Boston, Cambridge.
Gardiner Hubbard's mansion was located on the banks of the Charles River.
This was a typical Federalist-style building, its interior decorated with deep red mahogany and thick wool carpets.
Hubbard was not only a successful lawyer but also a representative of Boston's old money class. He utterly detested those in New York who struck it rich through speculation and brute force.
Inside the study.
Hubbard sat in a leather armchair, holding the employment contract left by White. Reading glasses rested on the bridge of his nose as his gaze scrutinized the complex legal clauses word by word.
Thomas Sanders, the leather merchant who provided Bell with room, board, and laboratory funding, was pacing anxiously in front of the fireplace.
Bell sat on a hard-backed chair to the side, hands clasped, waiting for the two investors' decision.
"Quite an appetite indeed."
Hubbard threw the contract onto the coffee table, took off his glasses, and gave a cold snort.
"Mr. Hubbard, is there something wrong with the terms?" Bell asked.
"The problem lies in its exclusivity, Alexander."
Hubbard pointed to the fourth page of the contract.
"It says here: 'All ideas, sketches, models, and patents related to acoustics, communications, and electromagnetism generated by the employee during the period of employment and for ten years after leaving the company, shall irrevocably belong to the General Electric Company in full ownership.'"
Hubbard looked at Bell with a sense of regret.
"This means that as long as you sign this, your brain no longer belongs to you. You will become a machine in Argyle's laboratory. You invent the telephone, he takes it to earn dollars, and you can only get that pitiful two percent. Moreover, as long as he manipulates the accounts to inflate research and development costs, you won't even see that two percent of the net profit."
Sanders stopped pacing.
"But Gardiner, that White fellow was right. We have no equipment, no factory. Alexander's research has reached a bottleneck. If we don't accept Argyle's funding, the telephone might forever remain as blueprints in that attic. Our previous investment will also go down the drain."
"Thomas, you're a leather man; you don't understand the value of law and patents."
Hubbard stood up and walked behind the desk.
"Once this telephone thing succeeds, it's very likely to replace the existing telegraph network. This is an immeasurably huge cake."
Hubbard stared at Bell very seriously.
"Alexander. How Argyle made his fortune in New York is well known throughout the legal circles of the entire East Coast. He annexed Pennsylvania and the Erie Railroad, brought down Pinkerton, and even forced Congress to change the rail gauge. I don't think such a person will respect an inventor's ideas. Because he only knows how to plunder."
"If you go to New York, you will no longer be Bell, the inventor of the telephone. You will just be the two-hundredth engineer hired by General Electric."
These words stung Bell.
As a scholar, honor and naming rights were often more important than money.
"Then what should I do?" Bell asked.
"White is waiting at the hotel for my reply. He warned me that if we refuse, General Electric will start its own research and development."
"Hmph... then let them research."
A flash of an old-school lawyer's cunning and stubbornness appeared in Hubbard's eyes.
"The Patent Office doesn't care who has more money; it only recognizes who submits the drawings and models first. Alexander, for now, your research progress is already far ahead of theirs."
Hubbard opened a drawer and took out a checkbook.
"Thomas and I will increase our investment. Go buy the best copper wire, customize the most precise diaphragms. Stop giving classes to the deaf and mute. From tomorrow on, put all your energy into the laboratory."
Hubbard signed his name on the check.
"Perhaps we can establish an independent company, called the 'Bell Telephone Company.' We'll apply for the patents ourselves and find our own manufacturers. If Argyle wants to fight a patent war, Boston's legal team will play with him to the end. New England's courts are not his New York backyard."
Bell looked at the check.
He felt the trust of his partners and the dignity of refusing to bow to power.
He stood up and buttoned his suit.
"I understand, Mr. Hubbard. I know how to reply to them."
Three days later.
Boston, the lobby of the Parker House Hotel.
Heinrich White sat on a velvet sofa, holding a cup of black tea, with his briefcase at his feet.
Ten o'clock in the morning.
Bell appeared in the lobby on time, without the contract.
White set down his teacup.
"You didn't bring a pen, Mr. Bell."
White looked at the young man who had come empty-handed.
Bell walked to the sofa but did not sit down.
"Mr. White, I appreciate your and Mr. Argyle's appreciation. But I cannot accept this invitation."
Bell's tone was calm but very firm.
White frowned slightly.
"The terms can be negotiated. If you are dissatisfied with the two percent dividend, I can take it upon myself to raise it to five percent."
"It's not about the numbers," Bell replied.
"My partners and I have decided to maintain the independence of our research. We will form our own company to advance this technology. We hope the telephone can become an invention that benefits everyone, rather than a tool for a certain corporation to control information."
