George stared into Richard's eyes.
"We need your name, your title, your family crest, and that connection of yours in the Viceroyalty of India."
Richard was stunned.
Although he was not good at doing business, he was no fool either.
"Wait... You want to use my identity to smuggle? To bypass the monopoly of the East India Company's remnants and customs scrutiny?"
Shaking his head, George corrected him.
"Your Excellency, this is called making reasonable use of the British Empire's rules. Legally speaking, this company will belong to you one hundred percent. All merchant ships will fly the Union Jack, and the place of registration will be London. But in secret, all funds, goods, vessel deployments, and actual control completely belong to the Argyle Family in New York."
Richard hesitated.
He clearly knew the risks involved; if caught and accused, it would likely be equivalent to treason.
"What if I refuse?"
"Then I will finish this glass of whiskey and walk out of this club." George picked up the wineglass on the table and drained it in one gulp.
"As for you, just wait to face the bankruptcy judge in court. I imagine those moneylenders in the East End will be very interested in the Countess's jewelry."
George stood up, pretending to leave.
"Wait!"
Richard called out to George; after all, he was short of money right now. Furthermore, even if it broke the law, as long as his connections were there, nothing might necessarily happen.
"Conditions... What conditions can you offer?"
George turned his back to him, a victorious smile forming at the corner of his mouth, before turning around and sitting down again.
"For partners, the conditions given by the Argyle Family are very generous. As long as you sign the nominee holding agreement, I will send someone to Barings Bank tomorrow to clear all your debts. Those IOUs in the East End, I'll cover them too."
As he spoke, George extended a finger.
"In addition, as the chairman of the new company, you don't need to do any actual work every year; you only need to show up to deal with those customs officials and government banquets. The Argyle Family will pay you a fixed salary of ten thousand pounds a year, plus a five percent dividend of the company's net profit. Your Lordship, this money is enough for you to renovate your Sussex estate and even take on a younger mistress in Paris once more."
Obviously, the conditions George offered were fantastic, at least causing Richard's breathing to become completely rapid.
All debts cleared, and still able to take a salary of ten thousand pounds every year.
There were even dividends.
This treatment was simply an irresistible bait thrown by the devil; one must know that a noble's expenses were quite large.
"However... there is only one thing."
George put away his smile, his tone turning extremely chilling and cold.
"Having taken the Argyle Family's money, you are a hound we keep in London. Wherever the boss points, you must bite. If one day you want to bite back... Trust me, in this world, there are plenty of things far more terrifying than bankruptcy."
Richard looked into George's icy eyes and shivered.
Looking at this fellow, could he have really killed someone before?
"I... I can sign."
Richard nervously swallowed hard, and although he felt a bit afraid inside, he still continued speaking.
"But if it's just me alone, it might not be enough. Moreover, I hear the waters are very deep regarding the eastern shipping routes; relying solely on my brother-in-law alone probably won't be able to suppress those old factions."
In order to prove his own value, Richard eagerly tossed out another bargaining chip.
"However, I know another person, Baron Philippe Vance. He once served as a senior official in the Quartermaster Department at the Admiralty and is now a core director of the London Shipping Guild, holding chartered berthing rights for several Indian ports in his hands. The most crucial thing is..."
Lowering his voice, a hint of malice flashed through Richard's eyes. Such a matter wasn't enough with just himself; it would be best to drag more people down into the water.
"I know he has an illegitimate son who is a rotten gambler and got mixed up in a murder lawsuit in Liverpool. To cover up this scandal, Baron Vance secretly misappropriated the guild's funds. Now that hole is almost impossible to cover up. If you can help him fill that hole, he will also obediently listen to your words."
Listening to his words, George leaned back against the back of his chair and took a cigar out of his pocket, and Richard even proactively picked up the matches on the table to light it for him.
Amidst the curling blue smoke, George smiled with satisfaction.
"Well done, Your Lordship. It seems you have already learned how to create value for the company. Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps you can bring Baron Vance to my office. At that time, we'll finalize the contract directly."
On the morning of the next day in the City of London, at the branch of the Argyle Empire Bank.
George Templeton sat behind a spacious desk.
On the desk lay two heavy legal documents just drafted in ink.
Sitting opposite him were Richard, the Earl of Ashburn whose complexion was still somewhat pale, and a thin, gray-haired, nervous-looking man—Baron Philippe Vance.
It seemed Richard had already persuaded him.
Last night, George had already sent someone to verify Baron Vance's embezzlement of public funds through the London head of the Intelligence Department. After investigation, it was indeed so.
Although the amount was not large, it was a mere thirty thousand pounds.
But this was enough to ruin the reputation of this noble who once wielded great influence in the Admiralty, and even make him rot in prison until the end of his days.
For George now, leverage that could be resolved with money was simply the cheapest transaction in the world.
"Two Excellencies."
George pushed two ink-dipped fountain pens in front of the two men respectively, his tone as relaxed as if he were discussing an afternoon tea menu.
"These are the company registration documents and the nominee shareholding agreement. The company name shall be set as 'Ashburn-Vance Far East Shipping and Trading Company'."
George pointed to the clauses on the documents and explained them one by one.
"On the legal level of the British Empire, Earl Richard will serve as chairman, holding sixty percent of the shares. Baron Vance will serve as director, holding forty percent. The company's registered capital is five hundred thousand pounds, all injected by the Imperial Bank in the form of unsecured loans."
Baron Vance's hand holding the fountain pen trembled slightly. Afterward, he glanced at Richard and then looked at George.
"Mr. Templeton... that hole..."
"Rest easy, Your Excellency, it has already been filled."
George took out a receipt stamped with the seal of a London commercial bank from the drawer and pushed it directly to Vance.
"Just as doors opened this morning, the funds from the Imperial Bank have already filled the accounts of the Shipping Guild. As for your son's affair in Liverpool, I also sent people to pull strings. The family members of that dead drunkard took five hundred pounds and have already withdrawn all charges."
Baron Vance looked at the receipt, his entire body collapsing into the chair as if all his strength had been drained.
He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
"What a terrifying person, Mr. Templeton. You don't even need to use force to turn the nobles of the British Empire into your puppets," Baron Vance said bitterly.
"Force is the method of barbarians. Capital is the shackles of modern society. Besides, we are partners; how can you describe it as puppets? That is far too hurtful, Your Excellency."
George tapped on the table, bringing the conversation back on track.
"Since you've taken the money, I suppose the two of you should start working. Baron Vance, I need you to immediately use your connections in the shipping guild. Change the port of registry of the three cargo ships currently staying in New York Harbor to London, and replace them with the Union Jack of the British Empire. Furthermore, you need to issue a certificate proving that the cargo loaded on these three ships is 'defense-privileged supplies' bound for the Governor-General's Office of India."
Thinking that he had already boarded the ship and had no way out, Baron Vance took a deep breath and recovered some of his usual capable demeanor.
"That's not a problem. As long as the documents are complete, I can get all the customs approvals within three days. But... what on earth is loaded on the ships?"
George smiled faintly.
