In the dining room fireplace, oak logs had burned down to dark red embers.
The maids had already cleared the main course plates, replacing them with dessert dishes of crème brûlée and black tea.
Elena entered the dining room carrying a sterling silver tray covered with a velvet cushion. Three kraft paper folders were neatly arranged on the tray.
She walked to the dining table and placed the folders in the empty space between Felix and Catherine.
"Sir, Madam." Elena took a half-step back.
"These are the files for the three final candidates. I have verified their letters of recommendation and sent people to conduct site visits at their current residences."
Felix picked up the top folder and flipped it open. The paper made a rustling sound.
"Albert Green."
Felix read the name on the file.
"Forty-two years old. Born in London, once majored in history and law at Cambridge University. Came to America three years ago."
Catherine picked up her black tea and frowned.
"A Brit? To teach American law and history?"
"His expertise isn't American law."
Elena added timely from the side.
"Madam, Mr. Green is proficient in Roman law and the evolution of commercial codes across European nations. He previously served as chief legal counsel for a trading company in Philadelphia. However, because that company went bankrupt in the recent stock market turmoil, he is currently unemployed."
Felix's fingers tapped on the paper.
"A bankrupt company in Philadelphia—he has witnessed the strangulation of capital. This is good. Finn needs to know that the law is not a moral code written on paper, but a tool used to define the boundaries of interest. Someone familiar with European commercial rules can teach him how to see through the traps in those multinational contracts. This man can stay. He will be responsible for law, history, and etiquette."
Felix picked up the second folder.
"Otto Schneider."
Felix looked at the German man in the photo, who had a thick beard and a stern gaze.
"Fifty-five years old. A Prussian, a lecturer in physics and applied mathematics at the Technical University of Berlin. Why is he here?"
"Sir, Mr. Schneider left Prussia for political reasons. He participated in some radical labor movements and was fired by the university. After coming to New York, he has been working as a draftsman at a machine factory in Brooklyn. His mathematical abilities are outstanding, and he is proficient in German and French."
Catherine frowned.
"An exile who participated in radical movements? Felix, are you sure you want to put someone like that around Finn? What if he instills those dangerous ideas into our son?"
"Catherine, ideas themselves are not dangerous. Ignorance is dangerous."
Felix stared at the text in the file.
"General Electric and Lex Steel deal with various complex mechanical and chemical formulas every day. Finn doesn't need to become a scientist, but in the future, he must be able to understand the reports and drawings submitted by those engineers. He must also know how the torque of a generator rotor is calculated and how the carbon content in a blast furnace affects the hardness of steel."
"As for his radical ideas..."
Felix tossed the folder onto the tabletop.
"A person is only radical when they can't get enough to eat. Tell Schneider that the Argyle Family is offering him a salary of two thousand dollars a year and an independent residence on Long Island. If he teaches well, General Electric's laboratory can open up some research permissions to him. Use interests to shut his mouth, and use the laboratory to tether his brain."
"This course on mathematics and natural sciences belongs to him."
There was one last folder left.
Felix didn't open it directly but looked at Elena instead.
"The first two, one teaches the mind and the other teaches vision. For this last one, I hope you have picked someone who can teach him how to survive."
Elena bowed her head slightly.
"Sir. The third candidate is not a traditional tutor. I did not include any educational certificates in his file."
Felix opened the folder. Inside was only a thin sheet of paper with a few simple locations and times written on it, along with a photo. The man in the photo was in his thirties, with a prominent scar over his left eye and a cold gaze.
"Jack Martin."
"He served in the First Cavalry Division of the Union during the Civil War and worked as a bounty hunter and guard in the West after the war. He returned to the East Coast two years ago."
"What? You found a bounty hunter to teach my son?"
Catherine's voice rose a few octaves, and she set her teacup down heavily on the tray.
"Felix! This is absolutely out of the question! With the security team protecting him, Finn doesn't need to learn those barbaric fighting and killing techniques!"
Felix raised his hand, cutting Catherine off.
