Four o'clock in the morning. In Felix's luxury suite at the Willard Hotel.
Only a single dim desk lamp was lit in the room. The heavy curtains were tightly drawn, shutting out the sky which had just begun to turn the color of a fish's belly. Felix sat on the sofa, his gaze fixed somewhat absently on the glass of ice wine he was swirling in his hand.
He was waiting.
Three soft knocks sounded—two long, one short. Felix stood up to open the door. Anna stood at the entrance. Her hair was somewhat disheveled, and the hem of her expensive purple evening gown was stained. In her hand, she held a kraft paper envelope.
"Come in." Felix stepped aside.
Anna walked in and tossed the envelope onto the coffee table. She collapsed onto the sofa, her hands trembling. Felix skimmed the contents—Conkling's drafts on the Union Pacific irregularities.
"I had the waiter add a sedative to his drink," Anna's voice was raspy as she explained the theft. "Then I had people help him back to his room. He won't remember. I put a prostitute in his bed to ensure he's too distracted to look for the files."
Felix nodded, placing the documents over a candle. The flames consumed the evidence that could have derailed his railroad empire. "A clean job, Anna," he remarked, handing her a glass of brandy.
Anna drained it in one gulp. "Felix, I thought I would be afraid. But when I was rummaging through his bag, I only felt excitement. To hold someone's life in your hands... is this power?"
"That is the intoxication of power, Anna. Not the reality of it."
Anna stood up and stepped closer, unfastening the first button of Felix's shirt. Her eyes were burning with a mix of adrenaline and ambition. "Felix, now it's time to talk about the reward. I don't need to replace Catherine. I want to be the shadow. Accomplices share the most solid relationship. We need a tighter bond."
Felix's expression did not change. He did not pull away, but his hand moved with the precision of a surgeon to catch her wrist, stopping her fingers. He looked into her eyes, not with lust, but with a weary, paternal clarity.
"Anna," he said, his voice dropping into a calm, resonant frequency. "Stop."
"I told you, I've thought this through," she whispered, trying to lean in.
"No, you haven't." Felix gently but firmly guided her back to the sofa, sitting her down. He remained standing, towering slightly but maintaining a soft posture. "You think this is desire. You think this is the 'contract' that binds us. But look at yourself."
He gestured to her trembling hands.
"You are a single daughter. You have spent your entire life in a house of men—Thomas Clark, his advisors, his rivals. You grew up watching power from the sidelines, treated like a precious vase while possessing a mind sharper than most of the men in that ballroom. You don't want me, Anna. You want a brother."
Anna froze, her breath hitching. "That's... that's absurd."
"Is it? You've spent tonight proving your worth to me as if I were a stern elder brother whose approval you crave. You want to be part of the 'family business' because it's the only place you feel seen. You think that by giving me your body, you're securing your place in the inner circle, because that's the only way women in Washington have ever been allowed to negotiate."
He walked to the window, pulling the curtain back just an inch to see the gray dawn.
"I am married, Anna. Catherine is not just my wife; she is the soul of my home. To betray her would be to betray the very foundation of the stability I've built. But more importantly, I don't need a mistress. I need a lieutenant. I need the woman who just outmaneuvered a United States Senator."
He turned back to her.
"What you're feeling is the loneliness of an only child who has finally found someone who speaks her language. Don't cheapen your talent by turning it into a common affair. If we do what you suggest, you become a liability—a secret to be hidden. If we do what I suggest, you become the Executive Director of the Argyle Foundation. You become a power in your own right."
Anna looked down at her lap, the fire in her eyes replaced by a stinging vulnerability.
The "Talk no Jutsu" he prepared had stripped away the romanticized shield of the 'femme fatale,' leaving only a young woman seeking a place to belong.
"You... you really think I'm that transparent?" she asked, her voice small.
"I think you are brilliant," Felix said, walking over to pat her hand gently—a gesture entirely devoid of heat. "And I think you've been lonely. From now on, you aren't a 'proper socialite' or a 'dignified daughter.' You are an Argyle. Not by blood or by bed, but by mind."
Anna sat in silence for a long moment, the brandy finally settling her nerves. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek and stood up, straightening her dress. The trembling had stopped.
"The Argyle Foundation," she repeated, her voice regaining its steel.
