With that, Felix walked over to the huge nautical chart, his gaze tracing the ocean current lines of the Atlantic Ocean all the way east.
"We cannot cause a huge mess right at the start of the voyage. These three ships are loaded with old-style rifles and cannons. Even with a British company's shell for cover, once inspected, it will be quite a bit of trouble. What we need right now is to quietly shake them off."
Felix turned his head and looked at Bill.
"Tell the lead captain to ignore that shadowing ship. Maintain normal speed and proceed along the original Atlantic Ocean route. However, when approaching the waters near the Azores, order the fleet to enforce a blackout at night."
"A blackout?" Bill was stunned for a moment.
"Yes."
Felix's eyes revealed a look of wise contemplation.
"I remember that those waters frequently experience heavy fog. Have the fleet turn off all navigation lights at night, and then, using the speed advantage brought by the latest steam turbines on our ships, suddenly change course and yaw south at full speed."
Felix's finger drew a broken line on the nautical chart.
"Do not take the conventional route around the Cape of Good Hope. Make them take a big detour. The ocean is so vast; as long as we shake off their line of sight at night, that dilapidated paddle steamer will never be able to find our traces again."
Bill instantly understood Felix's intent, and his eyes lit up.
"Great idea, boss! In terms of power, our ships absolutely crush that kind of old-fashioned paddle steamer. As long as there is heavy fog for cover, shaking them off will be a piece of cake!"
"Go do it. Also, remember to send a telegram to George in London." Felix's tone grew cold and stern.
"Have George immediately use the connections of those British aristocratic directors at the 'Ashburn-Vance Far East Shipping and Trading Company' to submit a protest document to the Admiralty. Say that the company's legitimate merchant ships were trailed for a long time by unknown vessels on the high seas, suspected to be the remnant forces of Caribbean pirates, and demand that the British Empire's navy provide protection when necessary."
Hearing this, Frost couldn't help laughing out loud.
"Boss, are you planning to have the British Empire's own navy escort our arms-smuggling ships? If Barings Bank finds out about this, those partners will probably be so angry they vomit blood."
"Since we are going to make money draped in the skin of the British Empire, naturally we must utilize this skin to the absolute limit," Felix said coldly.
"Barings Bank likes to play games like this, so we will use the rules they themselves formulated to deal with them. I want to see whether, after Whitehall receives the protest document, Barings Bank still dares to blatantly hire people to tail us."
"I'll go draft the telegram right away, boss."
Frost picked up his notebook and quickly recorded Felix's instructions.
The tense atmosphere in the office gradually dissipated due to Felix's series of decisive deployments.
In this chess game spanning the ocean, the Argyle Family still firmly held the initiative.
Watching Bill and Frost leave one after another to execute their missions, Mark asked with some hesitation.
"Boss, on New York's side, regarding Pendleton's matter, do we need to notify the consulate to fish him out? Keeping him locked in the police station's basement for too long might cause a diplomatic dispute."
"We don't need to notify them."
Felix sat back down in his chair, picked up the cup of coffee that had completely gone cold, and took a sip.
"Tomorrow morning, paperboys all over America will be shouting about the British counselor's scandal in the streets. As long as the people at the consulate aren't blind, they'll naturally see it. By then, it won't be a matter of them coming to fish someone out, but rather them racking their brains to figure out how to distance themselves in the newspapers from this notorious scum."
Felix put down his coffee cup, his gaze revealing a profound depth that saw through the ways of the world.
"The bureaucratic system of the British Empire is most skilled at cutting ties. To them, Pendleton is no longer a colleague, but a piece of rotten meat carrying a plague. Barings Bank won't even spare him another glance."
The facts were just as Felix expected.
A night's time passed quickly.
Early the next morning, the sky over Manhattan, New York, was still drizzling with a fine rain.
In the major streets and alleys, paperboys waved the newly printed New York Herald and The Sun, their sharp voices piercing through the morning chill.
"A major scandal! A heaven-shaking scandal! Senior counselor of the British Consulate in New York suspected of extortion!"
"Diplomat or gangster? Counselor Arthur Pendleton caught smuggling opium on the spot! Includes high-definition photos of the arrest scene!"
"The British Empire's decency is swept away! The Southern District Police Department strikes with heavy blows, destroying the internal corruption network of the consulate!"
Inside the top-floor office of the Argyle's Building, Felix stood in front of the wide floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the bustling streets below like an ant colony.
Frost pushed the door open and entered, holding several newspapers exuding the fragrance of printer's ink.
"Boss, things were handled perfectly. Major newspapers all put this news on their front pages. The photos were taken very clearly; that face of Pendleton's couldn't be denied even if he wanted to."
Frost placed the newspapers on the desktop.
"What is the consulate's reaction?"
Felix didn't turn back, just asking indifferently.