He turned to look at Finn, who was sitting in the chair next to him, boredly fiddling with a napkin.
"Finn..."
The boy immediately sat up straight.
"I'm here, Papa."
"If one day, the security guards around you aren't there, and someone stands before you with a knife... what would you do?"
Finn bit his lip and thought for a moment.
"I would run."
"And if you couldn't run away?"
"Then I... I'll bite him!" Finn clenched his small fists.
Felix turned his gaze back to Catherine.
"See? That's instinct. Finn might not need to fight based on instinct, but he needs skill and ruthlessness to deal with danger."
Felix's finger pointed at Jack Martin's photo.
"The security team can indeed block bullets from the outside, but they can't stop a backstab. The Argyle Family has too many enemies. Bankers in Philadelphia, railroad tycoons in Baltimore, and those European capitalists whose sources of wealth I've cut off. Sooner or later, they will target my heir. The security team is not suitable for directly teaching Finn."
"This Martin." Felix looked at Elena. "What are his specialties?"
"He is proficient in horsemanship, shooting, and various close-quarters defense techniques. More importantly,"
Elena paused for a moment.
"In addition to that, he is a mute. His vocal cords were severed during a conflict in the West, so he cannot reveal any secrets about the young master to anyone."
A hint of appreciation flashed in Felix's eyes.
"Elena, it seems you have done an excellent job." Felix closed the folder.
"A mute instructor who only uses actions to convey rules. No nonsense—that is exactly what I need."
"Martin will be responsible for Finn's physical education, horsemanship, and self-defense training. Two hours every afternoon. Tell him not to treat Finn as a young master. As long as there are no injuries, he can determine the intensity of the training himself."
Catherine took a deep breath.
She knew that once Felix had made a decision, any argument was futile. She looked at little Finn sitting there, a flash of heartache in her eyes, but it was quickly suppressed by her rationality as the matriarch of the family.
"Since you have already decided on the candidates." Catherine stood up.
"Then I will arrange for them to stay in the guest rooms in the west wing of the manor. Tomorrow morning, I will personally inspect their personal hygiene and living habits. Elena, take these files to the study."
"Yes, Madam."
Elena picked up the tray, her movements as efficient as ever.
Dinner was officially over. This conversation by the oak table determined the harsh fate of a five-year-old boy for the next ten years.
Second floor of the manor, the study.
Heavy velvet curtains shielded the night outside the window.
The light from the gas wall lamps cast flickering shadows on the walnut bookshelves. The air was thick with the distinct scent of leather-bound books.
Felix sat behind a large desk.
Three newly drafted employment contracts were spread out before him. The terms were extremely harsh, specifying the teachers' range of movement within the manor, communication restrictions, and the massive liquidated damages and legal sanctions they would face for violating confidentiality clauses.
He picked up a dip pen and dipped it into a bottle of black ink.
The nib scratched against the coarse parchment, making a "rustling" sound.
After signing the last contract, Felix tossed the pen onto the desk. He pulled a cigar from the humidor and snipped off one end with scissors.
There was a knock on the study door—two light, one heavy.
This was Edward Frost's habit.
"Enter," Felix said, striking a match.
Frost pushed the door open and walked to the desk carrying a black briefcase.
"Boss, the liquidation work in Manhattan has been fully completed."
Frost opened the briefcase and took out the summary reports.
"The previous gains from the stock market have been re-inventoried in the Argyle Bank's underground vaults. Furthermore, the railway equity certificates we absorbed during the market crash have all been categorized and stored. The Patriot Investment Company currently has twelve million dollars in liquid capital on its books."
Felix lit his cigar and took a deep puff, feeling incredibly refreshed.
One had to realize that this was twelve million dollars in liquid funds, all belonging to the Argyle Family.
He had been transmigrated for nearly ten years, and he could finally be called the richest man in America; he hadn't disgraced the community of transmigrators.
"Twelve million? A good number. I think it might be enough to handle the upcoming war of attrition."
Felix exhaled a smoke ring and pointed at the three employment contracts on the desk.