"It's nothing major. Tens of thousands of obsolete breech-loading rifles, a few used field guns, and mountains of Texas cotton fabric. Oh... right, these munitions must never dock on the British mainland. They will cross the Atlantic Ocean directly, pass the Cape of Good Hope, and head straight for Bombay and Hong Kong."
Count Richard wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
"Going to the Far East? If this batch of supplies is found to be American munitions..."
"That will depend on Your Excellency the Count's ability; after all, money isn't that easy to earn, is it?" George interrupted him.
"Your brother-in-law, who serves as a commissioner in the Customs Inspectorate of the Governor-General's Office of India, should play his part. The company will give him a 3% carried interest. No matter what excuse he uses, this batch of goods must never be detained in India or levied with high tariffs. This batch of goods must pass unimpeded through the colonial blockade line and enter the waters of the Qing Empire and Japan!"
The two nobles looked at each other, and finally signed their supposedly noble names on the proxy agreement, stamping it with their family's sealing wax.
George put away the documents and nodded with satisfaction.
"Happy cooperation, Your Excellencies. Your salaries start counting from today. Now, you can go pay off your damned debts, then change into decent clothes, and go to various government departments to get all the necessary stamps stamped. I do not wish to see any delays."
After driving away these two newly co-opted puppets, George immediately called his assistant, Oliver.
"Go to the telegraph office. Use the high-encryption codebook to wire the New York headquarters. Just one sentence: 'The dogs of London have their leashes tied, ready to be let out to bite at any time.'"
More than a dozen hours later, Manhattan, New York.
Inside the headquarters office of the Metropolitan Trading Company.
Felix sat on the sofa, holding the telegram just decrypted by Frost. After reading it once, he handed the telegram paper to Bill, who was sitting opposite him.
Bill took the telegram, a wild and joyful smile appearing on his rugged face.
"That old fellow George did a great job! This working efficiency is a hundred times better than those dawdling politicians in Washington." Bill slapped his thigh fiercely.
"With the cover of this British shell company, our ships are equivalent to wearing the coat of the British Empire. Ha~ Let's see which colonial customs officials dare to stop them!"
Felix wasn't as excited as Bill; he still maintained calm contemplation.
"Since the coat is ready, how are the things inside prepared?" Felix asked.
Hearing the question, Bill immediately put away his smile and reported solemnly,
"Boss, the First Fleet has finished loading completely. Three 3,000-ton steam cargo ships are parked in the hidden berths of the Brooklyn shipyard. The ships are loaded with 20,000 old-style rifles phased out by Vanguard Military Industry, as well as waste steel rails from Lex Steel. The remaining cargo spaces are completely packed with products from Food Company and inferior cotton fabric."
"Are the captains and those sailors reliable?"
"Absolutely reliable. They are all backbone members who signed binding contracts with our Metropolitan Trading Company when we opened foreign trade routes a few years ago. They know the rules and will never reveal the true source of the goods to anyone after heading out to sea."
Pausing for a moment, Bill thought for a while and continued,
"Once Baron Vance sends over the shipping modification approval from London, we can raise the Union Jack and weigh anchor to set sail at any time."
"That's good."
Felix stood up and walked over to the huge world map on the wall.
His gaze followed the Atlantic Ocean shipping route all the way east, skimming past the Cape of Good Hope, crossing the Indian Ocean, and finally lingering on that ancient land known as the "Far East".
"The trouble on Britain's side has been bypassed, but the real test is still ahead."
Felix tapped his knuckles on the locations of India, Southeast Asia, and Japan on the map.
"Our ships can fly the British flag to fool the colonial governors. But when we truly dump goods in this land or even monopolize the market, those local warlords and bureaucrats will be the truly tricky opponents."
Hearing this, Bill nodded.
"Yes, Boss. They might not truly recognize the signboard of a fallen British count; they probably only recognize hard cash. We must find an agent in Asia as soon as possible. Although O'Neill made money last trip to the Qing Empire and cooperated with those Qing nobles, they didn't take too many goods, and the company doesn't seem to make big money. We might need long-term, larger-scale trade control."
"This matter cannot be rushed; take it slowly." Felix turned around.
"Wire the captain, and set sail immediately after getting the approval. When they dock for supplies, tell them not to rush into contacting local big figures. Send people first to sound out the local situation."
Just as the two were discussing subsequent plans, the office door was pushed open.
Bill's assistant, Mark, came in with a solemn expression.
"Boss, President. It seems something has gone wrong."
"Our undercover agent in the New York Port Authority just sent back news. A senior commercial counselor from the British Consulate in New York led a team this morning to launch a surprise inspection of several of our peripheral warehouses at the Brooklyn shipyard."
Bill's expression changed, and he stood up.
"How could they suddenly inspect the shipyard? Have those three ships preparing to go to the Far East been exposed?"
"The ships are parked in the inner berths; they couldn't get in. But they recorded a large inventory of goods entering and leaving outside the warehouses." Mark's expression was also extremely ugly.
"According to the insider, that counselor was very angry when he left. He seemed to have noticed that the company was hoarding sensitive materials on a large scale and preparing to transport them out."
Felix's eyes narrowed slightly.
It seemed that he wasn't the only smart person in this world.
Although the aging British Empire was slowly decaying, its keen global sense of smell still shouldn't be underestimated.
Those lords occupying the global hegemony would not sit idly by and watch an American capitalist behemoth so easily reach its hand into their private reserve.
"Edward, have Timmy send people to check out this commercial counselor's background."
"If he's just a meddlesome minor character, stuff his mouth with money to shut him up. If he came with secret instructions from the London government..."
A fierce glint flashed in Felix's eyes.
The unfinished sentence, heavy with the stench of blood, echoed in the office, and even the cigar smoke in the air seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second.
Mark, who had just come in to report, showed not the slightest trace of surprise on his face.
You must know that having followed Bill through thick and thin in Lower Manhattan for so many years, he was well aware of the weight behind his boss's words.
For the Argyle Family, a massive machine running at full speed, any fellow attempting to stick a hand into its gears would meet only one end: being crushed into a pulp of flesh and mud.
"I understand what you mean, Boss. I'll call Timmy right away and have him send men to find out this fellow's background."
Edward Frost, the assistant waiting nearby, nodded slightly upon hearing Felix's command, his voice low and steady.
"Don't be in such a hurry to deal a fatal blow yet."
Felix interrupted Frost.
He stubbed out the cigar in his hand into the brass ashtray, stood up, and walked over to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside the window, Lower Manhattan was undergoing frantic construction, countless scaffolds and steam cranes looking like the tentacles of monsters growing out of this steel jungle.
"After all, this is New York, the family's stronghold. It's not one of those desolate gold-rush towns in the West. If a senior commercial counselor of the British Consulate in New York were to die for no reason in a gutter, or get hit with three bullets and treated as a robbery case, do you think those bureaucrats in London would just let it go like that?"
Rubbing his chin, Felix turned around and looked at Frost.
