Chapter 317 - Loans

The morning mist shrouded Santa Rosa Town.

On the town wall, two hundred Argentina city defense troops and over a hundred remaining soldiers under Vargas were hunkered down behind sandbags.

Their hands gripped their rifles tightly, and their eyes stared fearfully ahead.

The mist gradually dissipated.

At a distance of less than eight hundred yards from the town's main gate, twelve 12-pound breech-loading steel cannons were lined up in a row, their pitch-black muzzles pointing straight at the towering white Catholic church and City Hall in the center of the town.

Behind the artillery, two gatling gun carriages had already occupied the high ground, their brass barrels gleaming with a cold light in the morning light.

The five hundred western gunmen did not charge; they were dispersed on both sides of the artillery, hiding in temporarily dug foxholes, leisurely smoking and eating biscuits.

It was as if this weren't a war, but rather onlookers gathering after a hunt.

Rambo stood in the center of the artillery position.

He did not immediately order to open fire, but instead waved his hand.

Two gunmen escorted a trembling Argentina captive forward.

This captive had been captured in yesterday's pursuit and knew a bit of English.

Rambo stuffed a piece of cardboard with a note written on it into the captive's embrace, then kicked him in the buttocks.

"Go. Walk under the city wall, and read this note out loud to the people inside. Tell them, I am only giving them half an hour to consider."

The captive scuttled toward the town gate, terrified that the people behind him would shoot.

Running to a place less than fifty yards from the city wall, the captive plopped down on his knees, raised the note in his hand, and yelled with all his might, shouting in Spanish at the city wall in a hoarse voice.

"Listen up, people in the city! This is an ultimatum issued by the American commander outside!"

The captive's voice sounded particularly jarring in the quiet early morning.

"The Argyle Family is not targeting the civilians of Santa Rosa Town! Nor are they targeting the city defense force! We only want two people: the warlord Vargas, and the agent of Barings Bank, Arthur Pendleton!"

"Within half an hour. If the town's gates are not opened, and if these two people are not tied up and sent out, the twelve heavy cannons will immediately carry out indiscriminate carpet bombing on the town center."

"All masonry buildings will be razed to the ground."

"Anyone holding weapons will be regarded as the mortal enemy of the Argyle Family, and will be executed on the spot without leaving any survivors!"

After the captive finished shouting this, the entire city wall fell into a dead silence.

Ultimatum.

There was no room for any negotiation, an extremely simple and brutal multiple-choice question: hand over the people, or destruction.

Mayor Lopez hid behind a crenel on the city wall, listening to this ultimatum, his fat whole body trembling violently.

Turning his head to look at Vargas not far away.

At this moment, Vargas was holding a rifle with an ashen face.

He abruptly raised his gun, aiming at the captive under the city wall.

"Bang!"

With a gunshot, the captive let out a miserable scream and fell in a pool of blood.

"No one is allowed to surrender, they are lying! They wouldn't dare shell a town on Argentina's territory!"

Vargas roared on the city wall, knowing that once the mayor and the city defense forces wavered, he would be dead for sure.

He grabbed Mayor Lopez's collar, the muzzle of his gun once again pressed against the mayor's head.

"Make your men hold their position! Whoever dares to take a step back, I'll shoot him dead first!"

Mayor Lopez closed his eyes in despair.

But amidst the fear, a shred of mad survival instinct bred in his mind.

He didn't want to die.

He had embezzled so much money and hadn't yet had time to enjoy it in Europe.

Those twelve cannons outside, with just one round volley, he and his gold coins would turn to ashes.

Lopez opened his eyes slightly, his gaze intersecting with several city defense officers beside him who also wore looks of terror.

Without needing words, at this life-or-death moment, these local armed forces immediately reached a tacit understanding.

The Americans only wanted Vargas and that Englishman; as long as they handed them over, the town could be saved.

"Colonel, calm down. Of course I will hold the position."

Lopez deliberately softened his tone and raised his hands.

"I'll go right now and have the men below bring up the reserve ammunition."

Vargas let out a cold snort, released Lopez's collar, and turned around to continue observing the artillery position outside the town.

The very moment he turned around.

Lopez abruptly stepped back and roared loudly.

"Do it!"

More than a dozen city defense officers and surrounding security soldiers raised their firearms at almost the same time, the muzzles of their guns locked tightly from behind onto Vargas and his few confidants around him.

"Don't move! Put your guns down!"

Vargas stiffened all over, turning his head in disbelief, looking at these local bureaucrats who usually fawned over him, his eyes filled with anger and shock.

"Lopez! How dare you betray me?! Have you forgotten how many gold coins you've taken from me?!"

"Gold coins can't buy a life!"

Lopez hid behind several soldiers, his voice trembling, but revealing a ruthless streak.

"You stupid pig! You've provoked a monster you can't possibly afford to provoke, and you still want to drag the entire town down with you! Put down your guns! The Americans only want you! City defense forces, disarm them!"

Vargas's remaining troops were already frightened birds, and now facing the numerically superior city defense forces that suddenly launched a mutiny from behind, they couldn't organize any effective resistance at all.

After a few short and sporadic gunshots, several mercenaries who tried to resist were shot dead on the city wall.

Vargas was hit fiercely on the back by several gunstocks, falling to his knees in pain.

His hands were tightly bound behind his back with coarse hemp rope.

This warlord who once lorded over the Pampas Grassland was dragged down the city wall like a dead dog.

"Quick! Go to the office and capture that Englishman named Arthur as well! Time is running out!"

Lopez anxiously glanced at his pocket watch and loudly urged his subordinates.

More than a dozen city defense troops rushed towards the office of Barings Bank.

However, when they kicked open the door of the second-floor office, it was completely empty.

There were only scattered documents and an opened empty safe.

"Mayor, that Englishman has run away!"

A soldier ran back to report.

"Damn it!"

Lopez stamped his feet in exasperation.

"Forget it, send Vargas out first. Open the city gate and hang the white flag! Tell the Americans outside that the Englishman escaped through the back door's tunnel!"

Outside the town, at the artillery position.

The half-hour time limit was about to arrive.

Rambo coldly looked at the hands on his watch, raised his right hand, and prepared to issue the order to open fire.

"Creak..."

The heavy wooden gates of Santa Rosa Town made a dull sound and slowly swung open to both sides.

A white bedsheet tied to a wooden stick was extended from the crack of the door, shaking frantically.

Immediately after, several unarmed Argentina city defense soldiers pushed a flatbed cart out.

Tied on the cart was none other than Colonel Vargas, covered in filth and blood with a vacant look in his eyes.

"Captain, they've surrendered. They handed the person over."

Grit put down his rifle, smiled, and spat out a mouthful of saliva.

Rambo's face showed no ripples of emotion.

This was something anticipated long ago.

Under the absolute coercion of violence, these alliances bound together by interests were more fragile than paper.

He shook his reins and rode his horse to the front of the position.

Several city defense soldiers pushed the flatbed cart in front of Rambo, trembling all over with fright.

"Respected Commander, this is the Vargas you wanted! Our mayor said, Santa Rosa Town completely submits to the Argyle Family!"

An officer stuttered in broken English.

"What about the other one?"

Rambo looked at him coldly.

"Where is the agent of Barings Bank, Arthur Pendleton?"

"Ran... ran away!"

Cold sweat poured from the officer.

"He slipped away through the tunnel behind the office amidst the chaos. The mayor has already sent people to chase him, but he hasn't been found yet."

Rambo slightly narrowed his eyes and drew the revolver from his waist.

"Bang!"

With a gunshot.

A bloody hole appeared between the eyebrows of Vargas tied to the flatbed cart, and after twitching twice, he completely stopped moving.

A warlord who had lost his value of utilization didn't even qualify to be interrogated.

Those Argentina officers were so frightened they dropped straight to their knees.

"I don't care how the person ran away."

Rambo shoved the smoking revolver back into its holster.

"But my boss's order was for two; short of even one is not finished."

He turned his head and gestured to Grit behind him.

"Dispatch fifty of the best trackers. Follow the tunnel and the horseshoe prints at the back of the town, and search for me."

"That Englishman is carrying ledgers and money, he can't run fast."

"On this grassland, no one can escape the nose of the hound."

Buenos Aires, Rose Palace.

Inside this building, which symbolized the highest state power of Argentina, a dark cloud was currently shrouding it.

President Carlos sat at the head of the long conference table, holding an urgent telegram just sent from Santa Rosa Town in his hand.

His face was livid, and due to anger and shock, his fingers holding the cigar were trembling slightly.