White looked at the young man before him, who was glowing with idealism, and felt a sense of absurdity rising in his heart.
Having stayed in the Central Laboratory for so long, it was difficult for him to understand such foolish behavior—giving up a mountain of gold for so-called "independence."
White stood up and picked up his briefcase.
"Mr. Bell, scientific romance is worthless in the face of capital. You think you are refusing a job, but in fact, you are refusing the right to survive."
White buttoned his overcoat.
"I'll tell you this upfront. From the moment I step out of this hotel door, the Acoustics Department of General Electric's Central Laboratory will be running at full speed. We have a hundred times more engineers than you and ten thousand times more capital."
"While your company is still worrying about the cost of parts worth a few hundred dollars, we will be knocking on doors in Washington with more refined patents. By then, those tuning forks in your attic will truly be nothing more than a pile of scrap metal."
Bell straightened his back, showing no fear.
"Scientific discovery has its own laws; money cannot buy all inspiration, Mr. White."
White said no more. He put on his hat, walked straight out of the hotel lobby, and boarded a hired carriage bound for the train station.
The negotiation had broken down.
New York, Empire Bank Building.
Felix stood before the wide floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the busy docks of the Hudson River.
Many cargo ships loaded with coal and pig iron shuttled across the river's surface.
Heinrich White stood before the office desk, head lowered as he reported the results of his trip to Boston.
"Boss, I offered the highest terms. But he refused. The investor behind him is a Boston lawyer, Gardner Hubbard. Those New England old scholars harbor deep hostility toward us. They even threatened to establish their own company and apply for patents."
White finished his report, waiting for Felix's fury.
He knew the Boss hated it most when plans spiraled out of control; after all, White had been the one to recruit many of the researchers currently in the Central Laboratory.
He had never failed a recruitment before.
After all, the conditions offered by the Central Laboratory were indeed excellent.
But to White's surprise, Felix didn't get angry. He simply turned around, walked to the liquor cabinet, and poured two glasses of whiskey.
"Have a drink, Heinrich."
Felix handed one of the glasses to White.
White took the glass, feeling flattered and surprised.
"You're not angry?"
"Huh? Angry?"
Holding his glass, Felix walked behind the desk and sat down with a slight, amused smile.
Wait, did his subordinates now think he was that petty?
Getting angry over every little setback—that was for children.
The world didn't revolve around him; being rejected was perfectly normal.
Back then, hadn't Carnegie rejected him too?
"Why be angry? If he saw a ten-thousand-dollar annual salary and immediately got down on all fours to wag his tail like a dog, I would instead doubt whether he could actually invent the telephone."
Felix took a sip of whiskey and let out a breath.
"Only those with ambition are worthy of creating history. Carnegie is like that, and this Bell is the same. They both believe that the little spark in their hands can burn down my entire forest. That's called pride. It's also stupidity."
White took a sip of the whiskey.
"But Boss, Bell's research is indeed ahead. If he registers at the Patent Office first..."
"The methods of a bandit only apply to seizing physical assets that have already taken shape, like mines, railroads, and factories."
Felix set down his glass, his gaze turning deep.
"When facing thoughts and inventions, it's useless to send a few men to smash his attic or throw him into the river. As long as his brain is still there, he or someone else will eventually connect that wire."
Felix pressed the internal intercom bell on his desk.
"Tell Thomas Edison to come to my office immediately," Felix ordered into the mouthpiece.
Half an hour later, Edison entered the office with his messy hair. White spots from battery acid corrosion still remained on his fingers.
"Boss, you wanted to see me," Edison panted.
"Tom, drop all your work on the Quadruplex Telegraph. Hand it over to your deputy to finalize."
Felix pointed to a nearby chair, signaling Edison to sit.
"We're switching tracks."
Edison froze.
"Switching tracks? To do what?"
"That Scotsman in Boston rejected my acquisition," Felix said, looking at Edison.
"He wants to build a talking machine in an attic with a few thousand dollars. He's quite the genius."
"Genius?"
Edison couldn't stand that word the most. He gave a disdainful snort.
"Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. All he has are tuning forks."
"Then prove it to him."
Felix leaned forward, his hands pressing onto the desk surface.
"Tom. From today on, the General Electric laboratory will establish an independent 'Telephone Project Group' for you. I'll give you thirty of the best machinists and chemists. You don't need to invent any theories."
A cold calculation flickered in Felix's eyes.
"Bell wants to use the principle of electromagnetic induction to transmit sound by creating a weak current through diaphragm vibration. I think the sound from that method is too low and the transmission distance is extremely short."
"I want you to take a different path."
"Don't use induced current; use direct current. Find a material that can change resistance."