"You must know that although the British Empire is rotten to the core inside right now, their Royal Navy remains the largest fleet in the world. If we do it too crudely, it will easily provoke London, and they can casually find any excuse to blockade the shipping routes of New York Harbor for retaliatory searches, and the losses of the Metropolitan Trading Company would be immeasurable."
"Then you mean..." Bill asked hesitantly from the side.
"First find out why he found out so quickly. Only two days have passed since the ships applied to change their national flags, how did he know so fast? Furthermore, exactly how much does he know, and whether someone is pulling the strings behind him."
Felix sat back down in the spacious leather office chair, crossing his hands and placing them on the desktop.
"Against such self-righteous English gentlemen, violence is the lowest-level method. Go check his ledgers and private life, check his political enemies in London. Know what he fears most and what he desires most. Figuring these out will make it very easy to pull out this thorn."
Frost immediately straightened his spine.
"Understood, I think the Intelligence Department will definitely strip this counselor down to his underwear."
"Alright, go make the call. Tell them to be careful and not let those Englishmen notice they are being investigated."
Upon receiving the order, Frost turned and strode out of the office, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind him.
...
A few hours later, an underground tavern on the edge of the Five Points in Manhattan.
The air here was forever mixed with cheap whiskey, moldy wood, and the lingering stench of urine.
In the corner of the tavern, a few dockworkers were loudly arguing over a few cents of gambling stakes, occasionally bursting out with crude curses.
An Intelligence Department agent wearing an ordinary dark tweed coat and an old felt hat pressed down on his head sat alone at a greasy table deep inside the tavern. In front of him sat a mug of cloudy beer that had not been touched at all.
Before long, the heavy wooden door of the tavern was pushed open.
A short, thin middle-aged man with a pair of shifty rat-like eyes shrank his neck and sneaked in.
He looked around, locked his gaze onto the agent, and immediately approached like a hyena that had smelled meat.
"Hey, mister. What a rare visitor."
The rat-eyed man pulled out a chair and sat down, casually picking up the mug of beer in front of Mark and taking a large gulp, letting out a satisfied sigh.
"This ghost of a weather is really going to freeze people to death. You suddenly looking for me must mean there's a big deal, right?"
This man was named Jimmy, nicknamed Rat. He was one of the best-informed informants in the entire New York Harbor area. Whether it was the customs anti-smuggling movements or the gangsters' bootlegging transactions, there was no gossip he couldn't snoop out.
The agent didn't talk nonsense, directly pulling out two glittering double-eagle gold coins from his pocket and pressing them onto the desktop.
"This is the deposit, I want to ask about someone. The commercial counselor of the British Consulate in New York, named Arthur Pendleton."
Jimmy's eyes were instantly lit up by the reflection of the gold coins.
But just as he wanted to reach out and take them, his movements suddenly froze upon hearing that name.
"Good god, mister. You really have given me a huge problem." Jimmy swallowed a mouthful of saliva and pulled his hand back, "Those British officials at the consulate? Those are all big shots. How could people like us rolling around in the mud possibly know their background?"
"Don't pull that routine with me, Jimmy."
The agent's fingers tapped lightly on the gold coins, making a crisp sound.
"I heard that you have a cousin who works as an odd-job man in the consulate's logistics department. It's said that every month your cousin turns the wastepaper baskets in the consulate completely upside down, and then sells those scraps of paper to you intelligence peddlers. Don't think I don't know your shady dealings."
Jimmy gave a few awkward, dry chuckles and rubbed his hands together.
"Nothing can be hidden from you indeed. Fine, since you've investigated it so clearly, then I won't beat around the bush either."
Jimmy lowered his voice, his body leaning forward almost right up to Mark's face.
"This Counselor Arthur Pendleton is a tough nut to crack. He's been in New York for less than half a year, but his reach is exceptionally long. My cousin said this fellow doesn't care at all about the consulate's daily social engagements, staring at New York Harbor's customs statements all day long. Moreover..."
Jimmy paused, his gaze turning somewhat crafty.
"Ahem... If you want to know deeper things, these two gold coins are not enough, mister. This is a business that will cost lives."
The agent expressionlessly pulled out another three gold coins and lined them up on the table.
"Go on."
Jimmy quickly swept the five gold coins into his pocket, an ingratiating smile appearing on his face.
"Furthermore, once my cousin discovered some clues in his private letters. This Counselor Pendleton, on the surface a diplomat sent by Whitehall, actually kept close contact privately with a private bank in London through encrypted telegrams."
"Which bank?" Mark asked immediately.
"Let me think... It seems to be... Barings Bank. Yes, that's Barings Bank, the one that helps the British government issue national debt!" Jimmy said with absolute certainty.
The agent's heart suddenly sank.
Barings Bank!
That was a top-tier financial conglomerate in the City of London on par with the Rothschild Family, and even more so the important funding pool for the British Empire's global expansion.
A consulate's commercial counselor secretly reporting directly to Barings Bank was definitely no coincidence.
"Did he find out anything else?" The agent's gaze turned extremely dangerous.
"That's the most fatal part."
Jimmy lowered his voice, a hint of fear in his tone.
"Pendleton has recently been inquiring about the shipyard of the Atlantic Steam Power Company in Brooklyn. It seems he even spent a lot of money to bribe a few low-level customs inspectors, specifically pulling the shipyard's shipbuilding data and the Metropolitan Trading Company's material import and export manifest for the past three months."
Jimmy looked at the agent's increasingly gloomy face and quickly added,
"Listen, buddy. My cousin overheard Pendleton arguing with his deputy in the office. Pendleton believes that the Argyle Family is likely using the loopholes of New York Harbor to smuggle and sell warships and munitions to the Qing Empire in Asia and Southeast Asia, attempting to break Britain's weapons monopoly in the Far East. He has already drafted a report, ready to be sent directly to the Admiralty in London via the royal mail ship next Wednesday!"
The agent's hand clenched silently under the table.
This was a clear targeting of the family.
Because once this report reached the Admiralty in London, the British fleet would definitely intercept the three cargo ships flying the Union Jack on the high seas.
By then, not only would those shiploads of munitions be exposed, but even the shell company newly established in London and held by nobles on behalf of others would be completely dug up.
"Where is this report now?" the agent asked him coldly.
"It should still be in his personal safe, after all, I didn't see it myself, right? Anyway, my cousin saw him put it inside last time." Jimmy quickly replied.
"And my cousin said he is a very cautious person, never trusts the security level of telegrams, and insists on sending paper documents back to London via diplomatic pouch."
"Alright ~ I know."
The agent stood up, pulled the brim of his hat down a bit, then put a hand on Jimmy's shoulder and bent down close to his ear.
"Buddy, remember to keep your and your cousin's mouths shut. If I hear even a whisper outside about today's conversation..."
"Rest assured, we are just two blind real rats! We saw nothing and heard nothing!"
Jimmy waved his hands repeatedly to assure, as he certainly didn't dare to violate the other person's words.
Having interacted so many times, he could probably guess what kind of people they were. After all, anyone doing intelligence in the entire eastern United States probably knew them; they were ruthless to the extreme.