"Five hundred thousand in startup funds," Felix confirmed. "Go home, Anna. Wash the scent of Conkling's cigars off your skin. Have some breakfast with your father. And after a little vacation, we begin building your web."
Anna walked to the door. She paused, looking back at him. "You're a strange man, Felix Argyle. Most men would have taken the girl and the documents."
"Most men aren't building an empire that lasts a hundred years," Felix replied.
The door closed. Felix sat back down, finally feeling the weight of the night. He looked at the wedding band on his finger, then blew out the lamp.
He had kept his ally, secured his secret, and maintained his honor. It was the most profitable deal he had made all year.
________________
Snowflakes drifted through the sky over Washington D.C., and a cold wind swirled around the dome of the Capitol Building.
Tens of thousands of people crowded into East Portico Plaza, their exhaled breath gathering into a mist.
Felix stood in the second row of the viewing stand, pulling up the collar of his wool coat. He wasn't looking at the short man taking the oath, but instead scanned the surrounding crowd.
Standing to his left was a representative of the Astor Family, and to his right was the eldest son of the Vanderbilt family.
These men, who held the financial lifeblood of America in their hands, stood solemnly like students on this cold day.
Grant shook hands with Lincoln, who had just finished his speech, and then began his own address.
"I thank the voters, and I thank President Lincoln for his achievements over the past eight years. At this solemn moment, I, Ulysses Simpson Grant, do solemnly swear..."
The megaphones carried that raspy voice across the plaza.
Grant's hand rested on the Bible. That same hand had once commanded the slaughter at Cold Harbor and had accepted General Lee's sword at Appomattox.
Now, it held the scepter of this nation.
"It really is cold here."
Catherine, standing beside Felix, whispered.
Felix hadn't originally wanted her to come, especially since he had wronged her just yesterday, but Catherine was eager to see the presidential inauguration, so they had arrived in Washington early today.
She was wearing a heavy mink coat today and even held a hand warmer, yet her face remained somewhat pale.
"Bear with it, dear."
Felix took her hand; it was ice-cold.
"Once he finishes saying 'Let us have peace,' we can head back to the hotel. Tonight's ball is the main event."
Grant finished his brief inaugural address. There were no flowery words, only a soldier's directness. When he uttered that famous slogan, the cheers from the plaza even drowned out the ceremonial cannons.
After the ceremony, the carriage procession formed a long line on the muddy avenue.
The Williams Family carriage had a special pass, allowing it to go directly through the cordon.
Inside the carriage, the heater was burning brightly.
"Felix, you don't seem excited."
Catherine took off her hat and tidied her wind-blown hair.
"Why should I be? This was expected."
Felix poured himself a glass of brandy.
"It's the result of millions of dollars we spent. Just like buying a coat at a store. When you receive the goods, you only check for damage; you don't scream like a child getting a Christmas present."
Catherine looked at Felix. Over the past few years, this man had become more and more like steel and rock.
"Will Anna be at the ball tonight as well?"
Catherine asked suddenly, with a pointed tone.
Felix's hand paused for a moment, but he quickly returned to normal.
"Of course, she is the vice president's daughter now, after all. She will be one of the hostesses tonight."
"She is a capable woman."
Catherine remarked, her tone flat and devoid of emotion.
"I heard the Washington branch of the Charity Foundation is being managed very well by her. The congressmen's wives all seem to get along with her."
"That's work." Felix took a sip of his drink.
"Catherine, you know. Some political matters require someone to handle them."
"I didn't say anything." Catherine turned to look out the window.
"As long as she remembers her place."
That evening, the hall of the National Building Museum was transformed into a dance floor.
Three thousand gas lamps illuminated the place as bright as day. A massive Stars and Stripes hung from the ceiling.
President Grant wore an uncomfortable tailcoat with several medals pinned to his chest. He stood in the center of the crowd, stiffly accepting congratulations from various dignitaries.
Until he saw Felix.
A smile finally appeared on that serious face. Grant pushed aside a few congressmen trying to pitch railroad plans and walked toward Felix.
"Felix." Grant extended his hand.
"The air here is even more stifling than the smell of gunpowder on a battlefield."
"That's the scent of perfume, Mr. President." Felix shook his hand. "Or perhaps the scent of power."