"Oh, right—Edward, these are for the three tutors I found for Finn. The contracts are signed; they'll be moving into the west wing of the manor tomorrow."
Frost's gaze swept over the names on the contracts, preparing to memorize them.
"Does the Intelligence Department need to intervene?"
"Of course. Elena's data alone isn't enough to fully convince me."
Felix leaned back in his chair with a matter-of-fact expression.
It wasn't like before; there were far too many people trying to infiltrate the Argyle Family now.
Not to look too far, even Old Morgan had likely arranged for plenty of people to try and sneak in.
"Elena's screening can only filter out obvious issues. Have Flynn's people get moving and dig through the backgrounds of these three again. Even if that Prussian had a few drinks in Berlin, or that Englishman owes someone money in Philadelphia, I want to know every detail. Especially that mute instructor—find out exactly who he offended in the West and why he fled back to the East Coast."
"Understood. I'll send a telegram to Flynn tonight."
Frost tucked the contracts into another compartment of his briefcase.
"Also, Boss. Regarding tomorrow's Executive Committee regular meeting."
Frost pulled out an agenda.
"President Coleman of Lex Steel Company and Manager White of General Electric have both submitted their monthly reports."
At the mention of those two names, Felix's gaze sharpened.
"Any movement from Pittsburgh?"
"Carnegie's steel mill has produced its first batch of steel rails. They bypassed the Pennsylvania Railroad and are entirely utilizing the water transport of the Ohio River to move ore from West Virginia to the factory. Furthermore, they've secured the first order from the Baltimore Railroad."
Frost looked over the data.
"The price is fifty-eight dollars per ton."
Felix tapped his finger once on the desk.
"Fifty-eight dollars. That's seven dollars lower than Lex Steel's standard quote."
"It seems Old Morgan's money has arrived. Carnegie has found his confidence and has started listing prices on the market to steal customers."
"President Coleman seemed a bit anxious in his report."
Frost reported truthfully.
"He is requesting to lower the price of steel rails to protect our existing railway clients. If we allow Carnegie to ship at this price, Lex Steel's market share will likely be eaten away bit by bit."
Felix stood up and walked to the study's fireplace.
The firelight reflected off his cold face.
"Lower the price? That plays right into Old Morgan's plan. He wants to use Carnegie as a bloodletting tool to drain Lex Steel's profits, thereby slowing down our expansion speed."
Felix turned around and looked at Frost.
"Tell Coleman the price of steel rails won't drop by a single cent. Maintain it at sixty-five dollars."
Frost was stunned for a moment.
"But Boss, if we don't lower the price, those railway companies..."
"Edward, you have to realize that when railway companies buy steel rails, they look at more than just the unit price; they look at service life and capital turnover cycles."
Felix walked back to the desk and pressed his hand onto the reports.
"Prepare the materials to announce a new sales policy at the committee meeting tomorrow."
"First, all 'prometheus' alloy steel rails produced by Lex Steel will provide customers with a three-year quality guarantee. If any breakage or deformation occurs within three years, they will be replaced for free. Carnegie's pathetic converter can't possibly smelt steel of this strength. He won't dare give such a commitment."
"Second, integrate the Argyle Bank's credit services. Any railway company purchasing Lex Steel products can receive a specialized procurement loan from the Argyle Bank. They only need to pay a ten percent deposit, and the remaining balance can be repaid in installments over five years. Set the interest rate at four percent."
Frost's eyes lit up.
Felix wasn't getting bogged down in a unit price battle with Carnegie; he was directly deploying financial leverage.
While Carnegie had Morgan's capital subsidies, he couldn't possibly offer customers five-year installment plans like the Argyle Bank.
In this era of 1870, where capital was extremely tight, the allure of installment payments was far greater than a seven-dollar difference per ton.
"This method is brilliant."
Frost quickly recorded these instructions.
"On the surface, customers are buying steel rails, but in reality, they are buying credit lines from the Argyle Bank. Carnegie's price advantage will be completely neutralized. Besides, Lex's largest users are the Boss's own companies anyway."