The agent ignored him further, pushed open the tavern door, and walked into the cold night wind of Manhattan.
Two days later, in the evening, inside a high-end gentleman's club in Uptown Manhattan.
Counselor Arthur Pendleton sat on the leather sofa in the second-floor private box, holding a glass of red wine from Bordeaux, his eyes revealing a self-important anxiety.
He was a typical British bureaucrat, his hair combed meticulously, wearing an exquisite custom suit.
In his view, this so-called United States of America was just a vulgar place established by a bunch of parvenus and hicks.
But his secret investigations in New York Harbor over the past few months gave him an indescribable panic.
That young man named Felix Argyle had built a massive trade and transport empire right under his nose. Tens of thousands of obsolete rifles, countless scrap steel and cotton were gathering.
Pendleton keenly sensed the ultimate destination of these supplies, which was the Far East.
That was the core interest area of the British Empire, and no external force was ever allowed to meddle in it.
"As long as this report is delivered to the Admiralty, not only can I completely destroy the ambition of this American parvenu, but I might also take this opportunity to transfer back to Whitehall and directly enter the core layer of the Foreign Office."
Pendleton calculated inwardly, a smug smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
Just then, the door of the private box was gently knocked.
"Come in."
Pendleton straightened his body and put away his smile.
The person who walked in was a middle-aged man wearing a stiff tailcoat. He was holding a thick document bag, his eyes somewhat evasive.
This person was Charles Bennett, a mid-level supervisor in the freight department of the Metropolitan Trading Company.
At least, that was what Pendleton thought.
A few days ago, this Bennett actively contacted the consulate through secret channels, claiming that he was dissatisfied with the Argyle Family because of a dispute over money sharing, and was willing to sell the true manifest and final route map of the three cargo ships about to set sail.
"Mr. Bennett, you are fifteen minutes late. That is an extremely impolite behavior in London."
Pendleton put down his wine glass, his tone carrying deliberate arrogance.
"I am very sorry, Counselor. You don't know how tight the security of the Argyle Family is. I must make sure no tail is following me."
Bennett wiped the sweat from his forehead, walked to the table and sat down.
"Alright, alright ~ Don't say superfluous words, did you bring what I want?" Pendleton waved his hand impatiently, then stared at the document bag in his hand.
However, Bennett did not hand over the document bag immediately, but looked around vigilantly.
"Counselor, has London agreed to the conditions we wanted? A resettlement fee of 10,000 pounds, and permanent asylum for me and my family in Britain."
Pendleton gave an unhappy cold snort, somewhat reluctantly pulled an anonymous Barings Bank draft out of his inner pocket, and slammed it heavily on the table.
"Look closely, this is an anonymous draft of 10,000 pounds. As long as your intelligence is proved to be accurate, the British Empire will naturally protect you from the retaliation of that American thug. So now, hand over the manifest, OK?"
Bennett swallowed, his hands trembling as he unbuckled the document bag and pulled out a stack of documents stamped with the top-secret seal of the Metropolitan Trading Company.
"Alright, alright, alright ~ Sir, this is the complete loading manifest of those three ships. Including the batches of rifles, the models of artillery, and their full set of cover plans to change their place of registration in London. The destination port is India."
Pendleton's eyes instantly lit up; this was the thing he wanted.
He snatched those documents and read through them greedily.
Too perfect!
This was the iron-clad evidence he had dreamed of!
Daring to sell arms to the colonies of the British Empire, with these interlinked pieces of weapons smuggling evidence, Argyle couldn't run away.
"Well done, Mr. Bennett. You have made an extremely wise choice."
Pendleton carefully stuffed the documents into his briefcase.
Just as Pendleton was about to get up and leave to lock this iron-clad evidence into the consulate's safe, the door of the private box was suddenly kicked open by a huge force.
"Bang!"
The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall, making a deafening loud noise.
Pendleton was startled by the sudden commotion, and the briefcase in his hand almost dropped to the ground.
But soon he turned his head angrily, preparing to reprimand the newcomer with diplomatic immunity, but the scene his eyes saw made him freeze.
Rushing in were six fully armed New York police officers, led by a fierce-looking sergeant.
Following behind the police were two reporters from The New York Herald with cameras hanging around their necks, holding the flash powder cords in their hands.
"What do you want?!" Pendleton shouted sternly.
"I am the commercial counselor of the British Empire consulate in New York! This is a private box, and this is a serious diplomatic provocation!"
The fierce-looking sergeant sneered, completely unimpressed by his act, stepped forward, and shoved Pendleton back onto the sofa.
"Diplomatic provocation? Save it, Mr. Counselor."
With that, the sergeant pulled an arrest warrant out of his pocket.
"We received a reliable tip that someone here is conducting illegal financial extortion and espionage transactions. Furthermore, the informant stated that you are suspected of using your position to heavily accept bribes from local New York gangs, providing diplomatic convenience for illegal opium smuggling."
"Fack, nonsense! This is a blatant frame-up!" Pendleton shook with anger.
"Who reported this? Bring him out to confront me face-to-face!"
"I reported it, Mr. Counselor."
Bennett, who had been sitting opposite and acting submissively all along, suddenly stood up.
The fear and cowardice on his face were swept away, replaced by a mocking sneer.
"You…"
Pendleton looked at Bennett in disbelief.
"Mr. Sergeant, this is the physical evidence."
Bennett pointed to the ten-thousand-pound draft on the table.
"This counselor attempted to bribe me with this money to forge commercial secrets of the Metropolitan Trading Company for him, thereby extorting the Argyle Family. Not only that, but he also promised to use the diplomatic pouch to help me smuggle twenty thousand dollars' worth of Cuba cigars and opium to London."
"Fack you, you damned liar! Scum!"
Pendleton finally realized this was a set-up.
A thorough trap!
He lunged fiercely at Bennett, wanting to choke his neck, but was immediately pinned down tightly by two strong police officers.
"Click! Click!"
The two reporters immediately raised their cameras, the flashlights flashing violently, the dazzling white light permanently freezing Pendleton's angry, distorted, and disheveled face on the negative film.
"Big news! The British counselor is suspected of extortion and opium smuggling, and was arrested on the spot!"
A reporter shouted excitedly.
A buzzing sound rang in Pendleton's head, as if something had completely exploded.
It's over.
Everything is over.
Tomorrow morning, newspapers all over America will feature his ugly posture pinned on the sofa by the police on their front pages.
Whitehall in London will definitely not acknowledge a scandalous official suspected of smuggling opium and extortion.
Not only will his political career be completely ended, but Barings Bank behind him might also rapidly sever ties with him due to this scandal.
As for that report on arms smuggling?
Extortion materials forged by a disgraced spy, who would believe it?
The sergeant rudely put handcuffs on Pendleton and dragged him out of the box.
Quietness returned to the box.
Bennett tidied his suit and casually pocketed the ten-thousand-pound draft.
Walking to the window, he watched the police car howling away with Pendleton downstairs, a satisfied smile appearing on the corner of his mouth.