On both sides of the conference table sat Julio, Minister of the Department of the Army of Argentina, and Fernando, the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

The entire conference room was so quiet that only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.

"Eight hundred infantrymen, three hundred Gaucho cavalrymen."

President Carlos finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse as if rubbing against sandpaper.

He slammed the telegram heavily onto the tabletop, his gaze fixed dead on Julio, Minister of the Department of the Army.

"Julio. Tell me, although Vargas is an uncontrolled warlord, those thousands of men under his command are still armed forces that have fought battles after all! The telegram says that in less than two hours, they were completely wiped out by five hundred Americans! Even Vargas's own head was blown to pieces! Is this a battle, or a one-sided massacre? Are those Americans devils crawled out of hell?"

Julio wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and stood up.

"Uh this... Your Excellency the President, according to the detailed report sent back by Lopez, the mayor of Santa Rosa Town. Those Americans are not ordinary merchant group guards at all; they are a regular army armed to the teeth. They also carried twelve latest-model breech-loading steel cannons and ten Gatling guns."

Hearing the two words "breech-loading steel cannons" and "Gatling guns", President Carlos forcibly suppressed his anger.

"They directly used shell-exploding ammunition for over-the-horizon strikes on the Pampas Grassland. The Gaucho cavalrymen were completely torn apart by the machine gun firepower network during the charge. Vargas's infantry phalanx didn't even see the enemy's face before their camp was blasted flat by shells." Julio swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

"With this kind of firepower suppression, even if we sent the elite troops of the capital over and deployed formations on the plain, I'm afraid we wouldn't gain any advantage."

"Audacious! Simply too audacious!"

President Carlos slammed the table fiercely and stood up, pacing back and forth in the conference room.

Obviously very annoyed.

"This is Argentina's territory! A private family from America actually dares to use heavy artillery and machine guns in our country, openly bombarding towns and slaughtering thousands of people! What do they take Argentina's sovereignty for? Do they think this is the ownerless wilderness of their West?"

"Your Excellency the President, please calm down."

Fernando, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, his tone appearing rational.

"We are all very clear about who sent this American armed force and why they came. Those are people from the Argyle Family. The American financial conglomerate that just held a world-class science award in New York and even invited the Prime Minister of the British Empire to be an honored guest."

Fernando picked up the telegram on the table, pointing to the lines of text on it.

"The cause of the matter is that Barings Bank was unwilling to be knocked out in the transfer of railway franchise rights. It was they who secretly provided money to hire Vargas to attack the early engineering team of the Argyle Family. Barings Bank wanted to play that proxy war game and wear the Americans to death. The result is obvious: they underestimated the other party's level of brutality. They don't talk diplomatic rhetoric at all; they directly sent five hundred soldiers with artillery to come take revenge and incidentally sweep away the obstacles."

"So what?"

President Carlos stopped in his tracks, asking back angrily.

"Just because Barings Bank caused trouble, are we going to watch helplessly as the Americans establish an extraterritorial zone on our national territory?"

"Otherwise? Can we go to war with them?"

Fernando asked back unceremoniously, directly poking at the awkward predicament facing the Government of Argentina.

"Your Excellency the President. Our current primary core strategy is to continue expanding territory southward. The main force of the Department of the Army is all in the south preparing to deal with those troublesome indigenous tribes, seizing more farmland and ranch land for the country. If we withdraw our troops at this time to go to Santa Rosa Town and fight the people of the Argyle Family, not only will the southward strategy completely stagnate, but we will also suffer extreme casualties!"

Fernando stood up and walked to the front of the map.

"Furthermore, the capital forces involved behind this are forces we simply cannot afford to provoke."

Saying this, he sighed.

"On one hand is Barings Bank, which holds a large amount of our government's national debt. Moreover, the British Empire is our largest exporter of beef and wool. They are our financial patrons, and we cannot directly question them why they are causing sabotage in Argentina."

"On the other hand is the Argyle Family. They are preparing to take over the railway and bring in capital. If we send troops now to encircle and suppress those five hundred Americans, it would be equivalent to declaring war on the whole of America. If American warships were to cruise outside the port of Buenos Aires, our trade lines would be completely ruined."

Julio, Minister of the Department of the Army, also expressed agreement.

"Fernando is right. Vargas was already an disobedient warlord to begin with. The Americans eliminated him, which in a sense helped us clear out a malignant tumor. We have no need to offend a financial conglomerate possessing an army, artillery, and machine guns for dead rebels."

President Carlos slumped back down into his chair.

He naturally understood the logic of these two ministers.

In front of national interests and capital hegemony, so-called territorial sovereignty is sometimes just a fig leaf.

"But we cannot do nothing." Carlos said, gritting his teeth.

"If the government keeps silent all along, not only will the domestic opposition take the opportunity to attack us for being weak, but those Americans will also become even more arrogant. Who knows whether they will use those cannons to threaten us after taking over the railway?"

"So we need to negotiate, and it must be private, secret negotiations." Fernando provided the solution.

"Your Excellency the President, we must immediately dispatch a special envoy to Santa Rosa Town. We need to make the government's bottom line clear to the commander of that American armed force."

Fernando's eyes flashed with a politician's shrewdness.

"We must clearly tell them that the government can turn a blind eye to their extermination of Vargas, and can even provide convenience for their subsequent railway construction. But the premise is that they must stop any further military actions. Artillery and machine guns must never be aimed at Argentina's legitimate towns and officials. They came here to do business, and as long as they honestly build roads, we are willing to live in peace."

Seeing that the president did not object, Fernando continued.

"At the same time, I will also make a trip to the British consulate to talk with the people from Barings Bank. Tell them the game is over, and the Government of Argentina will no longer tolerate them hiring any warlords to sabotage railway construction. We need to find a balance point between the two behemoths."

President Carlos listened and fell silent for a while, finally nodding helplessly.

There was no helping it; neither side could be provoked.

"It seems this is all we can do." He looked at Fernando.

"Who do you think is most suitable to send to Santa Rosa Town?"

"Let Mateo, Deputy Minister of the Department of the Interior, go." Fernando thought about it.

"He knows English and has a lot of experience in handling local conflicts. Have him take a guard of honor and go under a white flag. Show our sincerity, but also display the nation's dignity."

"Good, go handle it immediately. Tell Mateo that his primary task is to appease those American lunatics. No matter what conditions the other party proposes, stabilize them first."

With the order from the Rose Palace, a carriage flying the Argentine flag, escorted by dozens of cavalrymen, hurriedly drove out of Buenos Aires, galloping towards Santa Rosa Town where the smoke of gunpowder had not yet dissipated.

In a hidden bush twenty miles north of Santa Rosa Town.

The terrain here is low-lying and flooded year-round, forming a swamp emitting a putrid odor.

Arthur Pendleton, the senior agent of Barings Bank stationed in South America, was currently lying disheveled in a muddy puddle.

That originally exquisite velvet vest had been stained black by the mud, and the high-collared shirt was torn in several places by branches.

He panted heavily.

Last night, when he realized that Vargas was bound to fail, he decisively abandoned that vulgar warlord, took a briefcase filled with cash and ledgers, and escaped from the office's tunnel.

He didn't even dare to ride a horse for fear that the sound of hooves would expose his whereabouts, and instead ran wildly across the wilderness on foot all night.

"Damn it... Those crazy Americans shouldn't have chased after me."

Arthur lay in the mud, listening to the surroundings with no other movement except for the wind and insect chirping, his tense nerves relaxing slightly.

He had to rush to the small train station thirty miles away, where another covert line of Barings Bank could safely send him back to Buenos Aires.

As long as he returned to the British consulate, he would be safe.

Arthur struggled to get up from the muddy puddle, holding the leather briefcase tightly in his hands.

However, just as he got up and was about to move forward.

"Click."

A crisp sound of a metal mechanism rang out directly behind him.

Arthur's body instantly stiffened.

He was too familiar with that sound—the sound of a lever-action rifle bullet being chambered.

"Bitch～ You run pretty fast, Englishman."

A voice with a Texas accent came from the bushes behind him.

Arthur slowly turned his head.

Grit was leading a horse, holding a rifle in his hands, pointing its pitch-black muzzle straight at him.

Behind Grit, there were five other dusty gunmen also leading horses. They were like a pack of experienced hounds, tightly surrounding this prey struggling in the mire.

"Ptui～ You must be that agent named Arthur, right?"

Grit spat out a mouthful of saliva, extremely annoyed.

