's here."
Flynn pushed open the door and reported softly.
"Only two people, Old Dupont and Young Dupont. No lawyers or entourage. They look quite disheveled."
"Understood."
Felix put down his wine glass and straightened his tie.
"Bring them in. Remember to be polite. After all, he was once a general, even if he's a defeated one now."
A few minutes later, the door was pushed open.
Henry Dupont walked in. He was wearing his iconic military overcoat, which, though old, was still neatly pressed.
His steps were still steady, but the arrogant pride he once possessed was gone, replaced by deep weariness and wariness.
Young Henry followed behind, carrying a briefcase, his eyes somewhat evasive.
"Good evening, General Dupont."
Felix stood up and politely extended his hand.
"I am Felix Argyle."
Henry looked at the young man before him.
Too young, seemingly under thirty, with a gentle smile on his face, showing no trace of the ruthless character who had manipulated bank runs, instigated family members, and blocked sales channels behind the scenes.
"Mr. Argyle."
Henry hesitated before extending his hand and shaking it lightly.
"Please sit."
Felix gestured to the leather sofa opposite him.
"Something to drink? The brandy here is quite good."
"Plain water."
Henry sat down, hands on his knees, back straight.
"Let's get straight to business. What do you need to stop this strangulation? If you want my factory, I can tell you, there's nothing but air left in it now."
Felix smiled, poured himself a glass of wine, and sat back in his chair.
"General, you misunderstand. I'm not interested in your Black Powder factory. That thing is a product of the last century; even if you gave it to me, I'd find the demolition costs too expensive."
Henry's face twitched; this was an insult.
"Nor do I want your land, as I have no interest in farming in Delaware."
"Then what do you want?" Henry asked.
"I want two things."
Felix held up two fingers.
"First, I want order. Order in the civilian blasting market."
"The current market is too chaotic. You're selling, Laughlin is selling, and several small workshops are also selling. Everyone is undercutting each other, which is not good. It doesn't conform to business logic."
Felix picked up a document from the table and pushed it over.
"Dupont Company shall transfer its civilian sales channels in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Kentucky, and five other states, along with warehouses and customer lists, to Argyle' Metropolitan Trading Company for the price of one hundred fifty thousand dollars."
"At the same time, Dupont Company shall sign an agreement, promising not to enter the field of high-energy synthetic explosives for the next ten years. That is to say, those yellow explosive sticks can only be produced by us."
Henry looked at the document, his hands trembling.
This was to completely block the future path of the Dupont Family. If they didn't produce high-energy explosives, Dupont would only be able to cling to an increasingly shrinking Black Powder market.
"This is impossible!" Henry growled, "What would be left of the Dupont Family?"
"You still have the military's Black Powder orders. I can promise that the United Ammunition Plant's Black Powder supplier can give half to the Dupont Family," Felix said calmly.
"Although it's a sunset industry, at least it can keep your factory running and prevent your horses from being sold."
"And the second thing?" Henry asked, gritting his teeth.
"Second, I want a name."
Felix leaned forward, his eyes sharpening.
"I've had Laughlin Company and Lamotte establish a new company to produce those new explosives. I hope this company can be called 'Laughlin-Dupont Chemical Company'."
"What?!"
Henry stood up abruptly, nearly overturning the table.
"You want to use the Dupont Family name? For that stolen company? That's an insult to my family!"
"No, that's salvation for your family," Felix said coldly.
"General, you need to understand the situation. Lamotte now controls the future. Smokeless Powder is about to pass the tests at the United Ammunition Plant. Once it passes, the War Department will fully re-equip."
"By then, if your name isn't on the sign of this new company, the word Dupont will completely disappear from the arms industry."
"I am leaving a place for you. Although it's only a nominal position, at least the outside world will believe that the Dupont Family is still a giant in the explosives industry."
"In exchange, I will withdraw all patent lawsuits against you. Your bank accounts will be unfrozen. The United Ammunition Plant will also continue to purchase your Black Powder as training ammunition until your inventory is cleared."
Henry was stunned.
He sat back on the sofa, breathing heavily.
This was a trap, but also bait.
If he agreed, the Dupont Family would lose its core technology and market, but at least save face and the right to survive. If he didn't agree, it would be all-out war, and he no longer had any bullets.
"Lamotte... what did he say?" Henry asked, his voice hoarse.
"He agreed." Felix lied (Lamotte actually wished the old man would die of anger).
"He said, after all, he is still a Dupont."
Henry closed his eyes.