Half an hour later, in the office on the ground floor of the Empire Bank Building.
Timmy placed the developed photos and the so-called "top-secret smuggling report" on Felix's desk.
"Boss, the matter is settled. Pendleton has been temporarily locked up in the detention center in southern Manhattan."
"Tomorrow morning's newspaper headlines have already been bought."
"The people in the consulate are now in a complete mess, busy trying to clear themselves, so it is estimated that no one will care about those investigation reports in his safe for the time being."
Felix picked up the photo of Pendleton being pinned to the sofa, glanced at it, and threw it casually into the wastepaper basket next to him.
"Good job, Timmy. A dead dog tangled in scandals like this is much more useful than a cold corpse."
"Notify Bill. Have the three ships docked at the Brooklyn shipyard set sail as soon as possible tonight taking advantage of the high tide."
"Leave American territorial waters at the fastest speed and go to dock with the changed procedures over in London."
"Understood, boss. The First Fleet will leave port immediately."
The temporary obstacles were completely swept away.
This giant ship laden with ambition and steel was finally going to cleave through the winds and waves of the Atlantic Ocean, heading towards that ancient and massive Far East empire.
Just then, the office door was knocked open by Frost.
He was holding an urgent telegram just sent from London in his hand, his face slightly flushed with excitement.
"Boss, good news!"
"A encrypted telegram sent by President George Templeton. After detailed talks with them over there, the House of Bourbon in Zurich has bowed its head."
"The Old Count of Anjou has arrived at the London branch, ready to sign the pledge transfer agreement for the original shares of the Suez Canal!"
A look of understanding flashed in Felix's eyes.
"Oh? Have those old aristocrats finally recognized reality?"
...
Lombard Street in London, the second-floor conference room of the Argyle Empire Bank branch.
The atmosphere in the room was so oppressive that it felt like it could squeeze water out.
The thick London fog outside the window still showed no signs of dispersing, and the gas lamps made a hissing burning sound.
At one end of the conference table sat George Templeton, the plenipotentiary representative of the Argyle Family.
Today he was wearing a formal dark striped suit, with a snow-white silk handkerchief folded in his chest pocket.
In front of him were placed two legal contracts printed on top-grade parchment, alongside a sterling silver inkwell filled with black ink.
At the other end of the conference table sat an elderly yet extremely majestic European aristocrat—The Old Count of Anjou representing all collateral branches of the House of Bourbon.
Standing behind The Old Count were two solemn-faced attendants and a French lawyer wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
The Old Count's complexion was somewhat sallow, with sunken eye sockets.
He looked at the two contracts emitting the smell of printing ink in the middle of the table, as if looking at two life-threatening talismans.
The title of the contract was printed in bold bilingual French and English: "Irrevocable Pledge Transfer Agreement Concerning 370,000 Original Shares of the Suez Canal Company of France".
"Your Excellency the Count."
George broke the silence, his voice polite yet carrying a sense of oppression.
"The funds from the New York headquarters are in place."
"As long as you sign your name on this agreement and stamp it with the sealing wax seal of the House of Bourbon, five million dollars in upfront cash will be immediately wired into your designated account in the Swiss bank."
"The remaining funds will be disbursed according to the schedule."
The withered fingers of The Old Count trembled slightly on the tabletop.
370,000 shares!
That accounted for nearly half of the original shares of the Suez Canal Company.
It was the painstaking effort of generations of the House of Bourbon operating in the Ottoman Empire and Egypt for decades, and it was the last backbone that allowed their group of exiled nobles to maintain a decent life.
Now, for that illusory throne of restoration, for that twenty million dollars in startup capital, he had to personally hand this goose that laid the golden eggs into the hands of the America upstart.
"Mr. Templeton."
The French lawyer suddenly spoke, his tone filled with struggle.
"Before signing, we hope to reconfirm the redemption terms. The agreement states that once the French Third Republic is overthrown and the new Bourbon government is established, the Argyle Bank must allow us to redeem this batch of shares with newly issued French national bonds at equivalent principal and interest."
George smiled slightly and nodded.
"Of course. This was personally promised by Mr. Argyle. We have no interest in operating the canal; we merely need an absolutely safe collateral. As long as your side can repay the twenty million dollars with interest on time, the shares will be returned intact."
George paused, his eyes turning playful.
"However, if the restoration fails... or the new government refuses to assume this debt, then according to Article 14 of the contract, the ownership of this batch of shares will automatically transfer to the name of the Argyle Family. By then, no European court will have the right to interfere. Please make sure, Mr. Lawyer, to explain this point clearly to His Lordship the Count."
The French lawyer gritted his teeth, turned his head, and whispered it in French to The Old Count again.
The Old Count closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
That pride belonging to the old nobility was crushed to pieces under the heavy pressure of capital in this small conference room.
He had no way out.
Those money-grubbing Royalist members of the National Assembly were already urging for the funds to arrive; if this money could not be taken back, the House of Bourbon would never have the chance to step foot into the Palace of Versailles again.
"Give me the pen."
The Old Count said in a hoarse voice.
The attendant immediately handed over a gorgeous peacock feather pen.
The Old Count dipped his pen in ink, his wrist trembling as he signed his long string of family names representing supreme glory onto the last page of the contract with extreme heaviness.
Afterward, he pulled out a heavy gold seal from his chest and pressed it fiercely into the melted red wax.
The fleur-de-lis coat of arms was deeply imprinted on the contract.
George quickly put one of the contracts into his briefcase, a thinly veiled victorious smile appearing on his face.
"Happy cooperation, Your Lordship the Count. The Argyle Family wishes His Highness Henry V an early coronation and the return of France to orthodoxy."
The Old Count ignored George's polite remarks, stood up with the support of his attendant, and walked toward the door with staggering steps.
When he reached the door, he suddenly stopped and looked back at George.
"Tell your boss."
The Old Count's gaze was as sharp as a knife.
"The House of Bourbon will not fall, and we will definitely redeem this batch of shares."
"Of course ~ We shall wait and see, Your Excellency." George slightly bowed.
With the departure of The Old Count and the others, the conference room grew quiet again.
George immediately called Oliver over.
"Send a telegram to Switzerland immediately and disburse five million first! At the same time, dispatch a team of top-tier security personnel to keep this contract safe. This is scrap paper worth twenty million US dollars... Oh no, it's a canal worth twenty million US dollars!"
Hours later, this historically pivotal telegram crossed the Atlantic Ocean and appeared on Felix's desk.
At this time, New York was already at sunset.
Felix sat alone behind his desk, the coffee by his hand having gone completely cold.
Looking at the short sentence on the telegram, "Agreement signed, shares acquired," he remained silent for a long time.
Everything was playing out according to his script.
Just last night, those three cargo ships filled with weapons and supplies had quietly sailed out of New York Harbor, disappearing into the boundless night of the Atlantic Ocean.
And today, the lifeline of the Suez Canal steadily fell into his pocket once again.
