Timmy stood up straight in silence, waiting for Felix Argyle's instructions.
"Timmy, you've been with Flynn for several years. You've learned his tracking, eavesdropping, and silencing techniques, but you haven't learned his sense of propriety." Felix Argyle stood with his back to Timmy, looking out at the street through the window.
"This is a marketplace, not some gang territory in Hells Kitchen."
Felix Argyle turned around and looked directly at the young intelligence chief.
"Sometimes we kill, but we kill people like those from Pinkerton who come at us with guns. We kill people like Carnegie's subordinates who tried to blow up our mines. Killing is a means of self-defense, or a means of establishing rules in a lawless wilderness."
Felix Argyle walked back to his desk and picked up the photographs.
"But Edison isn't a man with a gun; he's a researcher. And he's still a member of the Central Laboratory."
Felix Argyle tossed the photos into the wastepaper basket.
"If today, a researcher wants to jump ship to a rival company because he's dissatisfied with his position and benefits, and I have someone dump him into the Hudson River, tomorrow, word of this will spread throughout the entire East Coast technical community. Pierce can shut the mouths of the police, but he can't shut the mouths of every engineer."
"General Electric now needs hundreds, even thousands, of technical personnel, and for the Central Laboratory, we need university professors. If they know that joining the Argyle Family's enterprises means death upon resignation, who would dare work for me?"
Felix Argyle leaned his hands on the desk.
"Killing Edison doesn't solve the problem. It's more likely to kill the future of General Electric. That is called stupidity."
Timmy lowered his head.
"I understand, Boss. It was my lack of foresight. Then should we just let him go to Westinghouse Electric?"
"Whatever." Felix Argyle sat back in his leather chair.
"He overestimates his own value. He thinks that if he leaves, General Electric will be paralyzed. But he seems to have forgotten that the core of General Electric is the large generators and heavy power transmission networks managed by Heinrich White. What has Edison been doing these past few years? He's been working on carbon filaments for lightbulbs, the Phonograph, and Carbon Transmitters for telephones. These are application-side gadgets."
Felix Argyle sneered; he had always been on guard against Edison.
"Even if he developed all these things, the patents are all in the Argyle Family's safes. He signed an agreement. Even if he goes to Morgan, he can't produce lightbulbs or transmitters; he'd go empty-handed. What use would he be?"
"As for the Alternating Current in his head..."
Felix Argyle tapped the desk.
"Alternating Current isn't a theory he invented; someone in Europe already proposed the AC model of Faraday's electromagnetic induction long ago. He just wants to build it. But without existing transformers and AC motors, he'd be starting from zero, requiring massive amounts of capital and countless failures."
"Then let him go burn Old Morgan's money. Perhaps before long, Old Morgan will find that what he bought isn't a goose that lays golden eggs, but a bottomless pit. When Old Morgan's patience runs out, they'll start tearing at each other."
Timmy recorded Felix Argyle's analysis.
"Then Boss, if he really does submit his resignation, what should be done?"
"Approve it, of course, and tell him to get out." Felix Argyle was merciless.
"Have someone tell Pierce in the legal department in advance that as soon as Edison steps out of General Electric's doors to join another electrical company, immediately file a lawsuit in federal court, suing him for breach of contract. Apply to freeze all the salary and shares he receives from Morgan. Entangle him in litigation so that he has to spend half of every day in court."
"Understood, Boss." Timmy nodded.
Felix Argyle leaned back against his chair, his brow furrowing slightly.
"However... if Edison leaves, the telephone exchange project in the Acoustics Department will stall. Arthur is just an assistant; he can't take the lead. Bell is still grinding away at electromagnetic principles in Boston. Once telephones become widespread, without an exchange, the entire line system will become a tangled mess."
Felix Argyle searched his mind for memories of electrical history from his past life.
Direct Current, Alternating Current. Edison, Westinghouse.
A name suddenly flashed from the depths of his memory.
The man who truly crushed Edison in the field of Alternating Current, the one known as the Electrical Wizard.
"By the way, Timmy." Felix Argyle suddenly spoke.
"Yes."
"How is the European intelligence network operating now?"
"Uh... we've established safe houses in London, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna. Most of the communication channels are built upon the merchant shipping routes of the Metropolitan Trading Company."
Timmy answered honestly.
"Good, go activate the contacts in Vienna." Felix Argyle issued a new directive. "Go to the Austro-Hungarian Empire and find someone."
Timmy pulled out a notebook and pencil.
"Find who?"
"Nikola Tesla." Felix Argyle spelled out the name from memory.
"Boss, does he have any identifying features?" Timmy prepared to record the details.
Felix Argyle rubbed his temples.
He couldn't quite remember Tesla's exact age in 1870, only that Tesla was younger than Edison.
