Silence returned to the private train carriage.
Outside the window, the thick smoke from the Braddock Steel Works gradually receded. The train was accelerating on its return to New York.
Isabella sat at one side of the long mahogany table; she had taken off her coal-dusted leather boots and was resting her bare feet on the thick Turkish carpet.
She leaned back against the chair and looked out the window, not saying a word.
On the table sat a cup of hot black tea that Frost had just brought in, but she was in no mood to drink it.
Felix took off his vest and sat opposite her, not in any hurry to break the silence.
Instead, he picked up a freight report from the Pennsylvania Railroad that was on the table and began to read it intently.
Only the "clack-clack" of the wheels against the rails remained in the carriage.
After a full half-hour, Isabella finally grew restless.
She had thought that after Felix's attitude softened at the workshop entrance, he would continue to apologize once on the train, or perhaps pull out a check in typical Wall Street fashion to compensate for his rudeness.
She had even prepared how she would refuse the check to further solidify her "not in it for the money" persona.
But he was actually reading reports!
Isabella took a deep breath—*I'll endure this!*—and turned to look at Felix.
"Mr. Argyle, how long will it take for this train to reach New York?"
Isabella broke the silence, her tone still distant.
Hearing this, Felix put down the report.
"About four hours. If you're bored, there's a new book by Mark Twain on the shelf. Or you could go to the lounge next door and take a nap."
Isabella frowned; this was not the answer she had expected.
"But I can't sleep. My head is full of those sparks and all that noise right now."
She picked up the now lukewarm black tea and took a small sip.
"Do you work in that kind of environment every day? I mean, controlling such a vast business empire, why do you still go to the workshops in person?"
Isabella began trying to steer the conversation toward Felix's business; she needed to understand his power structure.
Felix leaned back in his chair with his fingers interlaced.
"I don't go every day. But they must know that I could appear next to any blast furnace at any moment." Felix looked at her.
"Amassing capital is easy; you can buy a factory with a few signatures on Wall Street. But to get tens of thousands of workers, whose heads are filled with nothing but payday and cheap beer, to work their lives away for you, you have to let them smell the same scent of rust on you that they have on themselves."
Felix's words surprised Isabella. This was completely different from those European aristocrats who did nothing but sit in their manors and collect rent.
"That sounds... like a general managing his army," Isabella remarked.
"Business is war. I told you that yesterday on the theater terrace."
Felix stood up, went to the nearby liquor cabinet, and poured two glasses of Bourbon whiskey. He placed one in front of Isabella.
"Black tea is only for idle people who discuss the weather in salons. Drink some of this; it'll help drive the smell of soot out of your system."
Isabella looked at the strong liquor, hesitated, then picked it up.
"You always have war on your lips, Felix."
She changed how she addressed him, trying to close the distance.
"Is there nothing softer than conquest and annexation in your world?"
Isabella looked into his eyes and cast her bait.
Felix took a large gulp of whiskey.
He looked at Isabella and sneered inwardly; the woman was finally starting to steer things toward romance.
"Of course there is." Felix put down his glass.
He suddenly leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
"I admit, what I did in the workshop today was a real bastard move. I tested you the same way I deal with competitors."
Felix's voice became low and magnetic.
"But in New York... there are many women who try to climb into my bed to be my mistress because they're after the keys to my Imperial Bank. I thought you were just like them—that you came to the Starlight Theater just to hook a rich mark."
Felix's bluntness made Isabella blush slightly.
"But... I found that I was wrong."
Felix stared at her flawless face.
"The moment you threw your coat on the ground, I saw the pride in your bones. That kind of pride can't be faked."
Isabella's heart pounded; he'd taken the bait.
"I don't need your apology, Felix. I only hope you understand that not everyone sees the dollar as everything."
Isabella lowered her eyes, adopting a posture of forgiveness.
"I know, which is why I don't want to talk about dollars with you right now." Felix stood up.
He walked to the side of Isabella's chair.
"I don't want to build some new theater anymore; that's too tacky."