From domestic industrial monopolies in America to military trade dumping in the Far East, and then to the annexation of core European assets,
The tentacles of the Argyle Family seemed to have begun the preliminary layout of globalization.
"Knock, knock, knock."
Urgent knocking came from outside the door.
"Come in."
Frost came in holding the newly translated top-secret telegram. However, the expression on his face was very strange, half-smiling, yet carrying a kind of extreme shock.
"Boss... emergency intelligence from the secret line in Paris."
Frost walked up to the desk and handed the telegram paper to Felix.
"What is it? Those old fogies of Bourbon who got the money, can't wait to start splashing money in Paris?"
Felix picked up the cold coffee, took a sip, and told a joke.
"Quite the opposite, boss." Frost lowered his voice.
"The news seems to have leaked a bit. I don't know which link went wrong, but the republican government led by Thiers suddenly raided three underground banks in Paris last night, intercepting the first batch of funds that the House of Bourbon tried to smuggle into the National Assembly for bribery."
Felix's hand holding the coffee cup paused slightly, then he put the cup down.
"Moreover, what's worse..."
Frost swallowed hard.
"That stubborn old man, Henry V, upon learning that the funds were in place, suddenly published a public statement. In this statement, he refused to accept the tricolor flag and declared that once he ascended the throne, France would restore the old system and exile all those republicans!"
Hearing this, Felix couldn't help laughing out loud. It was a kind of extremely mocking and cold laughter.
"What a foolish ghost of the old era." Felix shook his head.
"Before negotiations were even finalized, he was so eager to take my money, only to have his pot smashed by someone. This fellow Henry V has pushed all those capitalists and military generals who originally wanted to remain neutral squarely into the republican camp."
"Yes, boss. The whole of Paris is in an uproar now. The republicans have launched a motion in the assembly to impeach the royalists. It is said that even the remnants of Napoleon III are secretly providing weapons to the republicans."
"This restoration, I'm afraid, was stillborn before it even began."
Felix looked at the setting sun outside.
Did it still fail just like in history?
Is his current strength still not enough to change major history?
Of course.
If the House of Bourbon had truly successfully restored, he would merely have gotten back twenty million dollars in principal and some interest, plus mining rights to several North African mines.
But now, Henry V's stupidity had personally destroyed the hope of restoration.
This meant that the twenty million dollars lent out would become a bad debt.
And the Suez Canal shares used as collateral, as well as all of Spain's sugar mills and iron mines in Cuba, would rightfully, legally, and reasonably belong entirely to the Argyle Family!
There was nothing bad about this either.
Anyway, it wasn't a loss!
"Edward."
Felix's voice appeared exceptionally clear in the setting sun.
"Present."
"Notify the Intelligence Department in Europe to secretly gather more intelligence on this restoration.
After finishing giving instructions on how to handle the absurd statement from the House of Bourbon, the atmosphere in the office eased up a bit.
The farce in France had temporarily come to an end, and the family's assets in Europe could be considered to have double insurance.
Felix pushed his already cooled coffee aside, leaned back in his chair, and gently tapped his fingers on the edge of the mahogany desktop.
"As for the matters over in Europe, let those old aristocrats rack their own brains about them. As long as the agreement is in our vault, no matter what color flag eventually flies over Paris, the canal shares aren't going anywhere."
Felix raised his eyelids, his gaze falling on Frost, and his eyes turned sharp once again.
"Now, let's talk about that Arthur Pendleton. Where is he right now?"
Frost put the telegram from the House of Bourbon into the folder, and then pulled out several other pages filled with interrogation records from it.
"Boss, Pendleton is currently locked up in the interrogation room of the Southern District Police Station. Last night, Chief O'Malley from the police station personally took charge of 'greeting' him."
"O'Malley is a rough man; he didn't end up killing that noble British counselor, did he?" Felix sneered.
"The consulate must be like ants on a hot pan right now. If he kicks the bucket in the police station, even with a scandal covering it up, that bunch from the Foreign Office will seize the opportunity to make trouble."
"Rest assured, O'Malley knows his limits. The men under him are all experienced and use methods that leave no scars." Frost lowered his head and glanced at the interrogation records.
"Pendleton is just a bureaucrat who sits in his office drinking afternoon tea. He couldn't even hold out for half an hour before spilling everything. In fact, when O'Malley placed the extortion confession and false testimony of opium smuggling in front of him, telling him he would be sent to a maximum-security prison in the West to build railroads if he didn't cooperate, he even confessed to peeping at the maid taking a bath when he was twelve years old."
Felix picked up the cigar box on the table, pulled one out, and clipped it.
"Is that so? Then tell me, why would a senior counselor of the British Consulate in New York abandon a proper social ball and suddenly go crazy, taking the risk to raid the shipyards of the Metropolitan Trading Company and the Atlantic Steam Power Company?"
"That is precisely the core content I want to report to you, Boss."
Frost's expression turned solemn, and he stepped forward to hand the interrogation records to Felix.
"Pendleton admitted that raiding the shipyard was not out of official instructions from the British Foreign Office or the consulate. He took unauthorized action after receiving a private secret telegram from London."
Felix took the records, his gaze quickly sweeping over the messy handwriting on it, catching a key name.
"Barings Bank?"
"Yes, Boss. Barings Bank." Frost nodded.
"Pendleton confessed that the person who contacted him was a senior partner in the overseas investment department of Barings Bank. The other party promised that as long as he could use the consulate's authority to secretly collect evidence of illegal operations by the Metropolitan Trading Company and the Atlantic Steam Power Company, Barings Bank would maneuver his transfer back to Whitehall in London next year and give him a lucrative position."
Felix stared at the document, his brow slightly furrowed.
"Merely collecting evidence of illegal operations?"
"Of course it's not just that." Frost lowered his voice.
"He said the specific information given by Barings Bank was to keep a tight eye on the shipyard's movements. If there's an opportunity, it's best to create some engineering accidents or labor disputes to completely ruin the reputation of the Atlantic Steam Power Company. Even if that can't be done, they must find a way to figure out what is actually loaded on our cargo ships about to set sail."
Felix threw the cigar onto the table and let out a cold snort.
"Reputation? Those vampires in London are truly naive. In America, as long as capital is abundant, a reputation in the newspapers isn't worth a single cent. However, as the agent for issuing national debt for the British Empire, Barings Bank has always only cared about national-level financial loans and colonial commodity monopolies. We, the Argyle Family, do not have a direct conflict in business with them. Why are they suddenly so interested in our shipyard and trading company in New York? Even buying off a counselor to sabotage us?"
Frost pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose and pulled a document from the bottom of the folder.
This document was stamped with a dark red wax seal, which was the highest-level top-secret identification.
"Regarding this point, Boss, Pendleton himself doesn't know. He's just a man who takes money to do a job. However, Timmy's intelligence network in Britain has just sent back the latest analytical report. I think this report can perfectly answer your doubts."
Felix took the top-secret document and tore open the wax seal.
"What does Timmy say over there?"
"The Intelligence Department spent a lot of money to buy off a middle manager inside Barings Bank," Frost explained.
