22 Broad Street, London, British Empire.
The time difference meant that London had already entered the dead of night.
The fireplace in the study emitted the soft crackle of burning firewood.
Junius Morgan sat in an easy chair, wearing a thick dressing gown. His legs were covered with a cashmere blanket, and in his hands, he held the overseas telegram that had just arrived from Philadelphia.
This was Cavendish's telegram seeking forgiveness.
Extreme panic and self-reproach were evident between the lines, which detailed the sudden emergency of Carnegie fleeing to New York and the high probability of him defecting to Argyle.
The old butler, Oliver Sterling, walked in carrying a cup of hot milk and placed it gently on the low table nearby.
"Sir, it seems Mr. Cavendish has botched things this time," Sterling said softly, glancing at the telegram.
Sterling glanced at the telegram and spoke softly.
"He was too impatient. He played his trump card before Carnegie was completely cornered. This directly pushed Carnegie to the opposite side."
Morgan put down the telegram without getting angry.
On that wrinkled old face, one couldn't even see any emotion of disappointment; his reaction was somewhat different from what Sterling had expected.
He picked up the hot milk and took a small sip.
"Botched? Not necessarily."
Morgan's voice was as calm as if he were discussing the day's weather.
"Oliver. Do you really think losing a broken steel mill in Pittsburgh is some kind of fatal blow to us?"
Sterling was stunned for a moment.
"But sir, we invested so much in interest-free loans and coal resources into Carnegie. Now that he has defected to Argyle, our layout in the North American steel industry has been completely wiped out."
"America doesn't have only one steel company, Oliver."
Morgan set down his cup and leaned back comfortably in his chair.
"The reason I invested in Carnegie was because he shouted the loudest. After all, he was the banner of the most resolute opposition against Lex Steel in the North American steel industry. So I needed that banner to distract Argyle' attention."
Morgan's gaze became deep.
"It's a pity Carnegie didn't accomplish that. Of course... Cavendish was indeed foolish. He is arrogant and looks down on Scotsmen. But this reckless forced showdown actually just did what I wanted to do in my heart, but couldn't do directly for fear of damaging the bank's reputation."
Morgan let out a cold laugh.
"Carnegie took our money to sign those loss-making contracts. He was using our cash flow to fight a meaningless price war. Argyle isn't stupid; he will definitely inject capital into Carnegie. But what does that matter?"
Morgan picked up the telegram and casually tossed it into the nearby wastepaper basket.
"There are over a hundred steel mills in all of America. Besides Carnegie, there is Bethlehem Steel and Illinois Steel. As long as we hold the gold in our hands, we can prop up another Carnegie at any time."
Morgan turned his head and looked at Sterling.
"The reason I didn't replace Cavendish over this is that his mistake can be considered an unintentional shedding of a heavy debt burden. After all, a full acquisition of Carnegie Steel and kicking Carnegie out would have caused a loss to the Morgan Family's reputation. Now, throwing this bottomless pit of Carnegie to the Imperial Bank to fill is a pretty good outcome; it'll cost that fellow Argyle several million dollars regardless."
"The real battlefield isn't here."
"Oliver, reply to Cavendish."
Sterling immediately took out his notebook, ready to record.
"Tell Cavendish that the responsibility for losing Carnegie Steel will be recorded on his account. This is a warning to him."
Morgan's tone began to turn stern.
"As punishment, deduct all of his partner dividends for this year."
"Also, tell him to stop worrying about the steel furnaces in Pittsburgh. Take that batch of High-purity Rubber, Silicon Steel Sheets, and machinery equipment unloaded at the Philadelphia port and transport them to the Westinghouse Electric laboratory as early as possible through the safest secret channels."
Morgan's fingers tapped twice on the tabletop, each strike sounding with authority.
"Finally, and most importantly. Warn Cavendish that he can botch ten Carnegie Steels, but he absolutely, positively cannot let anything happen to Westinghouse Electric. Otherwise..."
A fanatical light ignited in Morgan's eyes.