"Whatever it is, I need some air." Grant lowered his voice. "To the smoking room? I brought something good."
Only a few people were in the smoking room. Thomas Clark, the former Secretary of the Interior and current vice president, sat there with a glass of whiskey. Secretary of War Stanton was also there; he looked even older, coughing incessantly.
"Gentlemen."
Grant closed the door, loosened his bowtie, and let out a long breath.
"Now that we're alone, tell me, what do we do first? That damned Public Credit Act?"
"Yes, exactly."
Felix found a sofa and sat down, showing no sign of restraint just because the other man was the president.
"Wall Street is watching, after all. The first thing you need to do is sign the act, promising to repay the national debt in gold. This will stabilize the bond market and shut up those people in London."
"So, what's next?"
"Then, the railroads." Felix looked at Clark.
"The Union Pacific Railroad is almost at Utah; we need more land Grants. Also, those Department of Justice investigations into land acquisitions need to stop."
"What was that investigator's name?" Grant asked Clark. "Wasn't he a holdover from Johnson?"
"Don't you worry about that." Clark smiled, glancing at Felix. "Someone is already handling it. He'll soon 'voluntarily' apply to manage seals in Alaska. After all, we've only had that place for a couple of years and need people to build it up."
Felix took a sip of his drink.
This was the fruit of victory.
In this smoke-filled little room, a few men decided the course of the nation for the next four years. There were no votes or debates, only an exchange of interests.
"Oh, by the way, Felix."
Grant pulled a box from his pocket and handed it to Felix.
"This was sent by Bismarck, the Prime Minister of Prussia. I thought you might be more entitled to hold onto it."
Felix opened the box to find an exquisite Order of the Red Eagle.
"That old fellow Bismarck." Felix smiled. "He certainly knows how to do a favor. It seems he's trying to win us over, or perhaps just to spite the British."
"Whatever. We won't be having any direct conflict with Britain anyway. Take it; you've earned it. After all, you indirectly helped Prussia win several wars."
Grant relit his cigar.
"Regardless, I have no interest in those European trinkets. I only care that you can keep my soldiers employed and ensure Southern cotton can be sold."
"Rest assured, Mr. President." Felix crossed his legs and accepted the medal box.
"As long as you are in the White House, the chimneys of this nation will never stop smoking."
Two weeks had passed since that grand ceremony.
The cherry blossoms in Washington began to wither, their petals falling onto the damp streets and being trampled into the mud by horse hooves.
A small white building on Pennsylvania Avenue now bore a sign that read: "Washington Office of the Williams Charitable Foundation."
At three o'clock in the afternoon, it was time for tea.
In the second-floor drawing room, Anna Clark sat in the seat of honor. She wore a pale green silk gown and an expensive string of pearls around her neck.
Opposite her sat a gray-haired, nervous-looking middle-aged man.
He was Mr. Wilson, a senior inspector for the General Land Office. For the past year, he had been like a bloodhound, fixated on a land deal in the West by the Metropolitan Trading Company, claiming it was fraudulent.
"Mr. Wilson, try this black tea." Anna smiled as she lifted the silver teapot.
"This is Darjeeling shipped from India. Felix specifically had someone set it aside for me."
Wilson didn't touch the teacup; his hands gripped his briefcase tightly.
To be honest, he was somewhat panicked. After all, standing behind Anna were the vice president and the Williams Family, the current president's biggest supporters.
"Miss Clark, if you called me here because of that investigation report..."
Wilson's voice was a bit dry, but he remained firm in his position.
"My stance will not change. Those twenty thousand acres are reservation land and should not have been allocated to a private company. This is illegal."
"Illegal?"
Anna gave a light chuckle, the kind of laugh one gives when hearing a child say something nonsensical.
"Laws serve order, Mr. Wilson. The railroad is order."
She stood up, walked to the desk, and casually picked up a file.
"I've looked over your resume. You've worked at the Land Office for twenty years and have always been an upright man. You support three children and a sick wife on a meager salary."
"That is my duty." Wilson straightened his back.
"Of course, and for that, I admire you."
Anna handed him the file.
"But sir, integrity cannot be used as medicine. I hear your wife's lung condition requires her to convalesce in a warm climate?"