"He might be a youth now, maybe fourteen or fifteen?" Felix Argyle gave a vague range.
"A youth?" Timmy was stunned.
He had thought Felix Argyle was looking for some long-established European university professor.
"Yes, that's right, a youth, a Serb. He should have been born in the border regions of the Austrian Empire, likely around Croatia or Serbia. His father should be an Orthodox priest."
Felix Argyle poured out all the characteristics he could remember.
"He has extreme talent in mathematics and physics and is likely studying at a local gymnasium."
Felix Argyle looked at Timmy.
"Use all available resources to find this child, but do not alert the local government. Investigate his family situation thoroughly."
"What should I do once he's found? Bring him directly back to New York?" Timmy asked.
"If he's willing, bring him back directly. If his family doesn't agree, throw money at them."
Felix Argyle's tone was filled with unquestionable dominance.
"In the name of the Argyle Family Charitable Foundation, provide him with a full scholarship. Send him to the best technical universities in Europe—the Graz University of Technology or the University of Prague. Cover all his tuition and living expenses. Have people protect him twenty-four hours a day."
"Tell him that as soon as he graduates, the largest laboratory in all of America awaits him. Whatever he wants to research, we will invest in it."
Although Timmy didn't understand why his boss placed such importance on a minor from Eastern Europe,
he would never question it.
"Very well, I will immediately send a telegram to the person in charge in Vienna. As long as he is in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, I will find this child named Tesla even if I have to search through every church."
"Go, and move quickly. By the way, consult with Heinrich White to find another prominent person in the field of communications; we need to have a backup plan." Felix Argyle waved his hand.
Timmy put away his notebook and retreated from the office.
Felix Argyle sat alone behind his large desk.
"Old Morgan, you want to use Alternating Current to challenge me."
Felix Argyle muttered to himself, a cold smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.
"Then I'll just pre-order the god who invented the AC motor."
London, 22 Broad Street.
Cold rain lashed against the massive Victorian-style glass windows.
Junius Morgan was in his private office.
Three people sat around a long mahogany conference table.
Junius Morgan sat at the head of the table.
To his right was the British aristocrat Lord Richard Grosvenor, and to his left was the French financier Baron Léonce de Valois.
Three months ago, these three had toasted here to celebrate their brief victory in shorting American stocks on Wall Street.
But now, Baron Valois's face was pale, and his hands trembled slightly on the table.
"Mr. Morgan, this is betrayal!"
Baron Valois suddenly slammed the table hard, his voice shrill.
"France has just declared war on Prussia! The Paris bond market has suffered a devastating sell-off! Tens of millions of francs in long-term government bonds were dumped onto the market regardless of cost! It caused the price of French national debt to plummet!"
Valois stared intently at Morgan's expressionless old face.
"We've checked the transaction records; the source of the sell-off is in Frankfurt and Amsterdam. The accounts are hidden. But this operating style, this precise timing—besides you, or that upstart in New York, there's basically no one else!"
"Valois, calm down."
lord Grosvenor interjected to soothe him, picking up his teacup, though he couldn't hide the schadenfreude in his eyes.
As an Englishman, he was happy to see France in trouble, and he hadn't bought a large amount of French government bonds before the war.
"Baron, accusations require evidence."
Junius Morgan crossed his hands over his abdomen, his tone as calm as if he were discussing today's weather.
"First of all, I did not sell off French government bonds. Because I didn't buy any in the first place." Morgan looked at Valois.
"You didn't buy?" Valois's eyes widened.
"That's impossible! Two months ago, all of London was frantically absorbing France's war bonds. They had an eight percent high interest rate; as an underwriter, how could you not have a position?"
"Because I have a brain, Baron."
Old Morgan let out a cold snort of displeasure.
He stood up and walked to the fireplace, stretching out his hands to warm them.
"You were all blinded by Napoleon III's arrogance. You even truly believed that France's army was invincible. But perhaps you didn't know that Argyle had already shipped boatloads of the latest Smokeless Powder weapons from his arsenal to the Prussians months ago."
Morgan turned around.
"I know my opponent too well; Argyle is a wolf who doesn't strike unless he's sure of the prey. Since he dared to place heavy bets on the Berlin side before the war started—even sending newly built ironclads to the North Sea—it shows he is extremely pessimistic about France's chances of winning. He must have solid intelligence to back it up."
"The key is..." A hint of ruthlessness flashed in Morgan's eyes.
"I planted a mole in Argyle's company, Patriot Investment. Although that mole isn't high-level and can't access core decisions, he told me that Argyle's traders were withdrawing large amounts of cash every day in the week before the war. They were liquidating their positions."