"Steel can only be laid on the ground. But electricity can light up the whole world and turn every machine."
"By the way, tell Edison and Westinghouse that the money is ready and the materials have arrived. I don't care how many Transformers they burn in the square in Pittsburgh, I only care about the results."
"I want them to build that era-changing Alternating Current Transformer and solve the problem of high-voltage long-distance transmission."
"Argyle thinks he's won. But the Direct Current Grid in his hands has a pathetic transmission distance of only one or two miles, so it can only spin around in cities."
"I've asked relevant experts. As long as Alternating Current is successfully developed, we can build power stations next to Niagara Falls. With a single wire, we can send tens of thousands of horsepower of power to New York."
"At that time, any political ban or capital run will be nothing more than a piece of scrap paper that can be poked through in the face of absolute technological crushing."
Sterling finished recording all the instructions.
"Then I will go to the London Telegraph Office to send the dispatch immediately, sir."
"Go then."
Morgan waved his hand and sat back in his easy chair, closing his eyes.
In this ancient European financial center, this old man was betting all his chips and all his hopes on that electrical laboratory far across the ocean, thick with the smell of rubber and engine oil.
Meanwhile, at the Westinghouse Electric laboratory in Pittsburgh.
Thomas Edison was staring with bloodshot eyes at a coil wrapped in dense purple copper wire.
Beside him, several crates of South American premium rubber, just secretly delivered by carriage, emitted a pungent smell.
"George!"
Edison turned his head and shouted at Westinghouse, who was drawing blueprints.
"This batch of rubber is of extremely high purity! As long as we melt them down and apply them evenly between the Silicon Steel Sheets, then use an oil-immersion cooling casing, I believe a voltage of five thousand volts definitely won't break through it!"
Edison brandished a pair of pliers in the air.
"Mr. Morgan's money hasn't stopped, and the materials have arrived. We can definitely win! We will definitely be able to create Alternating Current!"
The heavy oak office door slammed shut behind Andrew Carnegie and Tom Hayes.
The lingering scent of whiskey drifted in the air.
Felix leaned back in his leather chair and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Carnegie's submission meant a tough nut in the steel industry had been cracked, but this was only the first item on today's schedule.
He pressed the intercom on his desk.
"Send Arthur Hamilton in."
Less than two minutes later, Arthur Hamilton, the general manager of Federal Real Estate Company, pushed the door open and entered respectfully.
The former lawyer carried a briefcase stuffed with land deeds and ledgers.
"Boss, you wanted to see me."
Arthur walked to the desk, carefully pulled out a chair, sat down, and placed the briefcase on his lap.
Felix picked up a briefing from the desk and scanned it briefly.
"Federal Real Estate Company has been established for a year, Arthur. Tell me what cards you're holding now."
Felix's tone was flat, getting straight to the point.
Arthur was clearly prepared; he opened his briefcase and pulled out a summary ledger.
"Reporting to the boss, Federal Real Estate has currently acquired a total of 142 commercial properties and 320 undeveloped vacant plots in the core areas of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Washington D.C. Most were obtained at extremely low cost in post-war bankruptcy auction courts."
Arthur turned to the last page of the ledger and pointed at a figure.
"Aside from daily rental income used for company operations, our current net profit on the books, after deducting all taxes and management costs, has just surpassed 1.2 million dollars. This money is currently held in a demand account at the Imperial Bank and can be used at any time."
Felix tossed the briefing onto the desk.
"1.2 million. Not bad. But letting that money sit in a bank to rot is a crime."
Felix crossed his hands, his gaze fixed on Arthur.
"I called you here today to give you a job that devours money."
Arthur immediately sat up straight and took out a pen and notebook.
"Tell me, Boss. Which city are we going to sweep for properties?"
"Not leaving New York; right here in Manhattan."
Felix stood up, walked to the large floor-to-ceiling window of the office, and looked down at the densely packed buildings below, none higher than five or six stories.
"Go scout a plot of land near Broadway or Wall Street. It needs to be big enough—big enough to build a fortress." Felix turned around.
