New York, Fulton Street.
Three newly built red-brick chimneys pierced the sky, spewing thick black smoke. This was General Electric Company's New York Power Station No. 2.
The interior space of the factory was a full three times larger than the Station No. 1 on Pearl Street.
Six Babcock & Wilcox water-tube boilers were lined up. The furnace doors were open, and shirtless stokers swung shovels, sending tons of anthracite into the roaring flames.
Steam surged through thick pipes into the pistons.
Amidst the ear-splitting mechanical roar, four giant "Titan II" DC generators began to operate.
Heinrich White stood on the cast-iron walkway on the second floor, a stopwatch in his hand, his eyes fixed on the dashboard below.
"Eight hundred RPM!" White shouted into the copper speaking tube. "Check the brush friction and prepare to sync with the grid."
An engineer on the ground floor pulled down a massive knife switch.
The dull hum of electricity instantly drowned out the roar of the steam engines.
The voltage needle on the dashboard jumped suddenly, coming to a steady rest at the 110-volt mark.
White pressed the stopwatch and let out a long breath.
The underground copper cables leading to Lower Manhattan and the test lines strung in mid-air were filled with energy at this moment.
Station No. 2 successfully joined the grid.
The iron door at the end of the walkway was pushed open.
Felix walked in wearing a dark gray pinstripe suit, holding a cane.
Following behind him was Thomas Edison with his messy hair and Edison's assistant, Arthur Jenkins.
Arthur held a heavy object covered in black cloth in his hands.
"Boss."
White stepped forward and pointed to the machinery operating below.
"Station No. 2 is alive. Its current output power is enough to drive the workshops of nearly a hundred medium-sized factories."
"Is that so? Looks good."
Felix glanced at the rapidly spinning generator rotors.
"We have the power. Now, let me see the tool for collecting money."
Felix turned and walked toward a testing office with glass windows next to the walkway.
White, Edison, and Arthur followed him in.
Closing the door, most of the noise was shut out.
Edison jerked his chin at his assistant, and Arthur placed the heavy object on the wooden table and pulled off the black cloth.
It was a device about the size of a shoebox, covered by a thick layer of transparent glass. Inside the glass, two sets of electromagnets wound with copper wire were fixed to the base.
Between the poles of the electromagnets suspended an extremely thin aluminum disk, and the disk's central shaft extended upward, connecting to a set of precision brass gears.
At the top of the gears was a white enamel panel printed with five numeric dials, looking like several clock faces placed side by side.
"Boss, this is the final product made after more than seventy revisions according to your sketches."
Edison pointed at the glass cover.
Felix leaned his cane against the table and bent down.
"Give it a demonstration."
Edison obediently picked up two wires coming from the wall terminal block, connecting one end to the meter's input terminal and the other to a small test motor on the table.
"Arthur, close the switch," Edison ordered.
The assistant pulled down the switch on the wall.
The small motor on the table instantly let out a buzzing whir.
Meanwhile, a marvelous physical reaction occurred inside the glass cover. Current flowed through the coils at the bottom of the meter, generating a magnetic field. The magnetic field cut through the aluminum disk, creating eddy currents.
The previously stationary aluminum disk began to rotate at a constant speed.
As the aluminum disk rotated, the central shaft drove the brass gears above. On the rightmost enamel dial, a thin black needle began to move slowly, sliding from the number "0" toward "1".
"The rotation speed is perfectly proportional to the amount of current in the circuit."
Edison picked up several hundred-watt light bulbs from the table and connected them in parallel to the circuit.
The load increased.
The rotation speed of the aluminum disk inside the glass cover visibly quickened.
The movement speed of the needles on the dials above also doubled accordingly. After the rightmost needle completed a full circle, the needle on the adjacent dial to the left jumped one notch.
Just like a mechanical clock recording time, this machine accurately recorded the invisible current.
Felix stared at the jumping needle, his eyes shining with undisguised satisfaction.