"We found your leather shoeprints at the exit of that tunnel. Gentlemen like you who are used to sitting in London offices simply don't know how to hide your tracks in the wild. The footprints on those bent blades of grass are practically shouting at us to come catch you."

Arthur swallowed, his legs going weak as he knelt in the mud.

He was a shrewd broker, knowing that in front of these bloodthirsty mercenaries, talking about the laws of the British Empire and diplomatic immunity was all a waste of breath.

"Stop... Don't shoot! Mister! Please～ Please don't shoot!" Arthur raised his hands, his voice trembling.

He slowly placed the briefcase in his hand on the ground and pushed it toward Grit.

"I surrender. I know you guys are here for the railway. There are tens of thousands of pesos in cash in this bag, all for you. And..."

Seeing that Grit and the others didn't react, Arthur gritted his teeth and threw out his life-saving trump card.

"There is also an account book in the bag. It records the list of all government officials, warlords, and port heads bribed by Barings Bank in Argentina, along with the bribery amounts. This thing should be definitely more valuable to your boss, Mr. Argyle, than my life! Take me to see your commander, and I can work for you!"

Grit stared at the briefcase on the ground for a moment, then looked at the mud-covered Arthur.

"Ha? Were you kicked in the head by a leather shoe? If we kill you, the stuff is still ours."

"But you're quite self-aware." Grit put away his rifle.

"Go tie him up. Since he thinks he has value, take him back for Captain Rambo to decide. Remember, search him clean of all ironware."

Several gunmen immediately stepped forward, tightly binding Arthur's hands behind his back with coarse hemp rope, and then threw him onto a horse's back.

The group turned their horses around and galloped back in the direction of Santa Rosa Town.

When Grit brought Arthur back to the artillery position outside Santa Rosa Town, the sun had risen to the overhead.

Rambo was sitting on an ammunition box, sharpening his Bowie knife with a whetstone.

"Captain, the person has been caught back. He's a spineless fellow, kneeling down to beg for mercy the moment he saw a gun." Grit threw the briefcase at Rambo's feet.

"He says there is an account book inside that can interest the boss."

Rambo put down the whetstone and glanced at Arthur, without going to pick up the briefcase.

At this moment, a gunman responsible for outer perimeter security rode a fast horse into the position.

"Captain, a team of people is coming on the southern main road. About dozens of cavalrymen. But they are not carrying weapons, and the carriage walking at the very front is hanging the Argentine flag and a white flag!"

Rambo squinted slightly.

"Oh? People from the Argentine government?"

"They're quite prompt in their actions."

He stood up and shoved the Bowie knife back into the scabbard on the side of his leg.

"Let the brothers line up beside the artillery, and don't cover the machine guns. I want to see what these South American idiot bureaucrats want to talk to me about."

Ten-odd minutes later.

A black carriage stopped in front of the artillery position.

Mateo, the Deputy Minister of the Department of the Interior of Argentina, secretly cheered himself up, then pushed open the carriage door and stepped down.

When his feet stepped onto this land, although he had been mentally prepared for a long time, the scene before him still made him feel a strong sense of suffocation.

The air was filled with a thick smell of gunpowder and blood.

In the distant valley and the edge of the town, there were huge craters everywhere and mutilated corpses blown apart.

And what frightened him the most were the twelve neatly arranged breech-loading steel cannons in front of him, as well as those western gunmen who made no secret of their murderous intent. The way these gunmen looked at him was like looking at prey that could be shot dead at any time.

Mateo forced himself to remain calm, straightened his bowtie, and walked toward Rambo standing in the center of the position.

"Hello, Your Excellency Commander."

Mateo greeted in fluent English, trying to make his tone sound official and polite.

"I am Mateo, Deputy Minister of the Department of the Interior of Argentina, representing the Argentine President and the Cabinet to come here to negotiate with you."

Rambo heard this and looked at him.

"Negotiating what? If you're here to collect the corpse for that warlord named Vargas, then it's too late. He was beaten to death and handed over by the people in your town."

Mateo's expression changed slightly, but he quickly adjusted his emotions.

Anyway, not his own people, let them die.

"We are not here to collect the corpse for the rebels, Vargas is a damned fellow." Mateo looked at Rambo, directly cutting to the core issue.

"Your Excellency Commander, the Argentine government is very clear that you are representing the Argyle Family to prepare to take over the railway project. Regarding Barings Bank hiring rebels to obstruct the project, the government expresses deep regret. But..."

Mateo deepened his tone.

"You using heavy artillery and machine guns on the territory of this country has already exceeded the scope of normal commercial disputes. His Excellency the President hopes that you will immediately stop your actions and preferably withdraw these heavy weapons from the scope of Santa Rosa Town. The Argentine government guarantees that starting from today, no one will interfere with your handover of railway construction anymore."

Hearing this, Rambo let out a crude sneer.

"Hahahaha... Mr. Deputy Minister, do you think we are playing around?" Rambo walked up to an artillery piece and patted the barrel.

"Since these cannons have been pulled out, they will definitely not be withdrawn until the entire railway line is open to traffic. Whoever dares to approach the construction site, I will blow them up."

This made Mateo frown.

"You are provoking Argentina's sovereignty! If we dispatch the regular army..."

"You can try."

Rambo interrupted him without backing down, his tone full of arrogance.

"However, I heard that your government's regular army is all down south preparing to fight the natives and grab territory. If you transfer the army over to fight us, even if you win, your pitiful foundation will be wiped out. By then, you won't get an inch of land in the south."

Mateo's heart sank abruptly. He didn't expect this rude mercenary leader to know so clearly about the domestic strategic deployment of Argentina.

This was obviously not something a security captain could know.

Behind this, it was definitely the guidance of that family's huge intelligence network.

Mateo knew that hard-on-hard collision would definitely not yield any benefits, so he could only soften his attitude.

"Your Excellency Commander. Since everyone is for interests, let's negotiate sincerely." Mateo spread his hands.

"The government's current focus is indeed on pioneering in the south, and we desperately need the Argyle Family to repair the railway as soon as possible after the handover to help us transport supplies and troops. As long as you no longer shell the town and peaceably build the road, we can pretend nothing happened. Living in peace and sharing interests—isn't this the best outcome?"

Rambo looked at this deputy minister trying to compromise, the corners of his mouth curling up.

However, he did not answer immediately, instead turning his head to look at Arthur Pendleton tied to the horse's back, and then looked at the black briefcase on the ground.

"Live in peace? Of course."

Rambo picked up the briefcase and threw it to Grit beside him.

"Take this Englishman, and this bag. Go to the telegraph office in the town."

Rambo turned his head and looked at Mateo.

"Mr. Deputy Minister, I cannot make the decision on your request. Therefore, I must send a telegram to my boss in New York. As for whether the Argentine government will finally get peace or more shells, that depends on our boss's mood."

Inside the shabby telegraph office in Santa Rosa Town, the telegraph operator's fingers tapped furiously on the telegraph key.

Rambo sat on a dilapidated wooden chair, supervising the transmission of the telegraph.

Nearby, Arthur Pendleton was still tied up with his hands behind his back, sitting limply on the ground with an ashen face.

That black leather briefcase had already been opened, and the account books inside had been perused.

The radio waves crossed the vast Atlantic Ocean, following the submarine cable to transmit the bloodshed and compromise on the South American wilderness at the speed of light.

A few hours later on the other side of the Atlantic.

In the City of London, Lombard Street.

Inside the headquarters office of Barings Bank, the atmosphere was more oppressive than London's smog.

Charles Sterling stood beside the huge stock Typewriter, listening to the constant sound of the machine spitting out paper tape, his face pale, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the mahogany desk, his knuckles turning pale and white from excessive force.

The string of numbers printed on the paper tape was like sharp daggers, carrying out an extremely cruel slow slicing on this two-hundred-year-old financial empire.

"Twenty-five percent... Twenty-two percent..."

Sterling muttered to himself, his voice trembling.

The office door was pushed open.

His partner, lord Sinclair, scrambled in clumsily, clutching a few newly delivered telegrams in his hand, his hair disheveled.

"Charles! It is over!"

"The confidential report from Argentina has been confirmed, Vargas is done for. His eight hundred infantry and three hundred gaucho cavalry were completely wiped out by the Americans in less than half a day, and the opponent deployed heavy artillery and gatling gun!"

Sterling turned around abruptly, his eyes wide.

"What about Arthur? Where is the Arthur we sent?"

"Lost contact!"

"The informants say it seems the Argentine government's troops have taken over the periphery, but they haven't exchanged fire with the Americans. On the contrary, the deputy minister of the Department of the Interior of Argentina is having coffee in the town with a leader named Rambo. The Argentine government has completely abandoned us!"