"It's in utter chaos," Frost reported.
"According to our insider news, the Consul-General was so angry upon seeing the newspaper that he smashed the vase in his office. They already sent an urgent telegram to London overnight. Just half an hour ago, the consulate issued an extremely brief statement to the outside world."
Frost cleared his throat, imitating the tone of the official statement.
"The statement says that Arthur Pendleton's personal behavior severely violates the guidelines of diplomatic personnel, and all illegal activities he is suspected of have nothing to do with the British government and the consulate. Starting today, Pendleton's diplomatic immunity is indefinitely suspended, and he is handed over to the American local court for trial in accordance with the law."
"An utterly unsurprising ending."
Felix turned around, looking at the newspapers on the desk with a sneer.
"A chess piece that has lost its value is discarded mercilessly. This is the game of power."
Felix walked over to the desk, his fingers tapping gently on the tabletop.
"Pendleton's matter ends here. Have O'Malley keep a tight watch on him; no one is allowed to visit without my order. He is now a living fossil in our hands used to disgust Barings Bank."
Just at this moment, the internal communication telegraph machine on the desk suddenly emitted a rapid ticking sound.
Frost walked over immediately and tore off the paper tape that had just been printed. He glanced at it, and his expression changed slightly.
"Boss, it's an urgent telegram sent from the San Francisco branch."
"The West Coast?" Felix raised an eyebrow.
"What happened over there?"
Frost's expression grew somewhat grave.
"The telegram says that a batch of mysterious funds from the East is frantically acquiring shares of several local small shipping companies in California. And..."
Frost raised his head and looked at Felix.
"Those acquired companies are all engaged in the transportation of Chinese laborers and short-distance trade along the Pacific coast."
Felix's eyes narrowed slightly.
Having just dealt with a tentacle extended by the British Empire on the East Coast, a new flame actually popped up in the base camp on the West Coast.
Could this batch of mysterious funds have flowed out from Wall Street, or is the capital over in London making a feint to the east while attacking the west?
This huge chess game is getting more and more interesting.
A dull thud echoed within the spacious office.
Sir Reginald Harrington, British Empire Consul General in New York, slammed his bulgingly-veined fist fiercely onto the mahogany desk.
Scattered across the desktop were seven or eight newly delivered morning newspapers, each featuring the exact same name printed in bold black font on the front page — — Arthur Pendleton.
Although somewhat blurry, the black-and-white photograph taken with a flash on the newspaper was enough for anyone who knew Pendleton to recognize at a glance that this commercial counselor, who usually held his chin higher than the tip of his nose, was being pinned tightly onto a leather sofa in the club by several New York police officers like a stray dog whose spine had been pulled out.
" This is the dignity of the British Empire! This is the diplomat we are proud of! "
Sir Reginald's voice trembled slightly with anger as he grabbed the topmost New York Herald and tore it in half, crumpled it into a ball, and hurled it fiercely toward the distant fireplace.
" Smuggling opium, extortion! And getting caught red-handed trading with someone in a damned underground tavern! Is his head stuffed with the silt of the River Thames? "
Standing opposite the desk was Captain James Moore, the consulate's naval attaché.
With his hands behind his back and standing straight, his stern face bore not much expression as he quietly watched the Consul General vent his fury.
Beside Moore stood a shivering young man.
He was Pendleton's private secretary, Thomas Barnes.
At this moment, Barnes' face was pale, and his forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat.
" Your Excellency Consul General, please calm your anger. "
Captain Moore finally spoke, his pace very slow.
" Anger cannot solve any problems right now; the New York police department has completely airtight case files.
I sent someone to negotiate this morning, and they presented complete human and physical evidence.
That ten-thousand-pound bearer draft from Barings Bank is right in the police department's evidence room, along with Pendleton's personally signed opium bill of lading. "
" Forged! This is definitely a damned trap! "
Reginald suddenly turned around, staring fixedly at Moore.
" And... do you think this is my first day working in America?
That idiot Pendleton may be arrogant, but he absolutely lacks the guts to touch a head-rolling business like opium smuggling!
He has a bright future in London, and it is impossible for him to send himself to a New York prison for twenty thousand dollars of dirty money.
Someone is definitely setting a trap, deliberately splashing dirty water on the face of the British Empire! "
" I completely agree with your judgment, Your Excellency. "
Captain Moore nodded, his eyes turning sharp.
" This method is too clean, too neat.
From the informant's tip to the police breaking down the door, to the newspaper reporter happening to be present and taking photos, every link is seamless.
Those good-for-nothing idiots at the New York police department couldn't possibly have such high efficiency.
There is only one explanation: an extremely massive force is manipulating all of this behind the scenes. "
Moore stepped forward and knocked on the desktop with his knuckles.
" The question is, who on earth did Pendleton offend?