Relying on some physics knowledge remembered from his past life, Felix provided the hint.
"Find a way to place carbon powder or carbon blocks between two metal plates. When sound vibrates the metal plate, it compresses the carbon powder, changing the resistance and thus the magnitude of the current in the circuit. The sound transmitted this way will have a stronger current and be louder."
(Note: Historically, it was indeed Edison who invented the Carbon Transmitter, solving the fatal flaw of Bell's early telephones—weak sound and inability to transmit over long distances—thereby gaining a massive commercial advantage.)
Edison's eyes widened instantly.
He was a man of action, and Felix's few sentences cleared the mist in his mind.
"Changing resistance... the change in contact area of the carbon powder..." Edison stood up excitedly, pacing back and forth in the office.
"My God. Boss, this is absolutely feasible! If we use carbon resistance as a transmitter, and then use an electromagnet at the receiving end to restore it, the sound clarity and distance will increase exponentially!"
"It's good that you have a direction. Go get to work, Tom."
Felix leaned back against his chair.
"Don't worry about working hours; if you're tired, sleep on the lab floor. Get the funding approved by finance. I want you to slam the physical Carbon Transmitter and its blueprints onto the Patent Office Director's desk before Bell submits those crappy electromagnetic drawings."
"Bell wants to change the world in an attic," Felix's voice sounded like a sentence being passed.
"Then we'll use an industrial assembly line to crush his attic along with his dreams."
Edison nodded vigorously and grabbed his coat from the chair.
"No problem, I guarantee it. Within three months, I'll make that copper wire shout your name out loud, Boss."
Edison rushed out of the office.
At this moment, his mind was completely filled with carbon powder, diaphragms, and electric currents.
White watched Edison's departing figure and swallowed hard.
"Boss. If you've told Tom all the principles, then Bell..."
"Bell will still be the pioneer of the telephone."
Felix picked up the pen by his hand and drew a line on a piece of paper.
"But he can only own one door, while we will own all the roads leading to that door."
"Even if he registers the initial patent first, as long as Edison's Carbon Transmitter is approved, his telephone won't be able to do more than hum like a mosquito without our transmitter. In the end, that group of Boston lawyers will still have to take their blueprints and obediently come to New York, kneeling before this desk to beg for my authorization."
Felix crumpled the paper with the line into a ball and threw it into the wastebasket.
"This world never lacks smart brains; what it lacks is the millstone that can turn brains into gold coins. And I am the one turning that millstone."
Felix walked to the wine cabinet, picked up the crystal decanter, and poured half a glass of whiskey for himself and Heinrich White.
He pushed one of the glasses toward the edge of the desk.
"By the way, how is General Electric's progress in laying power grids in other cities?"
White stepped forward, took a sip of the drink, and the pungent liquid suppressed the frustration he had just felt because of Bell's refusal.
"Progress varies."
White pulled a black hardbound notebook from his coat pocket and flipped it open.
"Aside from New York, Chicago is making the fastest progress. City Hall is very eager for new technology, and Metropolitan Trading Company has deep connections there; meatpacking plants have already begun gradually introducing electric lights. Philadelphia has encountered resistance; Drexel's bank is secretly applying pressure on the City Council. Our construction crews are always delayed by various excuses when applying for street excavation permits."
"Hmm... I'll handle Philadelphia. I'll have Hayes use bonds to knock some sense into those councilmen's heads."
Felix leaned against the edge of the desk.
"What about the factories? Aside from our own pharmaceutical and food plants, how is the acceptance of electricity among independent factory owners?"
White's brow furrowed tightly as he closed his notebook and sighed.
"That... is somewhat difficult."
"I sent out over a dozen teams composed of engineers and salesmen to visit traditional factories in the New England area. Whether they were textile mills, machine shops, or paper mills, they were actually very interested in electric lights because they reduce fires. But when we tried to pitch 'Electric Motors' and persuade them to use electricity to drive their machinery, they looked at our people like they were madmen."
"Uh-huh~ and what was their reasoning?"
Felix asked, though he had already mostly guessed it.
"Because they feel it's unnecessary."
White waved his arm with some irritation.
"Those factory owners pointed at the massive Corliss steam engine in the center of their workshop and said that machine has been running stably for ten years. They are used to using thick belts and overhead drive shafts to transmit power to every corner of the workshop. They asked my salesmen,'Since burning coal can make the machines turn, why spend a fortune on your copper wires and that invisible, intangible electricity?'"
Felix thought to himself: Just as I expected.
"Because they can't do the real math. Steam engines are products of centralized power. To drive a single lathe in a corner, they have to keep the entire drive shaft turning. The mechanical friction loss in between is as high as thirty percent."
Felix straightened up and stared at White.