Hearing this news, Sterling felt darkness sweep over his eyes, and he almost fell to the ground.

The physical-level interception had failed. This was the result he least wanted to see, but in his heart, he had actually been prepared for it long ago.

What he truly could not bear was the blow on the financial level.

"What is the situation at the exchange now?" Sterling asked, supporting himself against the desk and panting heavily.

"It has collapsed."

Sinclair pointed to the Typewriter that was still frantically spitting out paper tape.

"The news of the defeat in South America was leaked by someone I don't know, and now the entire London exchange is frantically dumping those Argentine railway bonds we issued. Everyone is saying that the Argyle Family can never build that railway because the local area has fallen into war."

Sinclair held his head in agony.

"What is even more terrifying is that there is a mysterious fund in the market frantically smashing the market! Two-thirds of our reserves have been exhausted, and we simply cannot prop up the price. Half an hour ago, the bond price had already fallen below twenty percent of its face value!"

This was Felix's financial strangulation.

Using the panic emotion of "South American turmoil" spread by Barings Bank itself, combined with the solid news of military defeat, it completely shattered investors' confidence in those bonds.

Sterling slumped into his chair, his brain, which had always prided itself on being shrewd, completely blank.

He finally realized that he had made a fatal mistake.

He was still using the old-era colonial mindset of "buying off natives and fighting proxy guerrilla wars" to deal with Felix.

But what he was facing was a terrifying monster that perfectly combined heavy industrial violence with financial leverage.

Argyle not only used cannons to blast his proxies in South America into pulp, but also took this opportunity in the London Exchange to strip him down to his underwear.

"We must cut our losses..."

Sterling gritted his teeth and made the decision with difficulty.

"Stop propping up the market. Announce to the market that we are abandoning the subsequent financing of the Argentine railway project. Let those bonds rot. If we pump more cash into it, the headquarters of Barings Bank will run into trouble."

Sinclair nodded. This was the only way at present. Although this means that Barings Bank would bear a credit stain, in the face of heavy losses and survival, reputation could only be temporarily abandoned.

Just as the two of them were agonizing.

The secretary knocked on the office door and delivered an official diplomatic dispatch from Whitehall.

Sterling opened the official dispatch, his face turning livid.

"The official note from Prime Minister Gladstone..." Throwing the official dispatch onto the desktop, Sterling felt helpless.

"The cabinet demands that we immediately cease all non-commercial activities in South America that may cause 'regional turmoil'. And it warns us that if our private actions cause diplomatic friction between the British Empire and the Argentine government, the government will hold us strictly accountable."

"Damn politicians! He took benefits from Argyle!" Sinclair roared angrily.

"It is useless, we lost this round."

Sterling closed his eyes, concealing the exhaustion and unwillingness in them.

"In terms of force, our men cannot beat those western madmen holding gatling guns. In terms of finance, we were bled dry by that guy. Now in terms of politics, even the Prime Minister has stood on his side. Forget it, the railway in South America... belongs to Argyle."

This cross-ocean showdown between capital giants temporarily came to an end with this note from Whitehall.

And at the center of this storm, New York.

Felix was sitting behind his desk, listening to the report from Tom Hayes.

"Boss, the short-selling operation in London has concluded." Hayes flipped through the account book excitedly.

"Barings Bank stopped propping up the market. At the bottom, we crazily swept up goods at a cabbage price of fifteen percent of the face value. Not only did we square off our previously borrowed short-selling positions, but we also bought up most of the remaining Argentine railway bonds on the market."

Hayes handed the summary report to Felix.

"This in-and-out didn't cost much money, and we even made a net profit of nearly three million dollars in the short selling. More importantly, we are now the largest and absolutely legal creditors of those unfinished Argentine railways."

Felix took the report and read it carefully, a satisfied smile appearing on the corner of his mouth.

"It seems Barings Bank bled a lot this time. For a short time, that old fellow Sterling shouldn't have the energy to bother me."

Just at this moment, Frost walked in holding a freshly deciphered top-secret telegram.

"Boss, a telegram sent by Rambo from Santa Rosa Town. The deputy minister of the Department of the Interior of Argentina went to the camp to negotiate. They hope we will stop the shelling and guarantee the safety of subsequent road construction. In exchange, they demand that we do not interfere in their territorial war expanding southward."

Frost's tone became extremely odd.

"In addition, Rambo said in the telegram that they caught Arthur, an agent of Barings Bank. To save his life, that Englishman handed over an account book. It recorded the detailed amounts and times of bribes received by almost all core high-ranking officials of the Argentine government, from the president to cabinet ministers, from Barings Bank."

Hearing this news, Felix's eyes lit up.

He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looked at the bustling New York outside, and couldn't help laughing.

"The account book..."

"Originally, I only planned to build a few railways in Argentina and let it go at that. I didn't expect that Englishman to actually give me such a huge welcoming gift. This is simply God waving to us."

Turning around, his black eyes flickered with calculation.

"Edward, reply to Rambo."

Hearing the boss's order, Frost immediately picked up his fountain pen and prepared to record Felix's words.

"Tell Rambo that Arthur Pendleton's life can be spared. Keep him and that ledger under strict guard. Absolutely do not let anyone from the Argentine government get their hands on the physical ledger."

Felix walked over to the desk and tapped the tabletop with his index finger.

"As for Mateo, the Deputy Minister of the Department of the Interior who came to negotiate, tell him that the Argyle Family has no interest whatsoever in the desolate territories of southern Argentina. We fully support the Argentine government's great cause of pioneering southward, and we can also help build the railway there."

Frost took notes rapidly, but he knew his boss's words couldn't be that simple.

"However!"

Felix's tone suddenly turned cold.

"The bargaining chips are not enough. Have Rambo make it clear to Mateo that not only do we know what Barings Bank did in Argentina, but we also have the ledger recording all the dirty dealings of the Argentine cabinet."

Felix straightened up, a look of exploitation shining in his eyes.

"Those Argentine politicians are well aware that if I publish this ledger in the New York Tribune or London's The Times, the current government cabinet will likely fall due to a massive corruption scandal. The domestic opposition will tear them to pieces."

"Boss, do you intend to use this ledger to force the Argentine government to make concessions on railway franchises?" Frost asked.

"Not just the railway." Felix's eyes flashed.

"A single extortion is a one-time deal; once used, the leverage becomes useless. I want to use this ledger to turn them into our most loyal co-conspirators in South America."

Felix began to lay out the ideas in his mind.

"Put forward three conditions to the Argentine government."

"First, the Argentine government must officially sign a decree permanently and exclusively granting all railway construction and operation rights previously held by Barings Bank to the Argyle Family. The ownership of the land within ten miles on both sides of the railway shall entirely belong to the Federal Real Estate Company."

"Second, Saineng Mining Company must obtain the right to conduct unrestricted mineral exploration and mining in the Andes Mountains and the interior of Argentina. The Argentine government shall not levy an export tariff of more than five percent on any extracted minerals."

Frost listened in stunned disbelief.

Land along the railway and unrestricted mining rights were tantamount to directly carving away half of Argentina's economic foundation.

How could they possibly agree to this!

"The third condition, and the most important one." Felix's gaze grew deep.

"Tell Mateo that we know they need money and weapons to fight southward. The Argentine government's war bonds can be fully underwritten by the Argyle Empire Bank. The munitions they need can be supplied openly by Vanguard Military Industry. However, this money cannot be repaid with paper currency. I want them to use the fertile lands of the newly conquered Pampas Grassland in the south and the future tax jurisdiction of the Argentine customs as collateral."

Felix walked over to the huge map of America and heavily pressed his finger onto Argentina's territory.

"If we only use the ledger to threaten them, they will harbor resentment against us in their hearts and bite back sooner or later. But if we provide them with the funds and weapons needed for the war, allowing them to gain more territory and political capital in the south, then the ledger of corruption will become a secret contract that we tacitly share."

"We provide money and guns to help them fight wars and consolidate their power, and they sell out national sovereignty and resources to reward us. This is called a win-win situation."

Frost understood.

The boss's methods had completely transcended the realm of a businessman; this was national-level manipulation built upon military and financial hegemony.

"Understood, Boss. The telegram will be sent out immediately. I think if the President of Argentina is a smart man, he will know how to choose."

...

Two days later.

Buenos Aires, Argentina, the Pink House.

President Carlos looked at the "cooperation list" brought back by the special envoy Mateo, which was dictated by Rambo and filled with arrogance and extortion, and collapsed limply into his chair.