"I want you to build a building, the tallest building in all of America. Its name will be the 'Argyle Building'."
Arthur froze, his pen tip stopping on the paper.
"The tallest building? Boss, with current construction technology, the limit for masonry load-bearing walls is seven or eight stories. If we go to ten stories, the brick walls at the bottom would have to be as thick as city walls, leaving almost no usable space inside. It would be a loss in terms of commercial return."
Arthur raised concerns from the perspective of a professional real estate developer.
"That's a test for your design department at Federal Real Estate. Besides, who told you I'm using bricks for load-bearing?"
Felix walked back to the desk and tapped on the surface.
"Discard those outdated architectural blueprints in your head, Arthur."
"You can have the design department come up with the blueprints first. It's best if you take them to the Lex Steel laboratory. Tell them you need a brand-new type of structural steel for construction. Rivet the steel beams together to build a massive steel skeleton. All the weight of the building will be borne by this steel skeleton."
Felix gestured in the air.
"As for the exterior walls, they don't need to be load-bearing. Just hang thin bricks and glass on the steel frame like curtains to keep out the wind and rain."
Arthur gasped.
This concept of a "steel frame structure" was practically unheard of in 1871.
"A steel skeleton? But Boss, if we don't need the walls for support, how high can we build?"
"Ten stories, or fifteen, twenty. I believe as long as the foundation is deep enough and the steel is hard enough, you can build it into the clouds. Of course, this still requires testing the practicality of the steel, so your design department needs to communicate with the Lex side and use actual data to design the blueprints. Regardless, build it as high as possible for now, but it must be safe!"
Felix gave a number that made Arthur's scalp tingle.
"Twenty stories!"
Arthur felt his heart race.
"But... even if the building is built, no one would want to rent an office above the tenth floor. After all, those bankers and lawyers can't climb twenty flights of stairs to work every day; they'd drop dead in the stairwell."
Felix gave a sharp laugh.
"It seems the chains in your mind need to be broken, Arthur. I think you should also take a trip to General Electric's Central Laboratory in New Jersey."
Felix provided the solution.
"Go find Manager George White. I recall that the Otis Company previously invented that kind of elevator with safety clamps, but they use heavy steam hydraulics. You can have the General Electric people install their Direct Current motors onto the elevator. Use cables to pull the car. I want at least six such electric elevators installed in this building. Let those lawyers reach the twentieth floor in thirty seconds while sipping their coffee."
The pen in Arthur's hand flew across the paper as he took notes.
He realized this wasn't just about building a tower at all.
Rather, it was a display of the Argyle Family's technical muscle to the entire world.
"Not just elevators," Felix continued to describe.
"Every room in the building should also have gas pipes eliminated. They should all be wired with General Electric's insulated wires, and equipped with electric lights and fans. Every desk must have a terminal reserved for the American Telephone and Telegraph Company."
Felix leaned his hands on the desk and stared at Arthur.
"I want this building to be a monster. A monster that combines the bones of Lex Steel, the blood of General Electric, and the nerves of AT&T."
"Once it's built, those banks on Wall Street and multinational trading companies will scramble to rent offices inside. You can set the rent at three times the market rate. They don't care about the money; they care about the vanity of working at the highest point in all of America."
Arthur closed his notebook.
His breathing became heavy, and beads of excited sweat broke out on his forehead.
"I understand, Boss. But that 1.2 million in profit shouldn't be enough. Land plus steel and electrical equipment—that would require a budget of at least three million dollars."
"Don't worry, there's no cap on the budget. Imperial Bank will issue you an unlimited letter of credit," Felix said, sitting back in his leather chair.
"Go do it. Buy the land. Hold meetings with Lex Steel and General Electric. I want to see the building's steel skeleton standing in the center of Manhattan before next winter arrives."
"As you wish, Boss. This building will drive New York into a frenzy. I'll head back immediately to get the design department moving, and then I'll contact Lex and General Electric."
Arthur stood up and gave a deep bow.
He picked up his briefcase and walked out of the office with a brisk pace.