Lately, he's been acting like he's gone mad, neglecting his proper duties every day to watch the shipping manifests of the Brooklyn shipyard.
What on earth is he looking for? "
Reginald forced himself to calm down.
He walked over to Barnes, his gaze as cold and sinister as a venomous snake.
" Listen to me, Barnes.
You are his secretary; you know best who he met every day and what letters he received. "
Reginald lowered his voice, his tone revealing undisguised threat.
" Pendleton is done for now.
The consulate will issue a statement in an hour completely stripping him of his diplomatic immunity.
If you don't want to be dragged away by the New York police as an accomplice, honestly tell everything you know. "
Barnes' legs went soft, and he almost collapsed to the ground.
He flurriedly pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket and handed them to Reginald.
" Your Excellency... I swear I didn't participate in anything!
I am just a copyist! " Barnes stammered.
" Counselor... no, Pendleton, he has been using a private codebook to telegraph London recently.
He wouldn't even allow me to touch those dispatches.
But... but I overheard him talking to himself. "
" Go on. " Captain Moore urged sternly.
" He said... he said the Argyle Family is subverting the British Empire's interests in the Far East. " Barnes swallowed hard, his voice trembling.
" Pendleton has been investigating the Metropolitan Trading Company and the Atlantic Steam Power Company.
He concluded that those three freighters about to undergo registration changes at the shipyard were fully loaded with munitions prepared to be shipped to the Qing Empire.
He even drafted a top-secret report, preparing to send it back to the Admiralty in London. "
" The Argyle Family? "
Reginald and Moore exchanged glances, both of their expressions changing simultaneously.
In New York, and indeed throughout America, no one did not know this name.
That behemoth controlling medicine, telegraphs, railways, steel, military industry, and banking.
That financial oligarchy capable of turning the sky upside down in Washington.
" Is he crazy? "
Reginald growled in disbelief.
" A commercial counselor, without any official authorization from the Foreign Office, actually dared to privately investigate the core industries of the Argyle Family?
Who gave him the guts? "
Barnes wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
It is Barings Bank, Your Excellency.
" When I was helping him organize his private letters, I saw the signature of a senior partner from Barings Bank. "
Barnes hurriedly poured out everything he knew.
" It seems the people over at Barings Bank promised him that as long as he could verify evidence of the Argyle Family smuggling arms in the Far East, they would use connections to transfer him back to Whitehall and into the core of the Foreign Office.
The day before yesterday afternoon, an urgent telegram also came from Barings Bank saying there was a problem with the paperwork of those three freighters, urging him to go intercept and search them immediately.
It was on his way to search that that freight manager tricked him into the club... "
" OK, I completely understand. "
Captain Moore sneered, walking to the window to look at the gray sky outside.
" So those old financial plutocrats behind Barings Bank had their eyes on the Argyle Family's business in Asia, yet they didn't want to dirty their own hands, so they used Pendleton as a pathfinding hound.
As a result, before this hound even caught the scent of meat, the Argyle Family beat it straight to death with a stick. "
" Bullshit! It's simply utter stupidity! "
Reginald was so angry that he paced back and forth inside the office.
" Those greedy bastards at Barings Bank!
For their own monopoly profits in shipping and munitions, they actually dared to use the consulate's diplomatic channels to provoke America's largest capitalist oligarchy.
Now look, the hound is dead, and the scandal is entirely pinned on our Foreign Office! "
Reginald stopped walking and pointed a hand at Barnes.
" You go and bring me all the documents, telegram drafts, and even the scraps of paper in the wastebasket from Pendleton's office.
Immediately, right now! "
Watching Barnes scramble out of the office, Captain Moore turned his head with a solemn expression.
"Your Excellency, what should we do now? Pendleton is still at the police station. Once he confesses the Barings Bank matter to the American authorities, this will no longer be a simple extortion case, but a serious diplomatic espionage incident. The Argyle Family can completely make an issue of it and push for sanctions against British trade in Congress. Although the probability is very small, given his influence, it is not impossible. After all, it is currently managed by his cheap father-in-law, vice president Clark."
"We must cut ties immediately, and cut them cleanly."
With a clear mind, Reginald walked behind the desk, picking up a pen and a stack of special encrypted telegraph paper.
"Issue the public statement immediately. Tell all newspaper offices that Pendleton has personal moral corruption, and all his actions are for personal gain, having nothing to do with the consulate. We will never interfere with the judicial procedures of the New York police."
Reginald began to write quickly on the paper, the tip of his pen scratching across the surface with a rustling sound.
"At the same time, send an urgent report to Whitehall. I want to report the matter of Pendleton colluding privately with Barings Bank word for word to the Foreign Secretary. The mess caused by Barings Bank must be borne by themselves. The consulate will never take the blame for them."
Captain Moore watched Reginald writing furiously, his brow still tightly furrowed.