"Devils. They are devils ten thousand times more greedy than the British!" President Carlos covered his face in agony.

The ledger was in the other party's hands, like a Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads.

With just a gentle swipe, he, as president, and the entire cabinet would be utterly doomed.

"Mr. President."

Looking at that list, Minister of Foreign Affairs Fernando had an equally ugly expression, but a politician's rationality quickly allowed him to see the situation clearly.

"It seems we have no choice. If we refuse, not only will they publish the ledger, but the cannons in Santa Rosa Town can also be aimed at Buenos Aires at any time. The British have already made it clear that they will not intervene."

Fernando pointed to the third item on the list.

"Furthermore, objectively speaking, although the conditions offered by the Argyle Family are harsh, they also provide what we need most: funds and advanced weapons."

"With the artillery and rifles from Vanguard Military Industry, our pioneering war in the south will become much easier. The military can easily annihilate those indigenous tribes and acquire millions of hectares of pastureland. As long as we achieve a major victory in the south, the domestic populace will only cheer for us. Who would care about those mortgaged railways and customs?"

At this, President Carlos fell silent.

A politician's instinct also led him to start calculating the gains and losses of political interests.

Trading the country's future resources for immediate power and victory in war—though extremely dirty, this transaction was the only way out for him personally and for the cabinet.

"Fine! Agree to them."

President Carlos gritted his teeth and made the difficult decision.

"Have the Department of the Treasury and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs immediately draft an official decree giving them the railways and land. Send people to liaise with the representatives dispatched by the Argyle Empire Bank; we need to get the first batch of munitions and war loans as soon as possible."

On this afternoon intertwined with intimidation and interests, the Argentine government completely bowed its head to American capital.

When the official telegram of compromise from the Argentine government was transmitted back to Manhattan, Felix was standing beside the globe in his office.

He reached out and gently spun the globe, his gaze traveling all the way south from the East Coast of North America, sweeping across the Caribbean Sea, and finally resting steadily on the lower half of South America.

"Barings Bank is out, and the Argentine politicians have become our dogs. The Metropolitan Trading Company's railway will soon traverse that grassland, transporting tens of thousands of tons of beef and ore back to America."

His fingers gently rubbed against Argentina's territory on the globe.

From this moment on, the tentacles of the Argyle Family officially crossed the equator.

Driving a steel spike of capital into South America, known as the backyard of the Old World.

Everything that happened in Buenos Aires was like a covert and violent earthquake, rapidly spreading across the entire South America continent along the rock layers of the Andes.

Brazilian Empire, Rio de Janeiro.

In the study of the São Cristóvão Palace, the air felt somewhat heavy.

Brazilian Emperor Pedro II sat behind a large mahogany desk, holding a confidential report just sent back by the minister to Argentina. He did not speak, merely tapping the tabletop gently with his fingers.

Secretary of the Treasury Silva stood opposite the desk with a solemn expression.

"Your Majesty, the Argentines have surrendered completely. President Carlos's cabinet secretly signed a decree yesterday, packaging and transferring all the railway construction rights and franchises left behind by Barings Bank to the Argyle Family of America. The ten miles of land on both sides along the railway were also handed over together as an additional clause."

Pedro II put down the confidential report, his gaze lingering on the territory of Argentina on the map.

"That fellow Carlos is a typical speculator. He has sold out the nation's future resources." Pedro II's voice carried an undisguised vigilance.

"But what truly makes me uneasy are not those railways and lands. It is the third item on the list."

The emperor stood up and walked to the window, looking at the busy port of Rio de Janeiro outside.

"Argyle Empire Bank underwrites Argentina's war bonds, and Vanguard Military Industry supplies new-style weapons openly. Silva, you should understand what this means. The Argentine army will soon be re-equipped with breech-loading steel cannons and repeating rifles. Their pace of reclaiming wasteland southward will greatly accelerate. Once they completely digest the Pampas Grassland in the south, Argentina's military strength will shatter the existing balance of our continent."

Silva sighed.

"Your Majesty, we have always maintained a balance of power against Argentina in South America. But if America's heavy industrial capital intervenes, this balance of power will be torn to shreds in less than two years. Barings Bank's crushing defeat in Santa Rosa Town is the best proof. Five hundred American mercenaries completely annihilated Vargas's thousands of men within half a day using cannons and gatling guns. The Englishman's pounds are vulnerable in front of those steel machines."

"Can we stop it?"

Pedro II turned around and asked straightforwardly.

"Uh... unable to stop it."

Silva gave a pessimistic yet realistic conclusion.

"The Empire's finances likewise depend on European loans. If we step forward to interfere in Argentina's internal affairs, not only will we anger the Argyle Family, but we will also give Carlos an excuse to wage war against us. Argentina now has America's funds backing them up, and they are dying to find a reason to showcase their newly bought cannons."

Pedro II returned to the desk and sat down.

"Since it cannot be stopped, we can only join this game. Silva, the Brazilian Empire's coffee and rubber likewise need railways to transport them to the ports. Our current railway construction progress is too slow, the Englishmen's asking prices are getting higher and higher, and the efficiency is low."

A flash of determination crossed the emperor's eyes.

"That American named Argyle is a pure businessman. Since he can build railways in Argentina, he can naturally build them in Brazil. Rather than sitting back and watching Argentina grow stronger alone, it is better to introduce America's capital into Brazil as well. As long as the conditions we offer are generous enough, the Argyle Family's artillery can likewise become a barrier protecting the Brazilian Empire."

"You mean to actively make overtures to the Argyle Family?" Silva asked.

"Not just making overtures. You are to personally select a sufficiently high-ranking special envoy and immediately board a steamship heading to New York. Bring along the railway planning maps of our southern provinces, as well as a portion of the letters of intent for iron ore mining."

Pedro II's tone became unquestionable.

"Go meet that oligarch who just awarded a peace prize to the Prime Minister of the British Empire. Tell him that the Brazilian Empire's market is even larger than Argentina's, and our credit is better than warlord politicians like Carlos."

Almost at the same time.

On the other side of the Andes, Chile, Santiago.

Chilean President Federico Errázuriz and his Army Commander-in-Chief General Pinto were engaged in a fierce discussion in the conference room of the presidential palace.

"The Argentines are mad! They have opened up inland mineral exploration rights to Saineng Mining Company!" General Pinto slammed his fist onto the table.

"Mr. President, the mineral veins of the Andes are connected. If the Americans' mining teams bring mercenaries into the mountainous regions, they will soon reach out toward the nitrate and copper mining areas we control! Those Americans dared to directly bombard Argentine warlords, what do our border defense forces count for in their eyes?"

President Federico sat in his chair, his expression much calmer than General Pinto's.

"General, complaining cannot solve any problems. The Argentines have obtained weapon assistance from the Argyle Family. This is our true threat."

The president looked at the map of South America on the table.

"Chile's long and narrow terrain dictates that we must rely on maritime transport. But if the Argentine army is equipped with gatling guns and twelve-pound breech-loading cannons, their advance on land will be unstoppable. We must find a balance."

"Ask the British for help?" General Pinto proposed.

"I heard Barings Bank suffered a huge loss this time, and London will definitely not let the matter rest."

"Heh... do not count on the British."

President Federico rejected the proposal without hesitation.

"Prime Minister Gladstone just won a peace prize in New York, and London's cabinet has surely tacitly accepted the Argyle Family's presence in South America. Barings Bank has been abandoned by its own government. If we go look for the British now, it will only anger that person in New York."

The president stood up.

"Send people to New York. In the name of the Chilean government, apply for a loan from Argyle Empire Bank. At the same time, propose to Vanguard Military Industry to purchase artillery and rifles of the same specifications. Tell our special envoy to keep a low posture. At the dining table of capital, if we cannot become guests sitting down to eat, we will become the meat on the plate."

"We must also bow our heads to that American?" General Pinto was somewhat unwilling.

"This is not bowing our heads, this is survival," President Federico said coldly.

"The old order has been broken, and the British Empire's pound is no longer South America's only pass. America's guns and cannons are the new rules. Whoever can adapt to this rule the fastest will be able to survive on this continent."

An undercurrent surrounding Argyle's capital surged wildly within the presidential palaces and imperial palaces of various South American countries.

The rulers of these countries keenly perceived the shift in the wind direction.

They no longer merely pinned their hopes on the waning old-school colonizers, but instead scrambled to throw out the national chips in their hands toward that financial conglomerate manipulating everything in Manhattan, New York.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, that century-old financial empire that had just lost this localized war was experiencing unprecedented painful torment and internal settlement within its headquarters in London.