"So, not only did I not buy French government bonds, I instead used the Morgan Family's funds to build a position in Prussian bonds at the bottom."
Baron Valois slumped back in his chair.
"You knew Argyle was setting a trap... Why didn't you notify Paris?"
Valois's voice was filled with despair.
"Notify you? Tell Napoleon III he's going to lose?" Morgan let out a mocking laugh.
"Don't be foolish; he would have kicked me out of the Tuileries Palace as a madman. Besides, in business, only one's own profit is real. What does the life or death of the French Empire have to do with me?"
Morgan walked back to the table, leaning his hands on the surface to stare down his two partners.
"Listen, Gentlemen. The war has begun, and France will likely lose. Although I'm not certain, I think what needs to be done now isn't complaining about who sold off bonds, but rather extracting the maximum profit from this war."
lord Grosvenor set down his teacup.
"What is your plan, Mr. Morgan?"
"Hmm... Buy stocks in military-industrial enterprises and shipping companies. Buy into any industry that can provide consumables for the war."
Morgan had already thought it through.
"The Franco-Prussian War is a meat grinder. It consumes not just lives, but countless supplies. We can try to take control of the pricing power of these supplies."
Morgan paused, his tone becoming more emphatic.
"We must earn enough money. Because the battlefield in North America also requires a vast amount of pounds to fill."
At the mention of North America, the expressions of the two partners turned solemn.
"You mean Carnegie in Pittsburgh?" lord Grosvenor asked.
"Is that Scotsman still fighting a price war?"
"In a way, yes; he's almost at his breaking point." Morgan sighed.
"Argyle didn't follow suit with the price war; instead, he cut off his water transport and stole his railway customers using installment payment methods. Carnegie can now only rely on mortgaging bonds to get cash, and his profits have been squeezed to the extreme. If we don't continue to inject capital into him, his blast furnaces will go cold next month."
"Then let them go cold!"
Baron Valois shouted irritably.
"We've already invested enough money in him; that steel mill is like a bottomless pit."
"If Carnegie falls, then Argyle will soon completely monopolize the pricing power of steel in North America."
Old Morgan looked at the Frenchman with a bit of a headache.
"By then, the profit on every rail and bridge he builds will double. His family will become indestructible. We will have no leverage left to interfere in North American industry."
"So the steel mill must survive; even if we have to burn money in his blast furnaces, we must keep a foothold in Pittsburgh."
Morgan sat down again.
"And besides steel, the new layout in the electrical field is about to be completed. George Westinghouse's factory is ready, and the funding is in place. We only lack someone who can compete with Argyle technologically."
"Is it that researcher named Edison you mentioned before?" lord Grosvenor asked.
"Yes, Cavendish is already in contact with him in New York. As long as he agrees, Westinghouse Electric can immediately launch the Alternating Current project, technologically bypassing General Electric's Direct Current patent barriers."
Just then.
There was a knock on the oak door of the office.
Morgan's personal butler, Oliver Sterling, pushed open the door and walked in quickly. He held a decoded copy of a telegram in his hand.
"Sir, pardon the interruption."
Sterling walked over to Morgan and leaned down.
"Read it." Morgan didn't shy away from his partners.
Sterling glanced at the telegram paper in his hand.
"A telegram from America, sir. It's from Cavendish. That Edison, he agreed, sir."
Oliver Sterling took a deep breath and read the contents of the telegram in full.
"Mr. Cavendish said in the telegram that after days of consideration, Thomas Edison has accepted all the conditions we offered. Currently, Cavendish has already arranged for lawyers to draft a contingency plan for after his departure."
The silence in the office was broken.
Junius Morgan's hands, which were gripping the armrests of his leather chair tightly, suddenly let go.
He leaned back against the chair, a low chuckle emanating from his throat. The laughter grew louder and louder, eventually turning into a boisterous laugh.
Lord Grosvenor and Baron Valois glanced at each other, both seeing relief in the other's eyes.
"Good! Excellent!"
Morgan grabbed his cane and poked the carpet forcefully.
"That fellow Argyle thinks he controls all the geniuses; he's too arrogant. He treats those clever people like gears on an assembly line. He simply doesn't understand that ambitious people cannot be tied down!"
Baron Valois wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
"Mr. Morgan, can this Edison really come up with technology that bypasses General Electric? Argyle holds all the patents in his hands."
"He doesn't need to take the previous patents."
Shrewdness flickered in Morgan's eyes.
"Cavendish reported that Edison has a complete concept for long-distance transmission of Alternating Current. As long as Westinghouse Electric's factories fully cooperate with him to manufacture transformers, we can lay the power grid in suburbs and more distant cities that Argyle can't reach. This is called overtaking on a different track."
Morgan looked at Sterling.