He thought of 'Thunder,' the horse that had been led away, of the workers waiting for their wages, and of the family's century-old foundation.
If, a hundred years from now, people still remembered the Dupont name, even if it was printed on someone else's company sign, it would be better than disappearing completely.
"One hundred fifty thousand is too little," Henry suddenly said.
"Those channels alone are worth two hundred thousand in fixed assets."
"One hundred fifty thousand is the current price," Felix conceded no ground.
"Actually, I wanted to offer one hundred thousand, but this extra fifty thousand is to save your face. It's for redeeming your horses."
This sentence nearly broke the old man.
"Good."
Henry picked up the pen, his hand trembling slightly.
"I'll sign, but I have one request."
"Please state it."
"The new company's name must always include Dupont."
"Of course." Felix smiled.
"Laughlin-Dupont, what a nice name."
Henry signed his name on the document. The sound of the pen scratching across the paper was like the sound of the Dupont Family's century-old mansion cracking.
"A wise choice, General."
Felix collected the document and took out a check.
"This is an Argyle Bank cashier's check. One hundred fifty thousand dollars. You can use it immediately to unfreeze your account."
Henry took the check, didn't even look at it, and handed it directly to Young Henry.
He stood up and took one last look at Felix.
"Young man, you won today. But this world changes quickly. Perhaps one day someone will sit across from you with a piece of paper, forcing you to sign something like this."
"I'm waiting for that day." Felix smiled and raised his wine glass, "But before then, I will be the one holding the paper."
Henry said no more, turned, and walked out of the private room. His back seemed even more stooped, as if in an instant, the once-mighty general had completely aged.
Once the door closed, Flynn emerged from the shadows.
"Boss, why use the Dupont name? We could have simply called it 'Argyle Chemicals'."
"Because we want to do business with the War Department." Felix shook his head.
Originally, Felix had intended to use the name Argyle-Dupont, but after careful consideration, he decided to combine the Laughlin Powder Company with Dupont.
After all, his current industrial plan was already quite extensive and shouldn't be too conspicuous.
At least in name.
"Those old-fashioned generals are stubborn. They trust the Dupont brand. If we changed to a new name, they would doubt the quality. But if it's called 'Laughlin-Dupont', they'll think it's a new product from an old friend."
"Moreover, this also makes Old Dupont our shield. If there are any monopoly investigations or factory accidents in the future, people will first think of Dupont, not Argyle."
On the banks of the Passaic River, New Jersey.
This was once a desolate swamp, but in the past month, a massive chemical plant had risen from the ground.
Red brick factory buildings were neatly arranged, and towering chimneys spewed white steam. The air was filled with the smell of acid and nitrates, but unlike the stale odor of Wilmington, this place was full of industrial vitality.
At the main gate of the factory, workers were hanging a brand new copper plaque.
Under the sun, the large characters shone brightly:
"Laughlin-Dupont Chemical Company"
In the factory's office building, Lamotte Dupont stood by the window, looking at the plaque with a complex expression on his face.
"What? Don't like the name?"
Felix walked in, holding a cane, followed by Miller and Bill.
"I thought I would completely get rid of this surname." Lamotte turned around and gave a wry smile.
"I never expected to have the name put up in the end. Henry would probably die of anger if he saw this."
"He's already angry enough." Felix walked to the table with a smile.
"But for those fifteen thousand dollars, he still agreed. Lamotte, this is business. With this name, your products will enter the military much more easily."
"Alright." Lamotte shrugged, "As long as he doesn't come telling us what to do."
"Don't worry, he doesn't have that right anymore."
Felix picked up a freshly produced dynamite stick from the table.
This item was exquisitely packaged, with a striking skull logo and the word "DANGER" printed on red oiled paper, and a small line below: "Produced by Laughlin-Dupont."
"How's the output?" Felix asked.
"No problem at all." Lamotte pointed to the production line over there.
"The new nitration reactor has been debugged. Our current daily output is two tons of dana explosive. This is worth more than my uncle's broken factory's annual output."
"That's good." Felix turned to Miller, "What about the United Ammunition Plant?"
"It's all arranged." Miller replied, his face filled with excitement.
"The War Department representatives came to visit yesterday. They are very interested in the Smokeless Powder Lamotte developed."
Miller took a glass bottle from his bag, containing light yellow granules.
"This stuff burns cleanly and has strong propulsion. The United Ammunition Plant has decided that all bullets for the next batch of new rifles will be loaded with this powder. And we are the sole supplier."
Felix concluded, "So that means we now control the source."