"What's the error rate?" Felix asked.
"For the bearings, we used Swiss watch-grade jewel bearings, reducing friction to the minimum," the assistant Arthur replied.
"If running at full load for a month, the error won't exceed 0.5 percent. Moreover, the outside of the glass cover is fitted with a lead seal. Anyone attempting to open the cover and move the gears will break the seal."
"Well done." Felix straightened up and clapped his hands.
"Tom, what's the manufacturing cost of this thing?"
"Because it uses precision gears and jewel bearings, the current manual cost is around fifteen dollars per unit. If assembly line stamping is introduced, it can be reduced to five dollars."
Edison had clearly memorized it long ago.
"White." Felix turned to the power plant manager.
"Allocate funds immediately and arrange for production. The first batch will be ten thousand units. I want this glass box hanging outside every factory in New York."
White took out a notebook.
"Boss, since the metering tool is made, what is our pricing standard?"
Felix pondered for a moment.
"One unit on this dial represents how much energy?"
Edison hurried to explain.
"We've set a standard unit. It's called a 'kilowatt-hour' (kWh). That is, the amount of electricity consumed by a one-kilowatt machine running for one hour. One number jumping on the dial is one kilowatt-hour."
"Then let's set it at ten cents."
Felix thought for a bit and stated the price.
"Ten cents per kilowatt-hour. This price is twenty percent lower than the cost of generating the same power by burning coal. Those factory owners who calculate down to the bone won't be able to refuse this temptation."
Felix walked to the office door and pushed it open.
In the hallway outside stood over twenty men in sharp suits, carrying briefcases.
These were the sales team General Electric had just formed. The leader was a man named Vincent Thorne. His hair was slicked back, and a gold clip was pinned to his tie.
"Vincent," Felix called out.
Vincent immediately stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"Boss."
"Station No. 2 has started, and the electric meters are made." Felix looked at the group of salesmen. "Are the flyers and contracts in your hands all printed?"
"They're printed. The contract terms are exactly as requested by the Legal Department—a ten-year exclusive power supply agreement, with liquidated damages set at fifty thousand dollars," Vincent replied.
"Good." Felix pointed out at the city of New York.
"Go, to the Lower East Side and those textile mills, printing plants, and machine tool factories. Tell those soot-covered bosses that General Electric is here to bring them money. Free motors, free wiring."
In Manhattan's Lower East Side, on Lafayette Street, stood a three-story brick building converted from an old warehouse, known as the Abernathy Garment Factory.
There were no windows here, and ventilation was extremely poor.
Inside the factory floor, hundreds of female workers were squeezed in front of narrow, long wooden tables, their feet pumping sewing machine pedals.
In the center, a massive, old-fashioned Corliss steam engine emitted a deafening, rhythmic wheeze.
Like an aging giant beast, it drove a dense network of pulleys on the ceiling through a thick main drive shaft.
These belts, in turn, connected to rows of cutting machines and heavy textile equipment below.
The air was thick with cotton lint, the stench of sweat, and the lingering smell of coal smoke.
Horace Abernathy, the owner of this factory, was standing by the iron railing on the second floor.
He was a lean old man, wearing an oil-stained vest and holding an account book in his hand.
Snap!
A sudden explosive crack echoed through the workshop.
A main cowhide drive belt on the second floor had snapped due to age. Carrying immense kinetic energy, the belt lashed downward like an enraged steel whip.
"Ah!"
A female worker screamed as she collapsed to the ground.
The belt had struck her shoulder, and blood instantly stained her cotton shirt red.
The workshop fell into chaos.
The machines ground to a halt, and workers shrieked in terror.
"Shut down the steam engine, damn it... shut it down now!"
Abernathy leaned over the railing, shouting at the top of his lungs.
The boiler operator on the ground floor scrambled to pull the control lever. The steam engine let out a long hiss of venting pressure, and all the gears and belts finally came to a stop.
Abernathy rushed down the stairs, his face ashen.