"Change the sales strategy for me. Don't talk to them about the principles of electromagnetism; those people whose heads are only full of cotton and pig iron don't want to hear it. Have the salesmen calculate the costs for them."
"Tell them that if they use Electric Motors for decentralized drive, each machine can be controlled independently. They can turn them off when not in use, without needing the whole system to idle. Compensation for worker injuries caused by belt snaps will drop to zero. Coal dust in the workshop will decrease, and the lifespan of the machinery will be extended."
Felix set down his glass, his finger tapping on the tabletop.
"If they think the initial investment for replacing equipment is too large, then give it away for free."
"Give it away for free?" White's eyes widened.
"Boss, the cost of an industrial-grade DC motor is several hundred dollars!"
"Then give it to them."
Felix's tone did not waver in the slightest.
"Help them dismantle the old belt systems for free and install the motors for free. However, the prerequisite is that they must sign a ten-year exclusive power supply contract with General Electric."
White sucked in a breath of cold air; he understood.
This was using equipment to lock in customers, and then earning the money back many times over from the electricity bills.
"But Boss, this brings up the second problem I came to report to you today. It's also the most difficult one to handle."
White pressed his hands on his knees.
"If we provide electricity to factories on a large scale, how should we charge them?"
White looked at Felix, adopting the posture of a student seeking guidance.
As for whether he truly didn't know, that didn't matter.
"Currently, at the Astor Estate, the White House, and for those streetlights, our charging method is based on the 'number of bulbs.' We charge a fixed fee per lamp each month. This is easy to track, but Electric Motors are different."
"A machine shop might only run two lathes yesterday, but ten today. The electricity consumed by a large stamping press is dozens of times that of a sewing machine. We can't send dozens of employees to stand in their workshops every day with pocket watches to record how many hours each machine has run."
"And if we implement a flat monthly fee, those factory owners will leave their machines idling twenty-four hours a day, draining the load of our power plant. If we don't use a flat fee, we have no idea exactly how much electricity they've used."
White spread his hands, his face wearing a look of helplessness.
"Electricity isn't water, and it's not gas. It can't be put in a barrel and weighed; it disappears as soon as it flows through."
Felix didn't answer immediately, instead searching through his memory. Then he turned around and looked at White.
"When it flows through, it generates a magnetic field, right?"
"Correct. Ampere's Law—a magnetic field must exist around an electric current."
"Since there's a magnetic field, it can generate force. Heinrich, perhaps General Electric can design something specifically for calculating electricity, just like a water meter."
"Inside, there could be coils and a disc gear meter. For instance, when current passes through the coil, it generates a magnetic field. The more electricity the factory uses, the greater the current, and the faster the disc turns."
"Connect the shaft of this disc to a set of gears like those in a clock. The gears drive the hands on a dial. The numbers jump up bit by bit."
Felix looked up, staring directly into White's eyes.
"At the end of the month, have a meter reader go to the factory and check the numbers on that dial. Subtract last month's number from this month's number. That's the amount of electricity they consumed."
"We can call this thing an 'Electric Meter.' We don't even need to sell light bulbs or machines; we just need to sell the jumping numbers on that dial."
White stood up abruptly, the movement so large he nearly knocked over his chair.
Although he'd had similar thoughts before, they weren't nearly as clear as this.
He had originally intended to let the Boss give some casual pointers so he could follow up with flattery, but he hadn't expected the Boss to actually understand this so well.
"My God..." White's voice was slightly hyperbolic.
"This... this is completely feasible mechanically. We just need to solve the error from slight friction and the material of the metal disc. This is a perfect measurement tool!"
White looked up at Felix with awe in his eyes.
"Boss. You are truly incredible. I didn't expect a casual thought to solve our trouble. You must be God's incarnation on earth. Praise you."
"Enough, enough~"
Felix rolled his eyes and tossed the pencil onto the desk.
"Now that you know, hurry back and set up a dedicated R&D team. I want to see a physical prototype of this Electric Meter hanging on the wall of General Electric's laboratory as soon as possible."
"As long as we have this thing, you can confidently go and promote Electric Motors to those factory owners."
White clutched his notebook tightly and nodded vigorously.
"Alright, Boss, I'll get right on it. With the Electric Meter, we can precisely convert the industrial energy consumption of all of America into gold coins in the Argyle Bank."
"Go on then." Felix waved him off.
White strode out of the office.
Felix walked to the coat rack, took down his trench coat, and put it on.
"Frost," Felix called out toward the door.
The secretary entered at the sound.
"Boss."
"Prepare the carriage; we're heading back to the Long Island Estate." Felix put on his leather gloves.
"I want to go back and see if those three instructors are actually up to the task."