"Your Excellency, there is one thing I must remind you of. Although Pendleton is an idiot, his intuition might be right."
Hearing this, Reginald stopped his pen and raised his head.
"What do you mean by that?"
"The reaction of the Argyle Family in this matter was too fast, and the counterattack was too fatal," Moore analyzed.
"If there really were no problem, they could have simply refused Pendleton's inspection or lodged a protest with the consulate. But they chose to use the most extreme and disreputable way to completely destroy a diplomat within a few hours. This proves that the things in the shipyard are relatively important to them. Important enough that they are willing to risk offending the Foreign Office just to keep this secret covered up."
After listening to him, Reginald put down his pen, his eyes becoming profound.
"So my friend, are you saying that there really is something shady on those three ships?"
"I feel there definitely is. And I bet those three ships have already left New York Harbor." Moore walked over to the navigation chart.
"Pendleton's action was rash. The Argyle Family will definitely not let those ships continue to stay in the shipyard waiting for us to investigate."
"This is no longer a matter we can manage, James."
Reginald sighed and sealed the written telegram draft into an envelope.
"We are diplomats, not anti-smuggling police. The Argyle Family is a waking monster, and their power on American soil is simply not something our consulate can contend with. Transmit the intelligence back to London and let those self-righteous lords headache over it themselves."
...
London, Lombard Street.
The thick fog of this city seemed as though it would never disperse, and the gray daylight shone through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows of the Barings Bank headquarters conference room, casting a gloomy hue over the interior.
Only three people sat at the long oak table in the center of the conference room.
But it was precisely these three people who held capital in their hands sufficient to cause a shock to a small half of the British economy.
Sitting at the head of the table was Charles Sterling, a senior partner of Barings Bank. He wore an extremely exquisite dark gray three-piece suit, toying with a gold coin in his hand, his expression as cold as a loveless stone sculpture.
Sitting to his left was lord Archibald Sinclair. This old-school aristocrat was the actual controller of the British Eastern Shipping Guild, and his family had been operating monopoly trade with the Qing Empire and India for generations.
At this moment, his face was flushed red, and his heavy breathing sounded exceptionally harsh in the quiet conference room.
Sitting opposite them was Arthur Vance, an industrial oligarch who owned two large shipyards on the banks of the Clyde. At this moment, he was constantly wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, his eyes filled with anxiety and unease.
In the middle of the table lay several telegram decoding copies bought at a high price from the Foreign Office insiders, as well as several New York newspapers delivered via express steamships.
On the front page of the newspapers, Pendleton's disheveled face appeared exceptionally glaring.
"Bang!"
lord Sinclair could no longer suppress his anger, slamming a heavy fist onto the tabletop.
"Disgrace! This is a disgrace to the British Empire! Even more so a disgrace to our Sinclair family!"
"A senior counselor drawing a national salary was actually pressed onto a sofa by American police to have his photo taken like a street hooligan. This not only ruins his future in the Foreign Office, but may also completely expose our plan to secretly investigate the Argyle Family."
Vance wiped his sweat, his voice trembling slightly.
"lord, this is not the time to talk about disgrace. The question is, how much did Pendleton say at the police station? If he spills everything about us instigating him to force his way into the shipyard, that lunatic named Felix Argyle will definitely launch a crazy retaliation against us."
"Retaliation?"
lord Sinclair snorted disdainfully.
"He dares to run wild on American soil, but does he dare reach his hand into the City of London? He is merely an upstart who started out selling canned goods. This is the British Empire!"
"Shut up, Archibald."
Charles Sterling, who had been silent all along, finally spoke.
Though his voice was not loud, it exuded an irrefutable majesty. Pressing the gold coin in his hand onto the tabletop, his gaze swept coldly across the two men.
"Put aside your ridiculous arrogance. If you still treat Argyle as a colonial upstart who can be manipulated at will, sooner or later you will be swallowed alive by him, not even leaving a single bone fragment behind. That fellow Old Morgan is a reference point."
Sterling picked up the New York newspaper on the table and pushed it in front of Sinclair.
"Look at the reports on this. From the time the incident happened until the police broke down the door, and then to the newspapers publishing front-page headlines, it took less than twelve hours. What does this mean? It means that every move Pendleton made, every person he met, every telegram he sent and received, and even every thought in his mind, had probably been figured out very clearly by the Argyle Family long ago!"
A deep sense of apprehension flashed through Sterling's eyes.
"This is a trap, a perfectly dead end. Pendleton thought he was going to catch someone else's leverage, not knowing that he was the stupid pig who actively stretched his neck into the gallows. Argyle not only effortlessly shattered the probing, but also casually splashed the dirty water back onto the consulate. Now, even Whitehall is in a rush to distance itself from him. That slight advantage we had at the diplomatic level is gone."