Wilson was stunned for a moment. "How do you know that?"
"The Williams Family and the Clark family care about everyone who serves the nation."
Anna pointed to the document.
"This is a position in Florida—Customs Tax Supervisor in Jacksonville. The annual salary is three times what you earn now. It's sunny there with humid air; one could say it's the best place for recovery."
Anna added, "And as far as I know, they have the best doctors there, and the Umbrella Corporation will cover all medical expenses."
Wilson's hands trembled.
This was blatant bribery. Given his character, he should have refused and stormed out.
But most people are selfish.
Thinking of his wife's heart-wrenching coughing at night and his children going to school in patched clothes, he felt a bitter taste in his heart, falling into a deep internal conflict.
"If... I mean, if I refuse?"
The last remnants of struggle were reflected in Wilson's eyes.
"Then you remain an upright inspector."
Anna's smile vanished, and her gaze became as cold as ice.
"However, the Department of Justice recently received an anonymous letter. It alleges that you accepted money from a rancher during a land survey in 1862. Even if it's false, once the investigation process starts, your salary will be suspended. Then your reputation will be ruined. By the time this is all cleared up, perhaps two years will have passed."
"But by then, will your wife still be around?"
Silence filled the room, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Wilson closed his eyes in pain and remained silent for two minutes before opening them to look at the beautiful woman before him.
She looked so young, elegant, and noble, yet the words from those red lips were so lethal.
This was the fundamental nature of power.
"What do I need to do?"
Wilson bowed his head in compromise, his voice hoarse.
"It's very simple."
Anna took out a box of matches and pushed it toward him.
"That investigation report regarding the Metropolitan Trading Company—I find it somewhat 'inaccurate.' Perhaps it never existed at all?"
With trembling hands, Wilson opened his briefcase and took out the report that had taken half a year of hard work to write.
He struck a match.
Flames consumed the paper, and ashes fell onto the exquisite Persian rug.
"A wise choice."
Anna smiled again, the smile of a victor.
"Go to Florida to take up your post this week; a house has already been arranged there."
After seeing Wilson off, Anna walked to the window and pushed it open to let the outside air dissipate the smell of smoke in the room.
______________
Shortly after, a black carriage stopped below.
Felix stepped out.
He didn't use the front entrance but expertly came upstairs through the side door.
"Resolved?"
Felix entered the room and glanced at the ashes on the floor.
"Yes, another good man who had to bow his head for his family."
Anna poured herself a cup of cold tea.
"Sometimes I feel like a villain. When did it start? Since that telegram?"
"It can't be helped; power struggles have always been this way."
Felix took off his coat and sat on the sofa.
"People like Wilson are the most troublesome. They aren't greedy for money, but they have weaknesses. You hit the mark this time."
"After all, you're the one who taught me."
"By the way, there's something else. There's a hearing in the Department of the Interior regarding Standard Oil's pipeline laying rights. The committee chairman is an old stubborn man."
"What does he like?" Felix asked with his eyes closed.
"He doesn't like money. But he has an illegitimate daughter who is a chorus singer at the Metropolitan Opera House and has always wanted to be the lead."
"Then let her be the lead," Felix said flatly.
"Tell the theater manager to put her in the center for the next show. If they don't cooperate, I'll bankrupt him first, buy the theater, and kick him out."
"Don't worry, I've already arranged it."
"You see, this is my value. I can do more than just warm your bed; I can help you clear the roadblocks."
Felix grabbed her hand and pulled her in front of him.
"You've done well, Anna. President Grant is very satisfied with the current 'quiet.' He said your father is a good steward."
"That's my father. As for me, I am your political steward."
Anna across him, ambition flashing in her eyes.
"When will you take me to see that legendary manor? I heard the roof is almost finished."
"Soon, once the mess here is cleaned up." Felix patted her full hips.
"But now, let's talk about something else. Down South, Silas says there are a few stubborn planters refusing to sign the cotton monopoly agreement. Have the Department of Justice send a circuit judge down there to cause some trouble for them."
"No problem." Anna took out her notebook.
"Give me the list. Tomorrow morning, a judge will be on his way with summonses."
In this room filled with the scent of flowers, the two of them decided the fates of countless people as if they were discussing the weather.