"Barings Bank is not simply a financial institution. Behind it stand a large number of old aristocrats and industrial oligarchs of the British Empire who made their fortunes through Far East trade. The interests of these families have been completely tied together with Barings Bank."
"The Far East..."
Felix muttered to himself, his gaze wandering over the document.
"Yes, Boss. Timmy pointed out in the report that those old families behind Barings Bank are very dissatisfied with our recent moves. To be precise, they are furious."
Frost paused, took a breath, and continued.
"The reason is very simple. The expansion speed of O'Neill from the Metropolitan Trading Company in the Qing Dynasty has touched their core interests. Over the past few decades, the British mainly relied on selling opium, buying tea, and silk to extract profits in the Qing Dynasty. But ever since our merchant ships sailed into Shanghai and Tianjin Port, everything has changed."
Felix looked at Timmy's report, a cruel smile gradually emerging from the corner of his mouth.
The report detailed the sales list of the Metropolitan Trading Company in Asia over the past half year.
"Tens of thousands of barrels of kerosene directly squeezed the British crude candles and whale oil out of the market. Piles of cheap canned meat and hardtack biscuits. And the latest telegraph equipment..."
Felix read the contents of the report and raised his head with a sneer.
"Of course, what breaks their hearts the most is the breech-loading rifles and retired breech-loading artillery we sold to the local viceroys of the Qing Dynasty."
"That's right, Boss." Frost nodded in agreement.
"Timmy said in the report that the British are annoyed by our behavior of selling arms and communication equipment in the Qing Dynasty. They believe that the Argyle Family is arming the Qing Dynasty, which will seriously threaten the British Empire's military deterrence in the Far East. What's more, these were originally potential markets for British military industrial enterprises."
"But that's not all, right?"
Felix closed the report and leaned back in his chair.
"That's right. Aside from the dumping by the Metropolitan Trading Company, the rise of the Atlantic Steam Power Company has also made London uncomfortable."
Frost's tone became passionate.
"The major shareholders behind Barings Bank own massive shipyards along the River Clyde. For a long time, orders for ocean-going freighters and ironclads have been almost monopolized by them. But now, the Atlantic Steam Power Company is constantly expanding in New York and Brooklyn, not only winning orders for new warships from the Federal Navy, but even starting to undertake shipbuilding businesses in South America and the Qing Dynasty. In terms of price and steam engine efficiency, we outperform British shipyards by quite a bit."
Felix closed his eyes, and the layout of the entire global trade emerged in his mind.
From the heavy industry of the East Coast, to the ocean-crossing shipping, to the dumping markets of the Far East.
The Argyle Family was like a tireless harvester, mercilessly devouring the profit shares that originally belonged to the bourgeoisie of the British Empire.
"That means they are anxious."
Felix opened his eyes, with no trace of fear in his gaze, but instead filled with excitement.
"I think so. After all, they don't have any influence over there in San Francisco, California." Frost added.
"San Francisco is our base camp in the Pacific. From the mayor to the harbor master, basically everyone there is our person. The British intelligence agencies simply cannot meddle there. Since they cannot monitor our ocean-going merchant ships on the West Coast, they can only extend their hands to the East Coast."
"From the look of it, New York is the breakthrough point they chose."
Felix's fingers tapped on the desktop again.
"They know that our shipyard and material distribution center are both here. Therefore, Barings Bank activated Pendleton as a secret piece. They want to cut off our supply line from the source, or at least figure out how much fatal stuff we have shipped to Asia."
The office fell into a brief silence.
The electric light reflected Felix's young yet chilling face.
"Reaching into my pocket to rob money, and by the way spitting into my plate. Those old gentlemen of Barings Bank certainly know how to calculate."
"Since they are so eager to know what we are doing in the shipyard, we should prepare a big gift for them."
Just then, the office door was gently knocked, and Mark from the Intelligence Department strode in.
His expression looked a bit odd, as if he had brought back some unexpected news.
Felix looked at Mark, and his intuition told him that this covert war surrounding the shipyard was not as simple as it appeared on the surface.
Chapter 926: Camouflaged Routes and Absurd Confidence
Mark walked into the office, first glanced at Frost, and then walked quickly to the desk.
"Boss, the Southern District Police Station just transmitted a supplementary statement regarding Pendleton. Just a moment ago, when O'Malley was about to have this fellow sign the final confession, he suddenly clutched at it like a life-saving straw and gave a very strange reason."
"A strange reason?"
Felix raised an eyebrow.
"What other reasons could a disgraced British consul, suspected of smuggling opium and extortion, find to defend himself? Is he going to tell O'Malley that all of this was for the glory of Queen Victoria?"
"Of course not, Boss."
Mark shook his head, his expression extremely solemn.
"Pendleton confessed to O'Malley about the last piece of emergency intelligence he received from Barings Bank before the surprise raid. It was this intelligence that prompted him to make up his mind and risk exposure to forcibly break into our shipyard."
Felix frowned without speaking, just quietly looking at Mark and waiting for the rest.
Frost also knitted his brows, carefully recalling the interrogation record just now, trying to find any missed clues.
"A few days ago, Pendleton received a secret telegram from Barings Bank. Somehow, London sensed that three large cargo ships under the Metropolitan Trading Company suddenly applied to change their registration information."
Mark's voice sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet office.
"Not only that, London also discovered that these three ships did not report regular routes to America's harbor bureau, but through extremely covert means, were processing procedures to transfer under the name of a British shipping company. This is also that 'Ashburn-Vance Far East Shipping and Trading Company' we just registered in London."
Hearing this, Felix's gaze tightened slightly.
It seemed the British people's sense of smell was indeed much sharper than he had imagined.
Although George's actions in London were fast, the approval process within the shipping guild still left some clues.
The families behind Barings Bank were deeply rooted in the shipping industry, so it was not surprising that they detected this anomaly.
"Go on."
Felix's tone didn't reveal any emotional fluctuation.
"The people from Barings Bank told Pendleton that this behavior of the Metropolitan Trading Company was somewhat abnormal. If it were just legitimate commercial trade, the Argyle Family would have no need to transfer their ships to an obscure British shell company. Therefore, they concluded that what these three ships were carrying was definitely something that couldn't see the light of day."
Mark swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
"Therefore, Barings Bank gave Pendleton a death order. He must find out the details before these three ships leave New York Harbor. If it really is munitions, he must immediately join forces with the British Navy to intercept them on the high seas."
Frost couldn't help interrupting.
"But the shipyard's warehouse is private territory. Even with a consulate identity, Pendleton has no authority to bring people to barge right in and inspect our cargo manifests. Does he not even have the most basic common legal sense?"
"This is the most absurd part."
Mark sneered, his tone carrying undisguised mockery.
"Pendleton defended himself to O'Malley by saying that he was not illegally trespassing. His excuse was that since these three ships were undergoing procedures to be transferred under the name of a British company and had already obtained the preliminary consent of the British Shipping Guild, from a legal standpoint, these three ships were already the legal assets of the British Empire!"