Vance nervously rubbed his hands together, his face turning even paler.
"Charles, do you mean that Argyle has known all along that we've been watching him?"
"What else?" Sterling retorted.
"Do you think those three cargo ships that suddenly applied to change their place of registration are a coincidence? I just received a report from our informant planted inside the shipping guild. Guess whose name those three ships are registered under now?"
Sinclair frowned.
"Isn't it some shell company in America?"
"No, it's Ashburn-Vance Far East Shipping and Trading Company."
A mocking expression appeared at the corner of Sterling's mouth.
"Vance?" The industrial oligarch Vance was stunned.
"This name…"
"That's right, it's your cousin who once served as a high-ranking official in the Admiralty, Baron Philippe Vance."
Sterling leaned back in his chair, looking at Vance opposite him.
"And that nearly bankrupt Earl of Ashburn. These two pure-blooded British nobles, directors of the British Empire shipping guild, have now become loyal watchdogs of the Argyle Family. Those three ships are now flying the legal Union Jack, carrying a full set of customs clearance permits, and have swaggeringly sailed toward the high seas."
lord Sinclair was dumbfounded, and Vance slumped in his chair as if struck by lightning.
"He actually bribed British nobles… using the British Empire's own shipping rules to protect his smuggling ships?"
Sinclair murmured to himself, finally realizing how terrifying his opponent was. This was by no means the method of some upstart; this was the ultimate application of capital and rules.
If Felix and the others heard this conversation, they would definitely laugh out loud; people really knew how to overthink things in their heads.
"It seems that not only did we lose miserably in New York, but our own backyard has also caught fire." Sterling picked up a telegram paper.
"This is news just transmitted back from the port of Liverpool. The paddle steamer we hired to track those three ships encountered heavy fog in the waters near the Azores and completely lost the target. Not only that, Whitehall also received a formal protest from the 'Ashburn-Vance Company', demanding that the navy protect their legitimate merchant ships from pirate harassment."
Sterling couldn't help but let out a laugh, but there was not a shred of warmth in that laughter.
"How brilliant, getting the navy to escort his ships. Archibald, those Eastern shipping routes of yours are soon going to welcome a monster. Tens of thousands of rifles, cheap cotton cloth, and kerosene might tear your Qing Empire trade network to pieces within a year."
"This must never be allowed to happen!"
Sinclair suddenly stood up, a fierce look flashing in his eyes.
"Charles, since we can't beat him on America's home turf, let's pull the battlefield back to the Far East. My family has operated in Hong Kong and Shanghai for decades; the customs officials, governors, and compradors there are all our people. As long as his ships dare to dock in the Qing Empire, I have a hundred ways to make his goods rot on the docks!"
"The defense line in the Far East of course must be defended, but that is too passive."
Sterling shook his head, calculation flashing in his eyes.
"Since Argyle dares to reach his hand so far, it shows that his foundation on America's home turf is already solid. We must find a way to sever his major blood supply artery. These cargo ships are just the beginning; I think his true ambition is to establish a seamless logistics network connecting the Americas and Asia across the Pacific Ocean."
Sterling stood up and walked over to the huge world map on the wall. His fingers crossed the Atlantic Ocean and pointed directly at the West Coast of the American continent.
"Although Pendleton is a piece of trash, one piece of early intelligence he transmitted back is crucial. The Argyle Family's influence along the Pacific coast is extremely massive. The Union Pacific Railroad continuously transports industrial production capacity from the East to San Francisco, and then fleets from the West Coast transport it to the Far East. Not only that, they are also introducing a large number of Chinese laborers to drive down the costs of railways and mines."
Sterling turned around, looking at Sinclair and Vance with burning eyes.
"If a well-funded competitor suddenly appeared on the Pacific shipping lanes, frantically acquiring those small shipping companies, monopolizing the channels for transporting Chinese laborers, and creating endless labor disputes at the ports… Do you think the Argyle Family's money-making machine would be forced to slow down?"
Sinclair's eyes slowly lit up, and he understood Sterling's plan.
"Choke his throat at Far East ports, and sever his blood vessels on America's West Coast."
The lord sat back down in his chair, a smile appearing on his face.
"This requires massive funding and extremely covert agents, and don't mess things up like Old Morgan did."
"Rest assured, I've gathered information. That head of the Argyle Family basically always uses commercial means in business, and other means are just counterattacks after receiving similar incidents. As long as we don't touch the red line, it will be completely fine. I believe the heritage of our respective major families over the past century can defeat him commercially."
"Furthermore, Barings Bank is not short of funds, as for the agent…" Sterling glanced at his watch.
"I've already made an appointment with him. Figuring the time, he should be here."
No sooner had the words fallen than the heavy oak door of the conference room was knocked on.
An American man wearing a dark brown suit and thick beard pushed the door open and walked in. His steps were extremely steady, and his eyes revealed a wildness.