Felix suddenly reached out and gently pinched Isabella's chin, forcing her to look up at him.
Isabella stiffened but didn't pull away.
"Stay in New York. Stay by my side."
Felix's gaze was intensely possessive, like a lion staring at its prey.
"I won't write you checks, nor will I buy you any jewelry. Those things aren't worthy of you."
Felix's thumb gently caressed Isabella's delicate cheek.
"But I can give you something that no woman in all of America could refuse."
"A portion of my time, and my protection."
Felix's words struck Isabella's heart.
For an exiled Bourbon princess, what was most precious?
It wasn't hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash, but the absolute protection of the most powerful oligarch on this new continent.
As long as Felix was willing to be her protective umbrella, the financial support for the restoration of France would have its most solid backing.
Even though Felix said he wouldn't give her checks.
She knew very well that once this man became completely infatuated with her, his vaults would eventually open to her.
"Felix..."
Isabella's voice became as soft as silk.
She didn't reject Felix's hand on her chin; instead, she tilted her head up slightly.
Felix looked at those moving lips and restrained himself from kissing her.
Because now was not the time.
Although the prey had entered the cage, it still needed to be slowly domesticated.
He let go.
"Near Central Park in Manhattan, I have a vacant townhouse. It's very quiet, with no one to disturb you." Felix retreated to his seat.
"Let your theater troupe perform someone else's plays tomorrow. I'll send someone to pick you up. Move out of that messy hotel."
Felix's words carried an overbearing tone that brooked no refusal.
Isabella nodded.
It seemed she had successfully obtained the key to the inner circle of Argyle's Empire.
"I'll do as you say," she agreed softly.
The private train pulled into New York under the cover of night.
Felix looked at the woman opposite him, who thought she was in control of the situation. The fun-seeker in his heart began to look forward to the script that would follow.
Manhattan, Federal Real Estate Company headquarters.
Arthur Hamilton sat behind a massive oak desk.
In front of him, a large street map of Manhattan was spread out.
A certain area on the map was outlined in a large box with a thick red pencil.
The office was filled with smoke, and four top acquisition agents from Federal Real Estate were standing before the desk.
"Here, this block extending north from the intersection of Broadway and Wall Street."
Arthur held a cigar in his hand and pointed at the red box.
"The boss has issued a direct order. We are to build a Argyles Building at this location. Now, we need to buy up all the property deeds within this red box. Piece them together into one complete super plot of land."
Arthur looked at the agents under him.
"I don't want to hear about any difficulties; the Imperial Bank has already issued us a letter of credit. Money is not the issue; the issue is speed."
A senior agent pushed up his glasses.
"Manager Hamilton, this area currently has seventeen different property owners. Most are old shops, warehouses of bankrupt trading companies, and a few residences left by early Dutch immigrants."
The agent pointed to a corner on the map.
"The others are easy to handle; as long as there's a twenty percent premium, those businessmen are happy to take the money and leave. But here, this three-story red brick building on the corner. The owner is named Old Van der Beek. He is an extremely stubborn Dutch descendant; that building was built by his grandfather. He has previously rejected acquisition offers from two banks."
Arthur bit his cigar, his eyes cold.
"Old Van der Beek? An old bag of bones clinging to his ancestral property until death?" Arthur exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"Go register three different shell companies; do not use the name of Federal Real Estate. Do not let anyone know that the Argyle Family is sweeping up the land."
Arthur issued the instructions.
"Use these three shell companies to approach those seventeen owners simultaneously. Take down all the easy ones first. As for that Old Van der Beek..."
Arthur took a block Cadastral Map.
"Go see him tomorrow and offer him double the market price directly. If he agrees, sign the contract on the spot."
"What if he refuses? Manager," the agent asked.
Arthur gave a cold laugh.
"If he refuses, then tell him. The foundation depth of the Argyles Building is thirty feet. We will build this super skyscraper around his red brick building. From the east, south, and north directions, we'll build ten-story-high walls."