"Mm-hmm. Carnegie is a smart man, but he only has a hammer in his hand."
Felix stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray.
"Whereas I have an entire meat grinder in mine."
"Go and prepare."
"Yes, Boss."
Frost picked up his briefcase and withdrew from the study.
Felix stood alone in the empty room.
He walked over to the map of the entire American railway network, where black lines spread across the continent like blood vessels.
He reached out and drew a heavy 'X' over the location of Pittsburgh with his finger.
"Andrew, whether it's you or those old aristocrats in London," Felix whispered to himself.
"No one can stop my rules."
The mahogany door of the study creaked slightly.
Elena, the middle-aged housekeeper, walked in carrying a silver tray.
On it sat a cup of freshly brewed black coffee and several neatly folded morning newspapers.
"Sir."
Elena walked to the desk and set down the coffee.
"The carriage is ready. Mr. Frost is waiting for you downstairs."
Felix fastened the last button of his vest and picked up his pocket watch from the table to take a look.
"Tell Catherine that I will be staying in Manhattan tonight and won't be back for dinner."
Felix picked up the coffee and took a sip.
"Understood, sir."
Elena bowed slightly, turned, and withdrew.
Half an hour later.
New York, the top-floor conference room of the Empire Bank Building.
The heavy oak door was pushed open, and Felix strode into the room.
People were already seated on both sides of the long table, and they all stood up as Felix entered.
Tom Hayes, President of Patriot Investment Company; George Templeton, President of Argyle Bank; William Coleman, President of Lex Steel Company; the directors and committee members, excluding Catherine; and several managers responsible for logistics and clearing.
Felix walked to the head of the table, sat down, and handed his cane to Frost behind him.
"Alright, sit down. Let's get straight to the agenda."
Felix wasted no words.
Coleman was the first to open the documents in front of him. He looked sleep-deprived today, with heavy bags under his eyes.
"Boss, the movements in Pittsburgh are very fast," Coleman said, looking at the figures in his hand.
"Carnegie's converters have started producing steel. Their first batch of rails delivered to the Baltimore Railroad is priced at fifty-eight dollars. That's a full seven dollars lower than our quote. Yesterday afternoon, two more Midwestern trunk line railroad companies sent telegrams demanding that we match the price cut; otherwise, they will shift their spring procurement orders to Carnegie."
"Heh... We can't lower it."
Felix interlaced his fingers and placed them on the table.
"But if we don't, we'll lose about thirty percent of our order share."
Coleman raised his voice, clearly anxious.
"Besides, Carnegie isn't just offering low prices; he's even lobbying everywhere. He says Lex Steel's profit margins are ridiculously high. The directors of those railroad companies are very sensitive to costs."
"Coleman, let me ask you a question," Felix said, staring at him.
"If you drop to fifty-eight dollars and Carnegie drops to fifty tomorrow, do you follow?"
"He can't drop to fifty dollars."
Coleman answered without thinking; he clearly felt it was impossible for Carnegie to do so.
"I've calculated his transportation costs for coal and iron ore. Even if he goes by water, fifty dollars is a loss. Old Morgan won't let him lose money indefinitely."
"You're wrong," Hayes interjected from the side.
"Old Morgan is a madman. He's putting up so many pounds to support Carnegie just to drag Lex down. As long as he can drain our profits, Carnegie could give the rails away for free, and London would foot the bill for him."
Coleman frowned.
"Then what should we do? Just watch him steal our customers? The blast furnaces can't stop; once production ceases, the cost of reigniting them is astronomical."
Felix leaned back in his chair and turned to look at Frost, who was standing nearby.
"Edward, read out the new sales terms."
Frost opened his briefcase and took out a document stamped with the Executive Committee's seal.
"From today, the unit price of Alloy rails produced by Lex Steel Company will remain unchanged at sixty-five dollars."
Frost spoke clearly, ensuring everyone in the conference room could hear.
"However, an additional service can be provided to all purchasers. For customers with procurement volumes exceeding ten thousand tons, only a ten percent cash down payment is required."