Sterling pointed at this man and introduced him to the other two.
"Mr. Nathaniel Cobb. A ghost who is very familiar with the underground rules of America's West Coast. Next, he will represent our will and go to San Francisco to cause some trouble for the Argyle Family."
Cobb walked into the conference room and, without greeting them like traditional British gentlemen, casually pulled out an empty chair, sat down, and casually threw his bowler hat onto the conference table.
lord Sinclair looked at this rude American, his brows tightly knitted together.
As an old-school aristocrat who heavily valued bloodline and etiquette, deep down in his bones he was filled with disgust for this fellow carrying the aura of an American Western rustic.
But Charles Sterling didn't care at all. He walked over to the side cabinet himself, poured a glass of pure Scotland whiskey, and handed it to Cobb.
"Mr. Cobb, you've had a hard journey. Compared to the sunshine of America, London's fog might be a bit hard to get used to."
Sterling's tone was calm, yet it exuded the composure of someone in control of everything.
"As long as the purity of the gold coins is sufficient, even in the magma of hell, I can adapt very well, Mr. Sterling."
Cobb took the glass, tilted his head back, and drank it all in one gulp, letting out a satisfied sigh. Setting down the glass, his gaze swept directly across the three capital tycoons present.
"Everyone's time is precious. The joke that idiot Pendleton made in New York, I've already seen it in the newspapers on my way here. Since you decent gentlemen cannot confront the Argyle Family head-on on the East Coast, then, to what extent is needed?"
Vance frowned and couldn't help cutting in.
"Just how far can you go? You must know that the Argyle Family has deep-rooted influence in San Francisco. The mayor, the port authority, and even the garrison are all under their control."
Cobb didn't even look at Vance, only letting out a sneer of contempt.
"Mr. Vance, you seem completely ignorant of the ecology in the West. In New York or Washington, politicians and laws are indeed useful. But in California, on that land that has just experienced the gold rush and is full of outlaws and gangs, the law is just a whore; whoever has money and whose gun is faster can possess her."
Cobb tapped the tabletop with his rough fingers, leaning forward slightly to look at Sterling.
"I have my own network of connections in San Francisco. The Italian dockworkers' union there, local short-haul shipping bosses, and even those snakeheads responsible for trafficking Chinese laborers only recognize money. As long as the funds are in place, I can paralyze half of the shipping capacity of the port of San Francisco within a month."
Sterling nodded with satisfaction.
"That is exactly the effect I want. Mr. Cobb, Barings Bank will provide financial support to you through our shell company in Canada. Of course, what we want is not to completely destroy the Argyle Family on the West Coast; that is unrealistic."
Sterling turned around and pointed to the map on the wall.
"What we want is delay and attrition. You will massively acquire shipping companies engaged in the transportation of Chinese laborers on the West Coast, cutting off the cheap labor source of the Union Pacific Railroad. At the same time, it would be best to instigate dockworker strikes and hinder the cargo loading and unloading of the Argyle Family. As long as we can tie down their attention on the Pacific coast and make them unable to attend to both ends at once, our layout in the Far East will have enough time to close the net."
Hearing this, lord Sinclair also understood the ingenuity within it.
"Whoa~ It seems this is a meat-grinder plan. No matter how rich the Argyle Family is, facing endless strikes, they must divert massive energy to suppress them. And we are in the dark while they are in the light."
"But this is dangerous; the private armed forces of the Argyle Family are not to be trifled with."
"Dangerous?" Cobb laughed loudly.
"Your Lordship, what I do is business licking blood off the edge of a blade. As long as Barings Bank's drafts can be cashed on time, there is no problem at all."
Cobb stood up, picked up his hat again, and put it on his head.
"I am already clear on the plan. Tomorrow I will take the fastest steamship back to America and go straight to San Francisco. For the first batch of funds, I hope to see them lying in an anonymous bank account within a week."
"No problem. Happy cooperation, Mr. Cobb." Sterling raised the wine glass in his hand.
Cobb didn't talk nonsense anymore, turned around, and strode out of the meeting room.
As the heavy oak door closed again, the atmosphere in the meeting room became somewhat subtle.
"Charles, is it really reliable to hand over funds to a Western outlaw?" Vance asked with some concern.
"Unreliable, which is why this money nominally goes through a Canadian company. Even if Cobb fails and is caught by the Argyle Family, they won't be able to trace it back to Barings Bank."
Sterling sat back down, his gaze cold.
"He is just a mad dog used to test the Argyle Family. It's best if he can bite off a chunk of meat from the other party; if he can't bite, dying on the streets of America is no loss to us at all."
lord Sinclair nodded in deep agreement.
"Then what about the Far East? Since those three ships have escaped tracking, we must immediately deploy defenses in Asia."