"Go, carry her to the infirmary in the back. Find a strip of cloth and wrap her up!"
Abernathy glanced at the injured worker and immediately turned to the foreman.
"Go to the warehouse and get a spare belt, fix it! This batch of military uniform shirts must be delivered today. Every hour we're down costs me fifty dollars."
The foreman was drenched in sweat, his expression troubled.
"Boss, the main shaft bearing has also come loose. Repairs will take at least four hours. We have to wait for the steam engine to cool down completely before we can climb up there."
Abernathy kicked a nearby scrap bin with force.
"What, four hours? You bunch of useless fools!"
Just then, the factory's heavy iron doors were pushed open.
Vincent Thorne, carrying that leather briefcase, stepped into the foul-smelling workshop.
His well-tailored gray suit was completely out of place in this environment.
He covered his nose with a clean white handkerchief, avoiding the oil stains on the floor as he walked toward Abernathy.
"Mr. Abernathy, I presume?" Vincent took off his hat. "Hello, I am the sales supervisor for the General Electric Company, Vincent Thorne."
Abernathy glared at this uninvited guest.
"I'm not buying insurance, and I'm not buying those glowing glass bulbs of yours. Can't you see I'm busy here? Get out!"
Vincent did not get angry.
He glanced at the broken belt on the ceiling, then at the steam engine still venting white vapor. A thoughtful look crossed his face.
"I am not here to sell lightbulbs, Mr. Abernathy. On the contrary, I am here to help you solve that trouble."
Vincent pointed at the steam engine.
"It seems that currently, that machine is eating your money and murdering your workers. And I can make all of this disappear from your workshop forever."
Abernathy paused, stunned.
"Disappear? Without drive belts, what will my machines run on? Your honeyed words?"
"On electricity."
Vincent set down his briefcase, took out a photograph, and handed it to Abernathy.
The photo showed a compact, cylindrical iron lump—a DC motor manufactured by General Electric.
"Tear down that steam engine taking up half your workshop. Cut away all those dangerous belts."
Vincent spoke rapidly, his tone highly persuasive.
"We will install one of these small electric motors under every one of your cutting machines and textile machines. Independent drive. Whichever machine needs to work, you turn on its switch. Those that aren't needed stay off. Zero wasted energy."
Abernathy looked at the photo, his brow furrowing deeper.
"Sounds like a good idea. But Mr. Thorne, I'm a businessman. How much does this iron lump cost? Five hundred dollars? A thousand? I have sixty heavy machines here. Are you telling me to spend tens of thousands of dollars to replace a steam engine that still works?"
Abernathy sneered with disdain.
"My grandfather and father used steam engines, and so do I. Steam is cheap, coal is everywhere. I don't trust those deceitful wires of yours."
Vincent tucked his handkerchief into his pocket and took a step forward.
"Not a single penny."
Abernathy's laughter stopped abruptly.
"What did you say?"
"I said, the motors are free."
Vincent raised his voice, ensuring the surrounding foremen could hear him too.
"Not only are the sixty motors free, but General Electric will also send men to help you remove the old belts and lay the copper wiring in the workshop for free. You won't pay a cent in equipment fees."
Abernathy's eyes narrowed.
In New York's Lower East Side, no one believed in a free lunch.
"I don't believe such a good deal exists."
Abernathy stared intently at Vincent.
"What's the catch?"
Vincent pulled a contract from his briefcase.
"The condition is simple, Mr. Abernathy. These machines belong to General Electric; we are lending them to you. You only need to sign a ten-year power supply agreement with us. During these ten years, your factory must only use General Electric's power."
"Then how do I know how much you'll charge me for electricity every month? If you set whatever price you want and I've signed, wouldn't my factory just become your ATM?"
Abernathy keenly grasped the core issue.
Vincent smiled and turned to make a gesture toward the door.
Two workers carried in an electricity meter encased in a glass dome.
"Look at this, Mr. Abernathy. This is an electric meter." Vincent pointed at the gears and dial inside.