City of London, Lombard Street.

Inside the top-floor meeting room of Barings Bank's headquarters, the oppressive atmosphere felt as though even the air had frozen.

Both sides of the massive oak long table were filled with senior partners and core shareholders of this century-old bank.

Among them were many hereditary peers of the House of Lords, each possessing a status capable of stirring up storms in London's high society.

But today, the expressions of these nobles and old-school bankers were uglier than one another.

Charles Sterling stood at the head of the meeting table.

His usually meticulously groomed hair appeared somewhat disheveled, his eye sockets were deeply sunken, and the originally crisp suit he wore seemed somewhat empty on him.

The financial strangulation and disastrous defeat in South America over the past half-month had made him look a whole decade older.

"Sterling, explain yourself."

Seated at the head of the long table was the most senior partner of Barings Bank, Sir Archibald.

He tapped with withered fingers on a newly compiled financial loss report on the tabletop, his voice hoarse yet exuding an unquestionable majesty.

"Five million pounds."

Sir Archibald raised his head, his gaze piercing toward Sterling like a knife.

"A full five million pounds vaporized from the books, and the railway bonds we issued in Argentina have turned into scrap paper. The political and business network we operated in Buenos Aires for ten years was destroyed by that American named Felix Argyle. Even our agent Arthur doesn't know where he is."

A low chorus of curses sounded in the meeting room, the partners' eyes filled with anger and panic.

"Sir, this is not just an investment failure."

Another partner, Sinclair, stood up, his tone carrying extreme resentment.

"That American doesn't play by any commercial rules at all! He directly sent an army equipped with heavy artillery and machine guns into Argentina! He massacred Vargas's troops on the Pampas Grassland. We are fighting a regular army, not engaging in commercial competition!"

"Shut up, Sinclair."

Sir Archibald interrupted him coldly.

"Failure is failure. In overseas colonies, guns are inherently a part of commerce. How did the East India Company capture India back then? Did they rely on handing out flyers?"

The old baronet's gaze returned to Sterling.

"Sterling. We handed the South American business over to you because you assured me that America's capital was just a group of upstarts without deep foundations. But now, these upstarts not only crushed the army you hired on the battlefield, but also sucked dry our cash flow in the London exchange using precise short-selling methods. We didn't just lose our positions; we lost down to our underwear."

Sterling took a deep breath, knowing that any defense now was pale and powerless.

"Sir, the responsibility rests entirely with me." Sterling's voice was somewhat hoarse.

"I underestimated Argyle's brutality, and I underestimated his mobilization capability in the financial markets. More fatally, I didn't expect Prime Minister Gladstone to completely betray the British Empire's strategic interests in South America for the sake of an empty reputation. That warning official letter sent from Whitehall completely cut off the possibility of us using the Royal Navy for deterrence."

Mentioning Gladstone, the nobles in the meeting room successively revealed expressions of disdain and anger.

"That hypocritical politician! Taking the Americans' fifty-thousand-dollar prize money and that bullshit peace prize, he talked big about international reconciliation in the House of Commons, and turned around to sell us out to Wall Street!" Sinclair slammed his fist onto the table.

"Enough, complaining about politicians cannot change our current situation on the verge of bankruptcy." Sir Archibald tapped the table, forcefully stabilizing the situation.

He looked at Sterling.

"Can our current cash reserves still support us in continuing to grind it out in South America with the Argyle Family?"

"No."

Sterling gave a crisp and desperate reply.

"If we continue to underwrite those bonds, the capital chain of Barings Bank's headquarters will break within a week. Moreover, the Argentine government has completely leaned toward the Americans. President Carlos's cabinet issued an official statement yesterday, pushing all the responsibilities of those unfinished railways onto us, and announced the unilateral termination of all concession agreements with us. We no longer have any legal foothold in South America."

Dead silence.

This was a unilateral massacre, not only physically, but also legally and financially.

Felix Argyle blocked all their paths of retreat.

Sir Archibald closed his eyes.

For a long time, he let out a long sigh, as if unloading a heavy burden of a thousand catties.

"Prepare to give up."

In the old baronet's voice was a trace of exhaustion and helplessness.

"Sir!" Sinclair and the others stood up in shock.

"I said give up!"

Sir Archibald suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze bursting with the cruel rationality belonging to a century-old financial giant.

"Cut off all our remaining bad debts in South America, and stop any underwriting behavior for those bonds. Admit our failure in the Argentine project to the market, and withdraw all funds back to Europe and India."

"But Sir, this will deal a heavy blow to our reputation! We will become the laughingstock of the City of London!" Sinclair argued eagerly.

"Reputation damage is always better than a bank collapse."

Sir Archibald stood up, supporting himself with both hands on the tabletop as he looked around at everyone in the meeting room.

"Fellow partners, we must recognize reality. This time, we lost at the gambling table in South America. We lost to an opponent who is harsher than us, plays less by the rules, and has a more massive capital."

The old baronet's gaze fell upon Sterling.

"Sterling, you go contact the current head of the Argyle Empire Bank in London, George Templeton. Go tell him that Barings Bank concedes defeat. We are willing to sign a formal abandonment agreement and neatly hand over the Argentine project to them. In exchange, they must stop the malicious short-selling of other bonds we issued in the London exchange."

Sterling lowered his head.

For proud British bankers, bowing and admitting defeat to an American upstart's agent was harder to bear than being killed.

But unfortunately, he had no choice.

"I will go handle it, Sir." Sterling agreed, gritting his teeth.

Sir Archibald nodded, walking over to the window to look at the gray London sky outside.

"Admitting defeat is to preserve strength. Although the Argyle Family won Argentina, the world's plate is huge. Their violent expansion method will sooner or later touch the bottom line of more countries."

The old baronet turned around, forbearance and cold light flashing in his eyes.

"Pull back our fists. Go to the Far East, go to India, go to those old territories we have operated for centuries to consolidate our defense lines. Let that young man named Argyle be proud in South America for a while. The war of capital has no end. This time we have fallen, but as long as we are still alive, we will always find an opportunity, when he is at his weakest, to win back what we lost today with interest."

The partners in the meeting room nodded one after another.

They were capital beasts that had lived for centuries, knowing how to lick their wounds and how to lie low.

An extremely humiliating handover ceremony was about to slowly unfold between Whitehall in London and the Imperial Bank branch.

London, Whitehall.

The administrative hub of the British Empire government.

George Templeton, wearing an exquisite custom-tailored suit and holding a black umbrella, walked steadily down the thick-carpeted corridor.

As the president of the Argyle Empire Bank, he had bribed many British nobles with pounds Sterling over the past year.

But today, he no longer needed to take those shady backdoors.

Because he was personally invited by British Prime Minister William Gladstone.

Following behind Templeton were several lawyers and financial auditors carrying heavy briefcases.

At the end of the corridor was a spacious government conference room.

When Templeton pushed open the door and walked in, two groups of people were already sitting in the conference room.

One group consisted of officials from the Foreign Office and the Department of the Treasury representing the British government. The other group consisted of Charles Sterling, a senior partner of Barings Bank, and several of his assistants.

Sterling's face was ashen.

When he saw Templeton walk in, the muscles at the corner of his eyes couldn't help twitching, but he forcibly suppressed the humiliation in his heart and did not flare up.

"Mr. Templeton, you are very punctual."

Prime Minister Gladstone, sitting at the head of the long table, stood up and smiled as he reached out his hand to Templeton.

The Prime Minister, who had recently returned from New York loaded with honors, was beaming with health at this moment.

He had high-profile donated the fifty thousand dollar check for the Peace Prize, which earned him unprecedented prestige at home. Now he was absolute in the cabinet, firmly suppressing all opposition voices.

"Prime Minister. To receive your invitation is the honor of the Argyle Empire Bank."

Templeton shook hands very gracefully, his tone exuding professionalism and confidence.

Gladstone motioned for everyone to take their seats.

"Alright Gentlemen. The government has gathered everyone here today, and I think everyone knows what it is about—it is to solve the lingering problems of the Argentina railway project."

"To be honest, this matter is indeed very complicated. But the Argentina government has already raised objections and it must be resolved as soon as possible."

Sitting in the primary seat, Gladstone played the role of an extremely hypocritical "neutral mediator".

"As everyone knows, the British Empire government has always been committed to maintaining the stability and peace of international trade. Recently, some investment projects of Barings Bank in South America have encountered force majeure obstacles. In order to avoid greater regional turmoil and to ensure the smooth progress of related construction, the government has stepped forward to facilitate this handover between the Argyle Empire Bank and Barings Bank."