"I have already sent encrypted telegrams in your name to India and the chambers of commerce in Hong Kong and Shanghai." Sterling took out a telegram stub.
"As long as those three ships flying the 'Ashburn-Vance' flag dock, immediately bribe the British officials of the Inspectorate General of Maritime Customs. Use the strictest quarantine and arms control regulations to tightly detain them in the port. Not a single piece of cotton cloth or a single gun barrel must flow into the market of the Qing Empire."
Three capital behemoths of the British Empire were meticulously weaving a giant net spanning half the globe in the dim meeting room, attempting to use obsolete imperial hegemony to strangle the strongly rising emerging oligarch.
...
More than ten days later, deep in the Atlantic Ocean.
Gale-force winds whipped up waves several meters high, fiercely slamming against the black hull of the steam cargo ship the pioneer.
This three-thousand-ton giant vessel, which originally belonged to the Metropolitan Trading Company and now flew the British Union Jack, was forging ahead through the surging waves like an untiring steel behemoth.
Not far behind it, two other cargo ships of the same model, the Dauntless and the Enterprise, were closely following.
Inside the bridge of the pioneer, navigating captain Jack was holding a brass telescope, observing the sea conditions ahead.
He was an experienced old sea wolf, and the wrinkles on his face were full of the wind and frost of the ocean.
"Captain, boiler pressure is normal. We have completely shaken off that Englishman's tracking ship. If we maintain our current speed, we are expected to round the Cape of Good Hope and enter the Indian Ocean in half a month."
The first mate reported loudly with the logbook to drown out the howling of the gale outside.
"Very good, make the guys in the engine room work harder. The bonus given by the boss is enough for them to go back to New York and buy a big house." Jack put down the telescope, his eyes resolute.
He walked over to the chart table and looked at the routes marked on it.
This voyage was by no means easy.
Although they wore the skin of a British company, those decommissioned arms at the bottom of the cargo hold were just like bombs.
On the vast sea, the power of nature was certainly terrifying, but even more terrifying were the enemies lurking in the ports ahead.
"First mate, pass down the order. Once we round the Cape of Good Hope and enter the waters of the Indian Ocean, all crew members must enter a state of alert." Jack's tone became extremely solemn.
The first mate was stunned for a moment.
"Sir, we are flying the British flag; does anyone really dare to intercept us in the Indian Ocean?"
"Don't be too superstitious about this rag."
Jack pointed to the Union Jack flapping loudly in the wind on the mast outside the window.
"Those encrypted telegrams state very clearly that the British may have already laid arrangements in the ports of the Far East. Customs, taxation, and even those pirates flying official banners might all cause trouble for us."
Jack patted the heavy Colt revolver at his waist.
"If they just want money, we'll bribe them with money. But if anyone wants to touch our goods... then let them taste the flavor of the Gatling Gun produced by Vanguard Military Industry."
"Understood, sir!"
The first mate's expression tightened, and he immediately turned around to give the order.
Jack raised his telescope again.
On the horizon ahead, dark clouds weighed down on the sea surface.
A larger storm was brewing.
This was not just a natural storm, but a cruel strangulation of capital and interests.
In December, the cold wind in New York cut through the streets of Manhattan like a razor.
Heavy, goose-feather snow had been falling for two consecutive days, blanketing all of Long Island in a thick, deathly white.
But inside the castle of Argyle Manor, the harshness of winter could not be felt.
In the spacious living room, oak logs crackled and popped in the fireplace.
Waves of warmth dispelled the Frost on the glass windows.
Felix sat back in that large, high-backed leather chair, holding a steaming cup of Ceylon black tea.
He had rarely set aside time for his family like this today.
On the thick Persian rug in front of the fireplace, six-year-old Finn was fully engrossed in tinkering with finely crafted wooden building blocks.
They had been specially polished for him by the mold workshop of the Atlantic Steam Power Company using scraps of premium walnut, and every piece fit together seamlessly.
"You cannot place the bridge deck in that position, Finn."
Catherine sat on a sofa not far from the fireplace, holding a half-knitted wool scarf, watching her son with a smile.
"If the foundation is not stable, no matter how high the structure above it is, it will collapse."
Finn looked up, his eyes—which were extremely similar to Felix's—revealing a stubbornness beyond his years.
"But Mom, if I don't put this block here, the train won't be able to pass through the valley."
The little boy pointed at the gap in the block stack and retorted earnestly.
"Dad said that as long as the structure is calculated, it can be supported even if it looks dangerous."
Hearing his son quote him, Felix couldn't help but let a smile touch the corners of his mouth.
He set down his teacup and leaned forward.
"Little Finn, that is true in theory. But until you have figured out the weight-bearing limit of the wood itself, the price of taking a risk is total failure."
Felix pointed to the base of the blocks.