Mark spread his hands, imitating Pendleton's tone.
"Pendleton said he is the commercial counselor of the British Empire's Consulate in New York. He has the right to conduct tax and security audits on any British assets flying the Union Jack or about to fly the Union Jack. He was merely fulfilling his diplomatic duties to protect the commercial interests of the British Empire!"
What a talent.
The office fell into a silence lasting over a dozen seconds.
Felix suddenly leaned back against his chair and let out a low chuckle.
This laughter grew louder and louder, finally turning into uninhibited laughter.
Frost and Mark exchanged glances, and couldn't help shaking their heads along with it.
"Hahaha... What a genius-level logic."
Felix finished laughing, reached out and wiped the corner of his eye.
"This fool actually really thought that a few pieces of waste paper that hadn't completely taken effect, plus his title as a commercial counselor, would allow him to forcibly inspect the Argyle Family's warehouse on America's soil?"
"Bureaucracy kills."
Frost evaluated it this way and continued,
"He is too obsessed with the so-called legal principles and rules of the British Empire. He thinks the entire world must act according to London's script. He probably figures that as long as he has a high-sounding excuse, we will obediently open our warehouse doors and let him see right through our hand."
"His biggest mistake is that he failed to figure out whose territory this is," Mark added.
"In New York, even if Queen Victoria came in person, she wouldn't be able to step foot into the shipyard without the boss's permission. Pendleton's self-deceiving confidence is simply ridiculous to the extreme."
Felix put away his smile and relit a cigar.
Bluish-white smoke slowly rose in the dim light, blurring his dark, deep eyes.
"Ridiculous as it is, this also serves as a reminder to us."
Felix's voice became serious again.
"Barings Bank clearly regards our Far East strategy as a thorn in their side. Although Pendleton is a fool, the people behind him are not foolish. This time we counter-attacked Pendleton in time, but what about next time?"
Felix stood up and walked to the huge world map.
"The overseas power network of the British Empire is intricate. Pendleton is just the beginning. As long as our ships are still drifting on the sea, and as long as our goods are still being unloaded at the docks of the Qing Dynasty, those established nobles and capitalists whose interests have been harmed will pounce on us like mad dogs."
"Boss, what should we do now?" Frost walked to the map.
"Pendleton will make the headlines of all newspapers tomorrow morning due to the scandal of extortion and opium smuggling. London will definitely receive the news immediately. The people at Barings Bank will realize their plan has failed. Will they directly deploy the navy..."
"No, no, no, they wouldn't dare."
Felix decisively interrupted Frost.
"The British Empire is also a mess right now. France is having a revolution, and Prussia is rising. London's politicians are most afraid of getting involved in new international disputes. Although Barings Bank has immense clout, it still cannot bypass the cabinet and directly use connections to mobilize the Royal Navy to intercept a legitimate British merchant ship flying the British flag on the high seas."
Felix turned around and looked at Mark.
"This is the genius of setting up our shell company in London. They clearly know those three ships belong to us in the Argyle Family, but as long as the Union Jack is raised and the shipping guild's stamp is on the paperwork, the Royal Navy of the British Empire cannot open fire without conclusive evidence. Otherwise, that would be slapping themselves in the face and undermining the very maritime trade laws they formulated."
"Then can Barings Bank only watch us transport the goods to their colonies?" Mark asked.
"No, perhaps they will be waiting for us in Asian ports."
Felix tapped his finger heavily on the coastline of the Qing Dynasty on the map.
"That is the real battlefield. Customs, governors, compradors. The British will deploy all the resources they have cultivated there for half a century, trying to seal our goods inside the warehouses or make every step difficult for us."
Felix took a deep drag on his cigar.
"Pendleton being caught is just an appetizer. The real main course can only be decided on the dining table in the Far East. Mark, notify O'Malley."
A bright light flashed in Felix's eyes.
"Since Pendleton likes writing confessions so much, let him write a few more. Write down the role Barings Bank played in this matter. No need to make it public, just keep it in our hands. If Barings Bank goes too far in Asia in the future, this thing might be useful."
Mark nodded.
"Understood, boss. I'll have O'Malley take good care of him. I guarantee that every word he writes will stand up to scrutiny."
Hasty footsteps suddenly sounded from outside the office.
Bill, the head of the Metropolitan Trading Company, didn't even knock on the door as he pushed it open and barged in. He was clutching a telegram in his hand, and his rugged face was full of anxiety.
Felix knew there was an emergency just by looking at Bill's expression.
"What's the matter, Bill?"
Chapter 927: The Aftermath of Departure and Interlacing Chess Games
Panting heavily, Bill strode over to the desk and slammed the telegram in his hand down hard onto the surface.
"Boss, something's happened to those three cargo ships."
Felix's eyes instantly turned cold, but he didn't panic, simply looking calmly at Bill.
"Didn't the ships leave the Brooklyn Shipyard last night on the tide? Were they intercepted, or did they run into a storm?"
Frost and Mark also immediately tensed up. These three ships carried the core strength for the Argyle Family to fully open up the Far East market; there could be no room for error.
"Neither."
Bill took a breath, trying to steady his breathing.
"The ships safely departed from New York Harbor, and even cleared the patrol range of America's coastal waters. However, on our escorting fast steam launch, we received an emergency light signal from the pilot captain."
Bill pointed to the telegram on the table, which was the text just translated by the telegrapher from the light signals.
"The pilot captain reported that shortly after entering the high seas, they noticed an unidentified paddle steamer trailing far behind the fleet. The other party was not flying any flags, nor did they show any intention of armed interception; they merely maintained a safe distance and doggedly stuck to our course."
"Trailing us?" Mark furrowed his brow.
"Isn't Pendleton locked in our basement? The consulate is in complete chaos right now; no one there should have the bandwidth to organize ships to trail us."
"Not the people from the consulate."
Felix picked up the telegram for a glance, threw it back onto the table, his tone tinged with realization.
"It must be Barings Bank."
"Barings Bank? How could they move so fast?" Frost was obviously taken aback.
"That is the foundation of an established financial empire."
"Since they noticed the unusual change in our ship registration, how could they possibly pin all their hopes on a foolish commercial counselor? Pendleton's raid on the shipyard was merely a surface-level probe. Secretly, they may have long hired private investigators or gang ships to wait for us on the high seas."
Felix stood up and paced slowly around the office.
"They knew that taking action within America's territorial waters would trigger international disputes, so they chose to tail us on the high seas. As long as they keep close to these three ships, they'll know our exact route and might even set traps ahead of time in the ports of India or the Qing Dynasty."
"Boss, what should we do now?"
Bill clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking loudly.
"Should we have the merchant ships fight back and ram that tail straight to the bottom of the sea? There are no cops on the high seas anyway."
"No, that would leave behind too much evidence." Felix shook his head, instantly rejecting the proposal.
"Since that trailing ship dares to sail without a flag, it means they are ready to disguise themselves as pirates or ordinary merchant ships at any time. If we sink it, it will only give Barings Bank an excuse to attack us."