"It will be installed outside your factory gates. It is like an accountant who never lies. For every kilowatt-hour of electricity your machines consume, it ticks up one number. We have a clear price: ten cents per kilowatt-hour."
Vincent flipped the contract to the cost analysis page.
"Calculate it yourself. By removing the steam engine, you no longer need to buy coal, hire boiler operators, or clean up coal ash every day. There will be no downtime or medical compensation caused by broken belts. Even if you run your machines all day, the monthly electricity bill you pay us will be twenty percent lower than your total cost of burning coal."
"You save money and get almost brand-new equipment. And we sell electricity."
"It's a win-win deal."
Abernathy stared hard at the numbers on the contract.
In his mind, he rapidly calculated the price of coal per ton, the stoker's wages, and the medical expenses for that female worker just now.
The ticking needle of the electric meter was like a hook filled with magic.
"No equipment fees... pay for what I use..."
Abernathy muttered to himself.
He looked at the stalled steam engine that would still take four hours to repair.
"And if the machines break down, whose responsibility is it?"
Abernathy wanted to squeeze out a few more benefits.
"That can be General Electric's responsibility; we will provide free maintenance for one year."
Having said that, Vincent handed over a fountain pen dipped in ink.
He could tell the other man was swayed.
Abernathy took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and feeling that he had nothing to lose, took the pen and signed his name heavily at the end of the contract.
"Remember to send people to retrofit my equipment."
Abernathy pointed at the steam engine.
Vincent put away the contract with satisfaction.
"As you wish. Tomorrow morning, the utility poles will be erected outside your door."
The Abernathy Garment Factory was just a small target.
In the following short week, earth-shaking changes took place on the streets of Manhattan's Lower East Side.
Carriages laden with peeled cedar logs rolled into the streets. Irish workers swung iron pickaxes, digging deep pits along the edges of the sidewalks.
Ten-foot-tall wooden utility poles were erected, their bases set in concrete.
Then, linemen wearing rubber-soled shoes climbed the poles, connecting thick copper wires wrapped in insulating tape to white porcelain insulators.
The copper wires extending from the two power stations on Pearl Street and Fulton Street were like a giant spider web, casting the factories of the entire Lower Manhattan into shadow.
On the street across from the Abernathy Garment Factory.
Elias Cobb stood at the entrance of his furniture manufacturing plant. The burly man's hands were covered in wood chips and glue. He bit down on an unlit pipe, watching the activity across the street.
Abernathy's steam engine, which had roared for ten years, was being dismantled into large pieces by workers and hauled away by carriage to be sold as scrap metal.
Replacing it were several General Electric workers who were fixing a glass-covered electric meter to the outer wall of the Abernathy factory using expansion bolts.
"Mr. Elias, have you seen enough?"
Vincent Thorne appeared by Cobb's side at some point. He had just secured a contract from a printing house on the street corner.
Cobb turned his head and looked at this slick-haired salesman.
"Thorne, I know what you're doing."
Cobb spat out the tobacco in his mouth.
"You're setting a trap for those fools. That old miser Abernathy only saw the free electric motors. He didn't understand at all that by signing, his lifeblood is now in your hands."
Vincent smiled, with a hint of helplessness.
"Mr. Cobb, that's a prejudice. You must understand that we provide the power, and they produce the goods. It's a fair trade."
"Fair trade, my foot." Cobb pointed at the electric meter across the street.
"Once that line is connected, Abernathy won't be able to stop. He won't dare break the contract because it costs fifty thousand dollars in penalties. Nor will he dare switch to another power source, because you've replaced all his machines with motors that can only run on electricity."
Cobb patted the brick wall of his factory.
"I'm not leasing equipment, Thorne. I have money. If I want electric motors, I'll buy them outright. I won't sign that bullshit ten-year contract, nor will I hang that glass box with jumping numbers on my wall. I'll buy your electricity at a fixed price. How about that?"