"I think if you put that square one on the left underneath, your bridge would be several times more stable."
Finn, half-doubting, pulled out a block according to his father's instructions, and sure enough, the previously wobbly wooden bridge instantly became incredibly sturdy.
The little boy immediately let out a cheer and continued to immerse himself in his massive construction project.
Catherine shook her head helplessly, set down her yarn, and turned to look at Felix.
"It's one thing for you to calculate profits at the company, but you have to teach him these rigid principles at home too. He's only six, Felix. I would rather he listen to more Grimm's Fairy Tales."
"But fairy tales won't teach him how to survive in this world, my dear."
"The heir to the Argyle Family must understand the weight of every brick from the moment he learns to walk. You must know, this world will not be lenient to him just because he is a child."
Just then, light footsteps came from the staircase on the first floor.
The personal maid, Martha, walked up carrying Elizabeth, who was just over a year old.
The little girl was wearing a comfortable cotton dress, babbling and blowing bubbles, her two chubby little hands waving randomly in the air, as if trying to catch the dust floating in the air.
"Sir, Madam." Martha bowed respectfully.
"Miss Elizabeth has woken up from her nap and has been fussing, wanting to find you, Madam."
Catherine immediately set down her work, walked over, and took her daughter into her arms.
Once little Elizabeth was in her mother's arms, she immediately quieted down, burying her face in Catherine's shoulder and giggling.
Watching this scene before him, the calculation that normally shrouded Felix's eyes faded, replaced by warmth.
Outside, he was that commercial oligarch who could turn clouds and rain; but at this moment, in this room warmed by the fireplace, he was just a husband and a father.
"Christmas is almost here."
Catherine patted her daughter's back and turned to speak to Felix.
"The shops on Fifth Avenue have already started hanging up fir branches and bells. How do you plan to arrange things this year? I know you've been keeping an eye on those ships in the Far East lately, but you promised Finn that you would stay home this Christmas."
"Oh~ Of course, I will certainly stay home."
Felix picked up his teacup and took a sip, his gaze landing on the dancing flames in the fireplace.
"The troubles in London have been temporarily suppressed, and the clowns on the other side of the Pacific Ocean probably can't stir up much trouble either. This Christmas, no one can disturb our dinner."
Pausing for a moment, as if recalling something, he turned his head to look at Martha, who was standing to the side.
"Oh, that's right, Martha, go notify Frost. Have him bring over the list of supplies that the Argyle Charitable Foundation has allocated to the family orphanages and schools this year. Also, compile the information on other orphanages."
"Yes, sir. I will attend to it immediately." Martha bowed and withdrew.
As the honorary president of the foundation, Catherine looked at him with some curiosity.
"The directors of the foundation are responsible for those daily donations; why are you suddenly concerned about this?"
"Because this year, I want to add something different for those children." Felix smiled slightly.
"The Food Company sent over a batch of newly developed samples last week. Using the cane sugar we shipped back from Cuba along with the newly developed tablet-pressing machine, they made the first batch of sandwich cookies and fruit hard candies."
"Sandwich cookies?" Catherine was taken aback for a moment.
"Yes, that's right. Just two crispy baked butter cookies with a layer of sweet frosting made from whipped cane sugar and cream in the middle." Felix gestured with his hand.
"This sort of thing might not be rare in the courts of Europe, but in the American market, it is definitely a luxury dessert."
He stood up and walked to the window, watching the howling wind and snow outside.
"New York's winter is too cold. Those children hiding in orphanages, who don't even have a thick coat, need calories and sugar the most. When the time comes, instruct the foundation to send ten boxes of sandwich cookies and five cans of fruit candies to every registered orphanage in Manhattan and Brooklyn. I want those children to be able to taste a little bit of the true flavor of the holiday on Christmas morning."
Catherine carried Elizabeth over to his side, looked at his stern profile, and said softly.
"Although you are always calculating this world using the coldest business logic, sometimes I feel that you are more benevolent than any pastor in any church."
"This is not called benevolence, Catherine."
Felix turned his head and looked into his wife's eyes.
"This is also a form of investment. Those orphans who grow up eating Argyle Food Company cookies will become the most loyal workers in our factories in the future, becoming the most solid cornerstone of our commercial empire. I give them a little sweetness in exchange for a lifetime of service. This deal is very worthwhile, isn't it?"
Catherine sighed softly; she knew this was her husband.
"A man who always puts interests and reality first. But regardless, the candies that are about to be delivered to the children's hands are, in fact, real warmth."
Just at this moment, hurried footsteps came from the corridor outside. This kind of pace, which completely destroyed the tranquility of the mansion, could only belong to one person.
Felix's eyes narrowed slightly, and he turned around, looking at the mahogany door that was about to be pushed open.
"It seems that even on Christmas Eve, some people do not intend to let me have a peaceful time."