Arthur drew a "U" shape on the map with his finger.
"If he doesn't sell, then he won't see a single ray of sunlight through his windows for the rest of his life. I'll turn his red brick building into a basement that never sees the sun. By then, no one will even want that building to raise rats."
"Do you understand? In America, when the treads of commercial development roll over you, you either take the money and get out of the way or get crushed into powder."
The agents nodded one after another.
This kind of savage real estate acquisition tactic was absolutely legal in New York at the time.
As long as you didn't use guns, using capital to drive someone to their end wasn't considered a crime.
"Get to work. Within three days, I want to see all the property deeds on this desk."
The agents quickly left the office.
Arthur stubbed out his cigar and stood up to take his coat from the rack. Buying the land was only the first step; the real trouble was the technical implementation of this building.
Two hours later.
New Jersey, General Electric Central Laboratory.
Arthur pushed open the door to the conference room.
Two people were already sitting in the conference room.
General Electric manager George White, and Lex Steel's chief structural engineer Robert Miller.
"Arthur, have you lost your mind?"
As soon as George White saw Arthur, he immediately stood up.
"The boss sent me a telegram. Ten stories! A building of at least ten stories is to be built in Manhattan! And six Electric Elevators are to be installed!" George slammed the blueprints in his hand onto the table.
"Do you know what this means? How much torque does a Direct Current motor need to pull a fully loaded cabin up to the twentieth floor? How do we solve the load-bearing and insulation fireproofing of the cables?"
Lex Steel's Robert Miller also frowned.
"Mr. Hamilton, architecture isn't like playing with blocks. If we don't use masonry for load-bearing and rely entirely on a steel frame, then the toughness and compressive strength of this steel must reach a terrifying level. Current ordinary wrought iron simply won't do. Once it encounters the strong winds of New York Harbor, the entire building's steel frame will snap like matchsticks."
Arthur pulled out a chair and sat down, looking at the two with a helpless shrug.
"Gentlemen, this wasn't my idea either. Besides, I'm not here to discuss with you whether it can be built. The boss said it must be built."
"Robert, your Lex Steel is now the largest steel mill in America. Blast furnaces shouldn't just be used to fire rails."
Arthur looked at the structural engineer.
"The boss instructed in the telegram. You need to adopt the latest 'Bessemer Process.' Adjust the carbon content. I don't care how many furnaces of molten iron you burn through in the lab. I need a high-strength, high-toughness Structural Steel beam. And, all steel beam connections cannot use bolts; they must be firmly riveted together with red-hot rivets."
Robert took a deep breath.
"Connecting steel frames with rivets... this is a brand-new field of structural mechanics. It requires a lot of calculations and load-bearing tests. Give me a month, and I'll give you a Structural Steel formula and riveting process standards."
Arthur nodded and turned to George White.
"Mr. George, your motors."
"I know! We've already bought the Safety Gear patent from the Otis Company."
George scratched his hair somewhat irritably.
"Instead of hydraulics, we're switching to electric pulling. This requires specifically designing an independent power distribution system. For the building's wiring, if a short circuit fire occurs, the whole building will become a giant chimney."
George took out a pencil and drew quickly on the blueprints.
"I must build a dedicated Direct Current generator set in the basement. Not only to supply the elevators but also to provide lighting for over two thousand Incandescent Lamps throughout the building. The lines must be wrapped in double-layered insulation made of high-purity rubber from South America and run through specially made iron pipes."
Arthur looked at the two.
"For all technical requirements, there is no budget limit. The boss said we can withdraw funds directly from the Imperial Bank."
Arthur stood up, his hands propped on the conference table.
"Gentlemen, this is not just a building. It is also a totem for the boss to show the strength of the Argyle Family to the whole world."
"On the day the foundation is dug, all the bankers in Manhattan will be watching with wide eyes. This is a good opportunity to showcase Lex's steel skeleton and General Electric's electrical foundation."
"The Argyle Building will also become an industrial miracle of this new era."