The smile on Vincent's face vanished.
He set aside his salesman's mask of hypocrisy, revealing the coldness characteristic of a Argyle Family employee.
"Of course not," Vincent refused flatly.
"Why? Isn't selling just selling, no matter what it is?"
Cobb was somewhat annoyed.
"Mr. Cobb is mistaken on this point. We don't sell machines. We sell the blood that flows into the machines." Vincent straightened his tie.
"In this city, the rules of electricity are set by General Electric. If you want to use electricity, you must accept the meter and the ten-year contract. If you don't want to accept..."
Vincent pointed to the Abernathy Garment Factory across the street.
At that moment, a faint humming sound came from the factory, instead of the usual deafening roar. It was the sound of dozens of electric motors starting up simultaneously.
"Of course... you can continue burning your coal." Vincent looked at Cobb.
"However, Mr. Abernathy's factory now has no transmission losses and no boiler operators. His production costs have just dropped by twenty percent. And it's not just him; every factory on this street is signing the contract."
"When all your neighbors are producing at lower costs, and if your competitors do the same, will anyone still buy your furniture?"
Hearing this, Cobb's expression changed, and he clenched his fists.
This was an open scheme, a form of coercion created by a technological gap.
If he didn't sign the contract, he couldn't use electricity.
Without electricity, his costs couldn't compete with those of his rivals who used it. The end result would be his elimination from the market.
But if he signed, he would become a prisoner with his neck tethered by that copper wire.
"Shit... you bunch of vampires."
Cobb cursed through gritted teeth.
"Thank you for the compliment."
Vincent pulled a contract from his briefcase and handed it to Cobb.
"Sign it, Mr. Cobb. The sooner you sign, the sooner you stop your losses. With electric motors on your wood-cutting machines, the efficiency might just surprise you."
Cobb looked at the contract, his hands trembling slightly.
But in the end, he took the pen and signed his name.
Because if he didn't sign, his factory might go bankrupt next month.
Vincent took back the contract.
"Work begins tomorrow morning. I wish you a prosperous business."
The top floor of the Empire State Building, New York.
Felix sat behind a large desk.
Heinrich White and Tom Hayes stood before the desk.
"Boss."
There was an irrepressible ecstasy in White's voice.
"In just three days, we've signed five hundred factory power supply contracts across the Lower East Side, Brooklyn, and Queens. The load on Power Station No. 2 has reached sixty percent. The only pity is that we've given away eight thousand electric motors."
Felix flipped through the summarized reports, unconcerned about the loss of the electric motors.
"How are those electric meters performing?"
"Very stable," White replied.
"The meter readers did their first trial reading yesterday, and all the electricity data is clear and concise. No one can evade billing. Furthermore, we've found that once factories get used to the convenience of electric motors, they unconsciously increase their operating hours, and their electricity consumption is even higher than we estimated."
"See... this is the greed of human nature."
Felix closed the reports and leaned back in his chair.
Hayes added from the side.
"Boss, those factory owners think they've gotten a bargain. But in reality, based on the ten-year contract, the electricity fees they pay will not only cover the cost of the motors but also yield us a windfall profit of over three hundred percent. It's practically a money-printing machine."
Felix rose and walked to the window.
As night fell, besides the bright streetlights purchased by the city government, the lights from countless factory workshops also shone through on the streets of Manhattan.
The source of those lights was connected to a glass box hanging on the outside of the walls.
The metal disc inside the box was spinning tirelessly.
Every rotation was adding another brick to the Argyle Family's vault.
"The power grid," Felix said, looking at the city lit up.
"Remember to replicate this model in Washington, Chicago, and Philadelphia. No matter the means or how many motors we give away, connect that wire to every gear in this country."
Felix turned around, his gaze like that of a monarch overlooking his domain.
"When all their machines must rely on electricity to turn, pull the plug, and the country will come to a standstill."
"By then, America will no longer be Washington's America."
"It will be my America..."