"Reply to Cavendish immediately. Tell him the funds have been transferred to New York through a secret bank account. Have Edison break away from General Electric as soon as possible. The site for the Westinghouse Electric factory has already been chosen in Pittsburgh, and work can begin at any time. We must light the first lamp on the North American continent that does not belong to Argyle as quickly as possible."
"Yes, sir."
Sterling turned to arrange the telegram.
...
On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
New Jersey, General Electric Central Laboratory.
Thomas Edison stood before his workbench.
Today, he wasn't wearing his usual oil-stained overalls; instead, he had changed into a dark gray suit.
He pulled out a canvas bag and began packing some personal notebooks from the table and a few screwdrivers he was accustomed to using.
His assistant, Arthur Jenkins, stood to the side, holding several blueprints for telephone exchanges, his face full of bewilderment.
"Tom, what are you doing? We still have to test the attenuation rate of the Carbon Transmitter this afternoon."
Arthur looked at Edison's actions and asked curiously.
"I'm not testing it, Arthur."
Edison zipped up the bag.
"Lock the blueprints in the safe. From today on, you're in charge of this mess."
"I'm in charge?" Arthur's eyes widened. "Where are you going?"
"To build a real empire."
Edison picked up the bag without further explanation.
"Work hard, Arthur. If things don't go well under White, come find me later."
Edison turned and walked out of the acoustics laboratory.
He walked through the noisy corridor, ignored the engineers greeting him, and headed straight for the manager's office at the end of the hallway.
As usual, he pushed the door open and entered without knocking.
Heinrich White was wearing his glasses, checking several Electricity Meter shipping invoices bound for Chicago.
Seeing Edison enter with a bag, White put down the red and blue pencil in his hand. No surprise showed on his face.
Before this, Timmy had already notified him through internal channels about the news of Edison's possible resignation and conveyed Felix's instructions.
"It looks like you're going on a long trip, Tom."
White took off his glasses and placed them on the desk.
Edison walked to the desk and slapped a piece of stationery with a few lines of writing onto it.
"This is my resignation, White."
Edison propped both hands on the desk, looking down at the German manager.
"I'm quitting."
White picked up the stationery and glanced at it.
"The reason?"
White's tone was entirely flat.
"You know the reason very well," Edison sneered.
"There's nothing here for me. You keep the R&D budget on a tight leash, and the boss treats me like a replaceable craftsman. I've had enough of living under someone else's roof."
White put the resignation in a drawer, opened another, and pulled out a thick document.
"This is the non-compete agreement and confidentiality clauses you signed when you joined." White pushed the document toward Edison.
"Tom, I need to remind you. After you leave this door, you cannot take even a single screw's blueprint for any of the projects you participated in at General Electric, including DC generators, light bulbs, Carbon Transmitters, and Phonographs, nor can you produce or sell them elsewhere."
"I know," Edison straightened his back.
"Don't worry, I'm not taking anything. I'm leaving empty-handed. I absolutely won't touch your Direct Current."
"That's good then."
White picked up a dip pen, signed his name on the resignation, and stamped it with General Electric's seal.
"Go to the finance department to settle your salary for this month. By the way, since you've resigned, you will no longer enjoy any patent royalties. Also, the security team at the door will inspect your bag. I hope you haven't smuggled any blueprints you shouldn't have."
White said without looking up.
Edison was stunned; he had expected he wouldn't get the royalties.
But what he found strange was that White was so calm, not using any means to persuade him to stay, or even threatening him.
It was as if he were throwing away an old rag.
This indifference, instead, deeply wounded Edison's pride.
"You will regret this."
Edison gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the canvas bag.
"Before long, you'll see Westinghouse Electric signs all over America. I'll turn your DC power grid into a pile of scrap metal."
White finally looked up at Edison.
"Tom, science isn't about shouting slogans. General Electric's doors are always open, but only for those leaving, not entering." White pointed outside.
"Good luck out there."
Edison snorted coldly, turned, and strode out of the office.
At the factory gate, two armed security guards carefully inspected Edison's bag. After confirming there were only a few personal diaries recording daily expenses and some tools, they waved him through.
Edison walked out of the iron gate and boarded a black carriage parked by the roadside. Cavendish was waiting for him inside.
"Was the handover smooth?"
Cavendish handed him a cigar.
"Very smooth—so smooth it's disgusting."
Edison took the cigar and bit off the cap fiercely.
"They don't care at all that I'm leaving. Argyle is too arrogant."
"It doesn't matter; he'll pay for his arrogance soon enough." Cavendish struck a match.
"Let's go to the train station. We're going to Pittsburgh to see George Westinghouse."
The carriage kicked up a cloud of dust on the dirt road and disappeared from sight.