"Yes, Boss." Miller nodded.
"Laughlin-Dupont Company produces gunpowder, supplies it to the United Ammunition Plant to produce bullets, and then sells them to the War Department, or through Militech to the Prussians. This entire chain is ours."
"This is a closed loop." Felix nodded with satisfaction.
"How about sales?" Felix looked at Bill.
"Crazy, absolutely selling like crazy." Bill grinned broadly, pulling out a stack of orders from his briefcase.
"Ever since Dupont relinquished the channels, those distributors have pounced like hungry wolves. Coal mines in Pennsylvania, railway construction sites in the West, even gold mines in California, are all demanding goods."
"They say this stuff is too good. It used to take a month to open a tunnel, now it only takes a week. Although the price is expensive, it really saves money."
"And we've already taken over Dupont's original sales network entirely. Now, besides us, no one can buy legal Nitroglycerin explosives on the market. Those who try to smuggle Nobel explosives are completely blocked by our security team and lawyers."
"Well done."
Felix put down the dynamite stick and walked to the map on the wall.
"The explosives market has been captured, and our operations in Delaware were very successful. Although Old Dupont is still alive, he is now a tiger without teeth."
His finger slid to the center of New York City.
"Now, it's time to think about something else."
"Gable said that Universal Department Store's summer sales are a bit down. Because the weather is too hot, ladies don't want to go out."
"Boss, what should we do?" Bill asked, "We can't put a roof over the streets, can we?"
"No, no, no."
Felix smiled, a different kind of wisdom sparkling in his eyes.
"We need to create a holiday. Or rather, utilize a holiday."
"Christmas is in four months. Before, Christmas was just about going to church to pray, or having a meal at home."
"I want to change it. Make Christmas a shopping festival. Make every child feel that if they don't buy gifts at Universal Department Store, Santa Claus won't come."
"Flynn, are Fowler's newspapers ready?"
"They are ready." Flynn replied.
"Fowler has already written dozens of stories about'Santa Claus loves Universal Department Store the most.' Also, we've contacted the illustrator who draws Santa Claus and asked him to put our logo on Santa Claus's red suit."
"Excellent."
Felix turned around, looking at these partners who had fought alongside him.
"Gentlemen, explosives are just to clear the way, to establish order in this savage world."
"But consumption is the future."
"Dupont is a thing of the past. Now, let's go blast open the wallets of New Yorkers too."
That summer, with the roar of the modern factory in New Jersey, the Argyle Family, through Laughlin-Dupont Company, officially established absolute hegemony in the American explosives market.
This year, Felix had just turned 26.
Heavy snow had been falling intermittently for two days, blanketing the streets of Manhattan in a thick, white carpet.
According to the custom of previous years, in such weather, few people would wander the streets except for those going to church to pray or laborers who had to make a living at the docks.
But this year, 34th Street and Fifth Avenue was an exception.
At four in the afternoon, as the sky began to darken, the massive six-story building of the Universal Department Store suddenly "lit up."
Thousands of improved gas lamps were lit simultaneously. Through reflectors installed inside the glass shades, the light was magnified several times over, illuminating the entire building as if it were broad daylight.
Inside the giant floor-to-ceiling display windows, a scene of the legendary North Pole was arranged: snowdrifts made of cotton, reindeer carved from wood, and a wax figure of a fat old man with a large white beard, dressed in red and white.
"Look! It's Santa Claus!"
A little boy in a thick cotton coat pressed himself against the window glass, his warm breath forming a layer of mist on it. He excitedly pointed at the old man in red and shouted to his mother behind him.
"The newspapers were right! Santa Claus is at the Universal Department Store."
Behind him was his mother, dressed in a plain wool coat. She tightened her scarf, a helpless yet doting smile on her face.
"Alright, Jimmy. But we have to agree first—you can only buy one toy."
"No, Mama! The Daily Truth said that if you spend five dollars, Santa Claus will give you a bag of candy!" Jimmy protested loudly.
This was Vincent Fowler's masterpiece.
Over the past two months, all the newspapers under Argyle had been serializing stories about "Santa Claus." Fowler had hired the famous illustrator Thomas Nast to redefine the image of this figure, which had originally been just a religious legend.
Fat, red clothes, white beard, living at the North Pole, and fond of giving gifts.
Most importantly, the newspapers hinted that Santa Claus's gift warehouse was actually the Universal Department Store's warehouse.
Pushing open the heavy mahogany doors, a wave of warmth mixed with the scents of pine and perfume wafted over.