Gladstone's gaze swept over Sterling.

"By the way... Mr. Sterling, I heard that the shareholders' meeting of Barings Bank has made a decision, right?"

Sterling clenched his teeth and took a deep breath.

"Yes, Prime Minister. Barings Bank confirms that it officially relinquishes the concessions for the related railway projects in Argentina and Brazil, as well as the ownership of all preliminary engineering works." Sterling's voice was dry, and every word seemed like vomiting blood.

Templeton sat opposite, with his usual expression, turning open the documents in front of him.

"The Argyle Empire Bank is very glad to take over these unfinished projects and clean up the mess for the British Empire's peers." Templeton's words carried a hint of sarcasm.

He took out a long list and pushed it directly in front of Sterling.

"Mr. Sterling, this is the handover agreement drafted by our legal team. It lists all the engineering drawings, land deeds, and the original authorization certificates issued by the Argentina government that need to be handed over. Of course, we will not take them for free."

Templeton leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands.

"Regarding those book assets invested by Barings Bank in the early stage, after rigorous auditing, we confirm that their residual value is about five hundred thousand pounds Sterling. The Argyle Empire Bank is willing to invest five hundred thousand pounds Sterling to buy out this part of your rights and interests in South America in one lump sum."

"Five hundred thousand pounds Sterling?!"

Several assistants behind Sterling stood up in shock.

"Mr. Templeton! In the early stage alone, we invested nearly two million pounds Sterling just in laying the roadbed and purchasing steel rails! Not to mention those... advance payments to the Argentina government! Five hundred thousand pounds Sterling is simply daylight robbery!" shouted an assistant angrily.

Templeton didn't even glance at that assistant, his gaze fixed dead on Sterling.

"Two million pounds Sterling? How much of that was spent on hiring Gaucho cavalry and buying weapons for warlords? Your military expenditure is not within our scope of acquisition." Templeton sneered, losers must accept punishment.

"You know the actual situation of those railways better than I do. The roadbed was blown up by the warlords you yourselves hired, and most of the rails have rusted. Five hundred thousand pounds Sterling is the merciful bottom line of our boss, Mr. Argyle. It is also compensation for you giving up your futile struggle on the London Stock Exchange."

Templeton's body leaned forward slightly, full of oppressive pressure.

"If you feel the price is unreasonable, you can refuse. We can easily wait for the Argentina government to officially declare you in default and then go through the process again. By then, you won't even get five hundred thousand pounds Sterling, and you will also carry transnational lawsuits for breach of contract. And your bonds will fall to negative numbers in the market."

Sterling's hands clenched into fists tightly under the table.

He knew what Templeton said was a fact.

Felix Argyle had pushed them to the edge of the cliff. This five hundred thousand pounds Sterling was not money to buy assets at all, but toll money to make them get out of South America.

"We accept."

Sterling closed his eyes and squeezed out these words through his teeth.

"Mr. Sterling has made a wise decision." Prime Minister Gladstone nodded with satisfaction in the primary seat.

"This fully demonstrates the gentlemanly demeanor of the British Empire's bankers who understand the general situation and care about the overall picture."

This phrase "understanding the general situation" was like a slap across Sterling's face.

He understood that Gladstone was warning him that the government had already reached a tacit understanding with the Argyle Family, and if Barings Bank did not obey, it would face comprehensive suppression from the government.

Templeton took out several thick formal contracts from his briefcase and pushed them to the middle of the table.

Without any more nonsense, he pulled out the fountain pen from his breast pocket and unscrewed the cap.

The conference room quieted down.

Only the sound of turning pages remained.

Officials from the Department of the Treasury and the Foreign Office acted as witnesses, coldly watching this old British bank hand over their overseas assets operated for many years.

Sterling picked up the fountain pen on the table, his hand shaking a bit severely.

What a humiliation!

Signing this name was equivalent to formally acknowledging the defeat of Barings Bank's strategy in South America.

But he had no way out; if he didn't sign, Barings Bank would fall into a war of attrition, and funds would continue to drain away.

The key was that the cabinet government would not help them at all, which was the most fatal point.

Thus the fountain pen rubbed against the parchment, making a harsh rustling sound.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, in the Whitehall conference room.

Charles Sterling signed his name in the corner of the final delivery document.

After putting down the pen, he leaned back against the chair as if completely exhausted.

He couldn't quite understand how things had come to this point.

You must know that those thick documents represented hundreds of miles of railway rights across the vast Pampas Grassland in Argentina, the priority rights for mineral extraction along the routes, and the countless pounds and painstaking efforts Barings Bank had poured in there over the past decade.

Yet now, all of this belonged to that young oligarch of America.

How utterly frustrating...

However, George Templeton opposite him was in no mood to observe whether his mood was good or bad; he neatly gathered the signed documents and handed them to the lawyer behind him for final verification.

"Mr. Sterling, our funds will be wired into the designated account of Barings Bank through the settlement system of the Bank of England within twenty-four hours."

"Not a single penny of the five hundred thousand pounds is missing. Mr. Sterling, I wish you smooth sailing in your business in the Far East."

After saying that, Stanton began to close his briefcase and prepared to leave.

This victor's posture made Sterling feel extremely nauseated.

He stood up and ignored the hand Templeton extended.

"Mr. Templeton, go back and tell your boss. The Atlantic Ocean is wide, but in the world of capital, the Atlantic Ocean is narrow."

Sterling straightened his suit, his gaze as cold and sinister as a venomous snake.

"The things he seized today with cannons and machine guns, sooner or later, someone else will seize back from his hands in the exact same way. Let's wait and see."

After saying that, Sterling led his group of crestfallen assistants and walked out of the conference room without looking back.

Watching the people from Barings Bank leave, Templeton withdrew his hand and smiled unconcernedly.

"The curses of losers always appear so feeble."

Prime Minister Gladstone stood up and walked over to Templeton's side.

"Mr. Templeton, the handover is complete. I have fulfilled my promise, and I hope Mr. Argyle will also honor the guarantees he made in New York. We do not wish for any other normal trade of the British Empire in South America to be disturbed."

"Of course, Prime Minister." Templeton bowed slightly.

"The Argyle Family builds railways and engages in trade; we are more than happy to provide faster logistics services for the merchants of the British Empire, as long as they pay their freight charges on time."

Everything was settled.

Templeton led his legal team out of Whitehall.

On the streets of London, carriages came and went.

Several newsboys selling newspapers were waving the evening papers in their hands, shouting the news that Barings Bank was officially withdrawing from the Argentina project.

Investors in the City of London finally breathed a sigh of relief; at least this covert war that had triggered market panic was over.

Templeton got into the carriage and headed straight for the London branch of the Imperial Bank located on Lombard Street.

As soon as they entered the doors of the branch, the senior staff in the lobby immediately burst into warm applause.

They had already learned in advance about the successful handover.

In London, this established financial center, for an American bank to force Barings Bank to cut its losses and bow its head was definitely an unprecedented victory.

Templeton didn't stay long and walked straight up to the office on the second floor.

"Connect the transatlantic telegraph dedicated line immediately." Templeton ordered the telegraph operator who followed him in.

He walked over to the desk, took out a dedicated red telegraph form, picked up the dip pen, and rapidly wrote a line of text.

[To the esteemed Chairman of the Committee: Whitehall delivery complete. The Barings rat has exited, the South American chain is locked shut. ——George Templeton.]

The telegraph operator took the slip of paper and immediately ran to the communication room next door.

The telegraph machine emitted a crisp ticking sound.

This current representing victory, following the thick cable laid along the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, raced across the cold seawater at the speed of light toward the East Coast of America.

New York, the top floor of the Empire Bank Building.

At this moment, New York had just ushered in the dawn of morning, and the rising sun dyed the surface of the Hudson River a golden red.

Felix, wearing a white silk shirt, was holding a cup of coffee and standing in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the awakening city.

The office door was gently knocked.

Edward Frost walked in quickly, holding the newly deciphered telegram.

His footsteps were brisk, and his face carried an irrepressible excitement.

"Boss, an urgent telegram just sent from London."

Frost said as he handed the telegram to Felix.

"President Templeton completed all the delivery procedures in Whitehall. Barings Bank officially signed the waiver agreement and withdrew after taking that five hundred thousand pounds in compensation. Prime Minister Gladstone acted as a witness throughout the entire process. Our legal obstacles in South America have been completely swept away."