The conference room fell silent for a moment.
"What about the remaining ninety percent?" Coleman asked.
"It will be provided as a special procurement loan by the Argyle Bank."
Frost looked at George Templeton as he said this; after all, this plan required the bank's cooperation.
"The repayment term is five years, with an annual interest rate of four percent."
Templeton pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"Boss, this loan model is very high-risk."
Templeton raised an objection; after all, he was not only responsible to the Boss but also to the depositors' money.
"Those railroad companies are already heavily in debt. A five-year term at four percent interest is almost equivalent to us paying them to take the rails. If they default midway, the Argyle Bank will incur massive bad debts."
"They won't default because they won't dare," Felix said, tapping the table.
"George, think carefully about the logic. They pay ten percent in cash and take the rails. Over the next five years, they must pay principal and interest to the Argyle Bank every month. To ensure they can repay, we must also include oversight clauses in the contract."
Felix looked around at everyone at the long table.
"They must disclose their financial statements to the Argyle Bank. We have the right to appoint a financial supervisor to their board of directors. If they fail to pay interest for three consecutive months, the Argyle Bank has the right to freeze their settlement accounts and even carry out mandatory mortgage liquidation of their right-of-way and locomotives."
Hayes understood and slammed the table.
"I see, it's a trap!"
Hayes then shouted excitedly.
"This isn't about selling rails at all; it's about lending money. We're using the rails to tie those railroad companies down. Once they sign this five-year contract, their financial power falls into the hands of the Argyle Bank!"
"Not only that," Felix added.
"Carnegie is fighting a price war. He wants cash, and cash is exactly what those railroad companies lack most. Faced with a Pittsburgh pauper demanding fifty-eight dollars upfront and a New York consortium that only requires a six-and-a-half-dollar down payment to take the goods, how do you think those greedy railroad boards will choose?"
Coleman swallowed hard.
"They'll choose us. The allure of capital turnover is too great. In five years, even inflation could dilute that bit of interest."
"So, what does Carnegie have to fight us with?"
Felix smiled coolly, clearly not very worried about Carnegie.
After all, even if Carnegie grew larger, it wouldn't affect most of Lex's original business at all.
Because seventy percent of Lex's business consisted of internal orders.
"He only has the pounds from Old Morgan's partner banks; he doesn't have his own bank. He can't provide credit on this scale. He wants to seize the market through unit prices; I'll crush him directly with financial leverage."
Templeton took out a fountain pen and began calculating on paper.
"But Boss, if we roll out this sales model across the board, the Argyle Bank will need to advance a huge amount of cash. After the bank's buying spree on Wall Street, our cash flow isn't very abundant."
"Then take those unnecessary bonds we've collected on Wall Street and package them as collateral to the neutral European banks that haven't participated in the Morgan plan yet. For example, the Germans or the Dutch."
Felix issued the instruction.
"Activate the funds. Money sitting in a vault is just a pile of scrap metal. Put it out there and turn it into a noose around other people's necks."
"Understood," Templeton nodded thoughtfully.
"I will draft a credit contract template."
Felix looked at Coleman.
"Your task remains the same: keep the blast furnaces running at full capacity. Improve the quality of the steel. Tell those customers that Lex Steel not only provides loans but also offers a three-year quality warranty. A one-for-one replacement for every faulty rail. Let Carnegie's rails rot in his warehouse as much as possible."
"Yes, Boss," Coleman closed the documents.
Afterward, they began discussing the business of other companies. Once the meeting ended, the managers left the room one after another.
Felix looked out the window at the carriages weaving back and forth on the streets of Manhattan.
"Edward," Felix said without turning around.
"Here, Boss."
"Leak this sales plan to the business sections of several other newspapers, but there's no need for a massive fanfare. Treat it as an ordinary financial brief. The owners of those railroad companies read the newspapers every day. They'll swim over like sharks smelling blood."
"Understood. I'll get on it right away."
The door closed.
Felix looked at the utility towers being constructed in the distance.
"Carnegie, let me see what else you can do."