The lobby was packed with people.
"Excuse me, coming through!"
Several uniformed clerks pushed carts loaded with goods, struggling to navigate through the crowd. The carts were piled high with exquisite gift boxes.
Charlie Gable stood by the railing on the second floor, overlooking the frenzied crowd below. His tuxedo's bow tie was slightly crooked, and sweat beaded on his forehead, but his eyes were frighteningly bright.
"Boss, this is absolutely insane."
Gable shouted to Felix beside him, forced to raise his voice because the surrounding noise was so deafening.
"The toy inventory sold out yesterday. We had to have the woodworking factory in New Jersey work through the night. And those cotton dresses from the South, which were meant for next spring—they were snatched up in just half an hour."
Felix, wearing a dark gray cashmere coat and holding a cane, looked on with a calm expression.
"What are the sales figures?" Felix asked.
"So far, today's turnover has already exceeded fifty thousand dollars." Gable swallowed hard.
"That's double the record from the opening day in the summer."
Gable pointed toward the ladies' section on the third floor. "And that new thing... it's selling the best."
Felix followed his finger.
At a prominent counter on the third floor, a group of elegantly dressed ladies was gathered. They weren't looking at jewelry or silks.
They were looking at guns.
It was a product called the "Lady Guardian," specially made by the United Ammunition Plant under the Laughlin-Dupont Chemical Company.
It was an extremely compact Derringer pistol. With ivory grips, a silver-plated body, and exquisite rose engravings, it was only the size of a palm and could easily fit into a lady's handbag or sleeve.
"Is this gun really safe?"
A lady wearing a velvet hat picked up a pistol, asking the clerk behind the counter with a mix of trepidation and curiosity.
"Absolutely safe, Madam."
The salesman was a handsome, specially trained man. He smiled as he took the gun and expertly demonstrated it.
"These use the latest powder in fixed cartridges. There's no smoke, and the recoil is minimal. Plus, we've designed it with a double safety. It will only fire when you truly encounter danger and pull the trigger with force."
"Security in New York isn't great these days; there are vagrants everywhere."
The salesman lowered his voice, his tone carrying just the right amount of concern.
"When your husband isn't around, this is your best guardian. And look at the craftsmanship—it matches your pearl necklace perfectly."
Looking at the lethal weapon in her hand, as exquisite as a jewelry box, the lady was tempted.
"How much?"
"Twenty dollars, Madam. It comes with a box of silver-plated bullets and a velvet holster."
"Wrap it up." The lady pulled out her wallet without hesitation.
Standing upstairs, Felix watched the scene, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Packaging fear as fashion—that is the pinnacle of business," Felix said to Gable. "Tell Lamotte to collaborate with the Militech to design one for men. Call it 'Gentleman's Wrath.' The barrel can be a bit longer, and we'll sell it for thirty dollars."
"Yes, Boss." Gable wiped his sweat with a handkerchief.
"Oh, and one more thing. Mrs. Astor... that Caroline Astor, just sent her butler."
"Oh?" Felix raised an eyebrow, finding it somewhat amusing.
"I recall her saying that members of the Astor family never step foot in stores?"
"The butler came in through the back door," Gable said with a sly smile.
"He ordered a full set of Sèvres porcelain and the largest Santa Claus doll. He said it's for her grandson. But he specifically requested that the Universal Department Store labels be removed and replaced with a plain gift box."
"Then satisfy her," Felix laughed.
"Old money and their pride. As long as she's willing to pay, I don't care if she wants the label changed to her own name."
Just then, the giant clock in the center of the lobby chimed five times.
It was the "Surprise Moment."
From the massive Christmas tree at the top of the lobby, countless small colored slips of paper suddenly drifted down.
"They're vouchers!"
"Grab them! Those are five-cent discount coupons!"
The crowd erupted.
Even the gentlemen, who had been relatively reserved, reached out, while children ran joyfully across the floor.
Felix watched the carnivalesque scene.
On this cold winter night, God seemed to have taken a back seat. In His place stood a golden calf named "Consumption." And the Universal Department Store was the temple of this new religion.
"Gable."
Felix turned and walked toward his office. "Next year, I want to see the same scene in Philadelphia and Chicago. Have Fowler write more stories. Without a story, a product is just a product. With a story, a product is a dream."
"Understood, Boss."
Gable watched Felix's retreating figure, then looked down at the crowd scrambling for discount coupons, sighing inwardly.
Felix wasn't selling goods; he was clearly selling desire.