Felix took the telegram, casually glanced at the short line of text, and then placed the telegraph paper on the coffee table nearby.

Taking a sip of coffee, his gaze cast toward the outside of the window once again.

"That old fox Charles Sterling, after all, couldn't bear to let his broken ship sink completely."

Felix's voice was so calm that no ripples could be heard.

But in his heart, he still felt a bit of regret.

"That is because your financial strangulation was simply too fatal."

Frost exclaimed sincerely from the side.

"If you had only used Rambo to resolve them by force, they might have accused us in the London parliament every day. But you directly smashed the market in the secondary market, pushing them to the edge. They had no choice but to hold their noses and admit defeat."

"Force is the means, finance is the shackles."

Felix turned around and placed the coffee cup on the desk.

"Notify Bill of the Metropolitan Trading Company. Now the legal and coercive obstacles are gone. Have him ship all those rusted railway-building machinery in the East Coast warehouses over there."

"Also... tell Rambo, it's best to let those surrendered Argentine warlord soldiers build the railway. No wages, just give them a mouthful of food to eat. Whoever dares to slack off, use a whip to teach them what American efficiency is."

"Understood." Frost recorded quickly.

"In addition..." Felix walked over to that huge world map.

His gaze moved slowly upward from Argentina in South America.

Crossing the Caribbean Sea, crossing the American mainland, and then spanning the vast Atlantic Ocean, it stopped on the territory of the European continent.

"The jigsaw puzzle of South America has begun to take shape. We have enough beef, minerals, and cheap labor."

"Over at the university, the first batch of European professors has also entered the laboratories."

Felix stretched out his hand and tapped his fingers twice on the European portion of the map.

"The elites of the Old World are already at our disposal, and the capital of the Old World has already begun to bow to us in South America."

Turning his head, his black eyes flashed with an immense ambition that transcended the era.

"Right, how is the progress regarding the Argyle's Building over at Federal Real Estate?"

Brass gears meshed together, and the steam engine emitted a low and rhythmic roar.

As the thick steel cables were slowly tightened by the winch, the test car with pig iron counterweights rose steadily in the vertical shaft.

Hamilton stood in the spacious foyer holding a pocket watch, staring at the semicircular floor indicator above the shaft, and asked the engineer beside him,

"How is the smoothness? Are there any stuttering or unusual noises?"

"Everything is perfect, Mr. Hamilton. This is a steam-hydraulic composite elevator specially customized by the Otis Company according to our requirements. Not only has the load-bearing capacity been doubled, but the latest safety clamps have also been installed."

The engineer wiped the sweat from his forehead, his tone full of pride.

"Even if all the main steel cables break at the same time, the car will be firmly jammed onto the guide rails within two seconds. Completely safe."

Arthur tucked the pocket watch into his vest pocket and let out a long breath of stale air.

He turned around and looked at the miracle crafted with countless efforts by Federal Real Estate Company, drawing upon New York's top construction workers and designers.

This building had a full ten floors.

In an era where brick-and-wood structures were still common and floors rarely exceeded five, this building, relying entirely on thick internal I-beams as its load-bearing framework, was a thorough steel behemoth.

Coupled with the single-story spaces deliberately raised to nearly thirty feet to showcase power, and the huge spire on top, the height of the entire building broke three hundred feet, becoming America's well-deserved number one skyscraper.

It was twenty feet taller than the Capitol Building in Washington.

Every day when passing by, New York citizens on the street outside would involuntarily stop, raise their heads, and look at this behemoth with awe.

"The smell of paint in the air is still a bit heavy. Go have someone open all the windows, and run the ventilation ducts on the ground floor at full power. The boss doesn't like this pungent smell." Arthur instructed the foreman behind him.

"Arrangements have already been made. The outer scaffolding was completely dismantled last night, and the cleaners are wiping the brass handles of the main door." The foreman replied.

Arthur patted his clothes; today was a big day.

This central brain, representing the highest power of the Argyle's Empire, was about to welcome its master.

Ten o'clock in the morning.

The streets of Wall Street had been cleared in advance by guards in black to create a smooth passageway, blocking carriages and idlers trying to approach outside the block.

A motorcade composed of five bulletproof carriages drove smoothly amidst the sound of horse hooves, stopping under the wide marble steps of the building's main entrance.

The carriage door opened.

Frost, Secretary-General of the Executive Committee, jumped down from the carriage first, then walked briskly to the widest carriage in the middle and pulled open the door.

Felix leaned his upper body out of the carriage.

He wore a well-tailored dark formal suit and leaned on his signature cane. He turned around and reached his hand into the carriage.

Catherine rested her hand on Felix's and cautiously stepped down the footboard.

Her abdomen was already protruding. Her third pregnancy added a touch of maternal gentleness to this pharmaceutical company president, but her deep eyes still revealed shrewdness.

"Slow down, the stone slabs here have just been polished." Felix reminded softly.

"I'm not that delicate, Felix. Besides, I can't wait to see this fortress that holds all of us."

Catherine smiled, patted Felix's arm, and looked up at the towering exterior wall of the building.

In the following carriages, George Templeton, president of Imperial Bank; Tom Hayes, president of Patriot Investment Company; Jones, president of Food Company; and Bill from Metropolitan Trading Company, successively got out of the cars.

These giants, who could trigger earthquakes in their respective fields with a single stomp in New York and even the entire business world of the United States, gathered around Felix.

"God. Arthur, when you showed it to me on the blueprints, I didn't think it was that exaggerated."

"Standing beneath this door, I feel like a dwarf standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. How much did this building actually cost?"

Tom Hayes tilted his head back, his neck feeling a bit sore.

Arthur Hamilton walked quickly down the steps to greet everyone, and upon hearing Tom's question, he smiled implicitly.

"Including the land, thousands of tons of steel, customized elevators, an independent internal gas power generation system, and internal telephone lines running through the entire building. The current hard expenses on the books are six million dollars. This doesn't even include subsequent office furniture and security equipment costs."

George Templeton whistled on the side.

"Whoa~ Six million dollars. If converted into gold coins, it would be enough to fill the basement of this building. However, for a bank that controls United States railways and munitions, having a decent facade is a must."

"I remember the nearby Equitable Life Building also cost over four million dollars; it's very worth it."

"Alright Gentlemen, today is not the day to settle accounts." Felix tapped his cane, interrupting their idle chatter.

He looked up at the huge emblem cast in brass right above the main door, which was a bald eagle clutching lightning and wheat spikes.

"Arthur, lead the way. Let us see if your hard work over the past half year or so can live up to the requirements of the Committee." Felix embraced Catherine's shoulders and stepped onto the steps.

"It certainly won't disappoint you, Boss. Please..."

Arthur bowed slightly and made a gesture of invitation.

Two security personnel pushed open the two carved doors hard.

The mixed scent of oak and fresh air rushed towards them.

The floor of the foyer was laid with whole blocks of black and white natural marble imported from Italy.

The huge load-bearing steel columns were cleverly wrapped with plaster and wood veneer featuring classical patterns, which both concealed the roughness of the steel and retained that oppressive supporting strength.

"To ensure internal lighting, we used the largest size glass windows on every floor. Even on cloudy days, it won't appear dim." Arthur walked in front, pointing to the lighting design around the lobby.

"Of course, if you need to work at night." Arthur walked to the wall and pressed the black bakelite switch.

With a soft click of "snap."

The huge chandelier at the top of the foyer instantly lit up; that was incandescent lighting specially provided by the General Electric laboratory.

It was brighter than ordinary electric lights.

"We have laid over five miles of insulated copper wire in this building." Arthur looked at the surprised executives and explained.

"There is a dedicated backup generator in the basement, enabling the entire building to have all-weather electric lighting. This is currently New York's—no, currently the world's only commercial building completely reliant on electric lighting."

Felix looked at the bright lightbulbs and nodded with satisfaction.

He had gotten Tesla to Argyle University to work on Alternating Current, which was to prepare for future long-distance power transmission.

But in present-day Manhattan, direct-current generators could basically meet the lighting of a single building, and the technology was already mature.

"Not bad, how are the heat dissipation of the electric lights and the circuit insulation?" Felix asked.

"They are all wrapped in asbestos and routed through dedicated conduits. Even if the circuit shorts out, the sparks cannot burn the external wooden structure." Arthur answered extremely rigorously.

"Alright. Let's go, and check out our future battlefield."

Felix pointed to the elevator shaft ahead surrounded by exquisite cast-iron fences.

"George, Tom. Prepare your stomachs; the rising speed of this machine is even more thrilling than playing on Wall Street."